Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Are we somewhere nice…”

Eren’s eyes widen as the words come spilling out of your mouth:

“...Mr. Kruger?”

***

Liberio
854

Hot.

It was always so hot in the middle of summer.

The heat made you feel sluggish, especially in combination with the thick humidity in the air that was likely indicative of an upcoming storm.

It wasn’t just the heat though, there was something else in the air, the anxiety of… of… of impending doom? An undeniable end? The constant fear that something could happen at a moment’s notice that would completely shatter everyone’s life into pieces?

Yeah. Something like that.

You were used to that though. That was just a part of war.

So the heat, you figured.

That’s what was really bothering you.

The intense heat.

You sighed as you leaned against the window sill, looking out across the courtyard two stories below. 

A doctor in a white hospital coat was ushering a patient inside. The old man sobbed and hollered about- honestly, you had no idea. There wasn’t a point in paying enough attention to find out. Two patients sat at a bench in hushed conversation. A delivery boy rushed through the gates with a stack of papers in hand as the white armband he wore immediately caught your eye from the way it contrasted with his dark clothing. 

You brought your teacup to your lips and sipped your tea as your mind slipped off to somewhere else.

   Somewhere nice.

      A small home.

      A warm bed.

      A scratchy couch.

“I hear we’re getting a new shipment today.” Your coworker Myra said, snapping you from your daydream as she joined you in looking over the courtyard below. She snickered as the doctor struggled to lift the old man to his feet before escorting him inside.

“Shipment of what?” You asked wistfully, only half paying attention to her as the rest of your mind was still swept up somewhere else.

   Somewhere nice.

“Eldian devils, of course.” Myra sighed, the amusement now gone from her tone and replaced with boredom. “They’re coming in from Fort Slava. Probably going to be all fucked up because of it.”

“We won the war,” you pointed out, still barely paying attention to what she was saying, “you should probably be celebrating.”

“I am celebrating.” She turned away from the view and pressed her back against the windowsill so she could stare into the break room instead of the courtyard. “Unfortunately, the celebration comes hand in hand with how much damn work it’s going to create for all of us.”

You sighed, giving up on your daydreams. You’d go back to them later.

“Soldiers are coming home.” You reasoned as you looked over at her. “That’s a good thing.”

Myra scoffed. “ Eldian soldiers,” she emphasized. “It’d be easier on all of us if they just died out there. Fucking devils… what a pain.”

You didn’t get what her deal was.

If Myra didn’t want to work with Eldians, maybe she shouldn’t have taken a nursing job at an internment zone hospital.

But you didn’t say anything to her, there wasn’t a point in making enemies with the one coworker that you (sort of) considered a friend.

“Oh look,” Myra said just in time for a large truck to pull up to the front of the hospital. A Marleyan escort dropped the tailgate and a line of soldiers began climbing from the back of the truck.

Soldiers with bandages across their chests. Limbs. Heads.

Soldiers with missing legs. Arms. Eyes. 

Soldiers that stagger forward in a line, passing through the gates of the hospital with their heads turned down, barely paying attention to the world around them and focusing more on putting one foot in front of the other (if they even have two feet to focus on, that was).

Eldian soldiers straight from Fort Slava.

“Hey, you!” The Marleyan soldier escorting them called, slamming his gun against the side of the truck.

One last Eldian pulled himself out, walking on a single leg as the rest of his body was supported with an old crutch. 

He had a bandage around his head concealing an eye injury, with long brown hair that was in desperate need of a trim.

You assumed he would wear the same expression as all the other traumatized soldiers did when they showed up at your hospital. The same bags under their eyes, frown lines etched against their face, and depressed lost look of desperation. The desperation for what? You weren’t sure. Escape. Death. Freedom. It didn’t matter what it was, because it was always the same.

You’d worked at that hospital for years and it had always been the same. 

And yet when this soldier, this Eldian soldier, crossed the courtyard below you, he was shoved by the Marleyan officer escorting him. He stumbled. 

Then he looked up.

That’s when you saw it.

You saw the look on his face.

And you saw the look in his eyes.

A stunning composition that reminded you of the night sky on a full moon- swirling blues and greens beautifully illuminated with flecks of golden stars. 

Your fingers tightened against your teacup, pressing its warmth firmly against your palms.

Hot.

It was always so hot… in the middle of summer.

a few days later

“You take a suspiciously long time with Kruger every morning,” Myra told you as the two of you walked down the hall on the way to the break room.

“I- I do not!”

“Yeah, okay.” She rolled her eyes as your cheeks flushed pink.

“I’m just being thorough. Unlike you, I take pride in my work.”

Her loud laugh bounced off of the bleak walls. “Did you know that you always get feisty when you’re being defensive? All you’re doing is proving my point~”

“Well, sometimes he can be- difficult. Everyone knows that.” You said, not wanting to argue with her and further “prove her point”.  

“Yeah,” she scoffed, “not with you though.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Maybe he’s got a crush on you or something.”

You immediately stopped walking.

“What?” Myra asked.

“That’s- I-... don’t joke about that. Someone might hear you.”

Myra scoffed. “Who gives a shit.” She dismissed with a casual wave of her hand. “That kinda thing happens all the time.”

She was right, of course. Plenty of the soldiers at the hospital had indicated that they’d developed-... something for those caring for them. It was natural, you supposed, given the trauma they’d experienced in battle. A terrible experience like that followed by someone treating your injuries, regardless of how cruel they may be while they do it, would seep into someone’s mind and turn into-...

Whatever it turns into. 

It was a mess, regardless. A mess that you would never let yourself fall into.

“It doesn’t matter if it happens all the time.” You muttered as you stormed past Myra, “I could still get in trouble.”

She rolled her eyes again as she caught up with you. “Only if you do something about it.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Good.” She said simply. “And not just because he’s your patient. You know what happens to people that get tangled up with Eldians.”

The way she said it made your whole world freeze.

The reminder always did and why wouldn’t it?

You did know. You knew exactly what happened to people who got “tangled up” with Eldians because you’d seen it firsthand. You’d never forget.

No matter how much you wish you could, you'd never forget the way your brother’s body hung limp against the fence outside the internment zone. The way he was left there, for days, to rot against the wall. The way the birds picked at the skin of his face, his fingers, tearing away bits of flesh to the point that his body was turned into something else entirely.

You’d never forget the words ‘ ELDIAN LOVER ’ painted in deep crimson against the brick wall behind him.

“You have to make something of yourself.” Your mother told you that night as she sobbed for her loss. Not the loss of her son, but for the loss of your family’s reputation. “Make something of yourself that we can be proud of,” she cried, “make them forget about him… you owe it to your family…”

   Flesh.

          Rope.

               Red spray paint.

Your stomach turned at the memory. 

And suddenly, you were no longer interested in your lunch.

It trapped you in a daze for the rest of the day.

It always did.

The reminder of why you worked so hard to get this job, why you slave away working extra hours and rarely ever taking a day off unless it was absolutely necessary. You had to work hard for your family. For their reputation. So you could undo the sins of your brother and make up for what he’d done.

It exhausted you.

Your life here exhausted you.

You knew you were supposed to hate your older brother, you knew you were because he betrayed you. He betrayed your whole family and put them in danger for his own selfishness. 

It would have been easy for your family to have been executed for what he’d done, even though none of you had any idea it was happening. You could have been seen as accomplices and punished as such. The only reason you were still alive was because your family had been fortunate enough to pay for your lives. And your lives were a hefty payment.

You’d grown up in a large house in the countryside with pretty dresses and expensive toys. Servants who did whatever you wanted and enough money that you’d never know what it felt like to go to bed hungry.

Your father had been a banker.

Had been.

Because after your brother’s affair with an Eldian maid was found out, your family lost it all.

So, you should have been mad at him. You should have been livid. You should have hated him and spent the rest of your life cursing his existence for what it’d brought you.

But you didn’t.

Despite where your life was after all of it. Despite the pressure that was suddenly put on your shoulders. Despite every moment of agony after it. You couldn’t be mad at your brother.

Because…

          …because your brother had been in love.

“I’m leaving soon.” He’d told you, the night before he was found out. The night before he was hung on that wall and left to rot.

But neither of you knew that would be his fate. So you just scowled as you clutched your doll tightly to your chest, watching as he darted around the room and packed his things.

“Father said you don’t start university for three more years.” You pointed out.

“I don’t.” He laughed. “But I’m not going to university.”

“You aren’t?”

“No.” He stopped in front of you and knelt down so he could look you in the eye. “Can you keep a secret?”

You nodded.

“Promise?”

You nodded harder.

He chuckled softly before he pulled a ring out of his pocket. “I’m getting married.”

You gasped. “To who?”

He got a far-off look in his eyes as the smile on his face turned to something else. Something softer. As if he was suddenly swept up in a daydream that took him somewhere completely new. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I-...” He sighed as he slid the ring into his pocket. “Look,” the wishful expression he had been wearing slipped away as his gaze hardened. “Sometimes adults are wrong.”

“No they’re not.”

“Yes,” he said pointedly, “they are.”

You stayed quiet.

“Sometimes they’re wrong and the reason they’re wrong is that they’ve never taken a moment to think about what they’ve been taught. I’m going away soon, but don’t ever forget that, okay? Don’t you ever forget to think for yourself when someone tells you something, no matter who they are or how much confidence they have when they say it.”

You scowled. “What does any of that have to do with you getting married?”

He laughed as the smile returned to his face. “It has everything to do with it.” He patted your head and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he went back to packing. 

As he packed he told you about the life he was leaving to create for himself and his special person.

A small home, just big enough for two. Far away from war and pain and death. Somewhere they could be happy. A warm bed. A scratchy couch. Homemade food. Maybe even a cat, if they found one that was nice enough to keep.

“You should have more than one!” You told him as he described the kitten he would find in this made-up fantasy, tucked under a rose bush in a rainstorm. 

“I should, shouldn’t I! How many cats should I have?”

“Four!!” You exclaimed with a giggle.

“Four!?!” He said in mock surprise, which had you laughing all over again.

It was a beautiful dream. A beautiful fantasy. 

But that’s all it would ever be because nice places like that didn’t exist. No matter how desperately you wished they could.

Still. It was where you always found yourself when you stared for a little too long out the window, when you walked home after a hard day, or when you struggled to fall asleep at night.

That small house in a faraway world without war. Without pain. Without even death.

It was warm. 

And it was where you always found yourself. 

You pushed open the door to Mr. Kruger’s room with his evening medicine. You smiled as you carried it to him. Smiled at the world you’d created in your head. A special escape, just for you.

“You’re late.” Mr. Kruger told you as he closed his book.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I had to go somewhere.”

“Hm.” He hummed. “Where?”

You passed him a paper cup full of pills and the tips of your fingers brushed against his. Just the tips. 

It sent a rush of warmth up your arm.

You watched as the paper cup met his lips and he tilted his head back.

      A warm home.

      No war, pain, or death.

      A scratchy couch.

      Good food.

      Cats.

You slipped away just long enough for him to finish swallowing his pills and when he lowered the cup, you finally answered him:

“...I went somewhere nice…”

It was a shame, really. 

A shame that you’d only ever be able to visit such a nice place

in your dreams.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Armin.”

“What’s up?”

Eren took a shaky breath as he pressed the phone harder against his ear. “You know how you told me that she-… that she’s not from before?”

“...yeah?” Armin slowly answered.

“Well um-… Well, I think we were wrong…”

A Quaint Apartment

Everything felt like a dream…

Which you found odd considering how when you normally woke up everything was a nightmare.

But not this time… this time it was a dream. A wonderful, peaceful, happy dream; and because of that, you felt inclined to enjoy every moment of it.

“What’s that?” You excitedly asked Mr. Kruger as you pointed to the strange object at the further end of the room. It looked like a picture frame but it was glowing like a light! 

“It’s the TV.” Mr. Kruger said.

“Tee… vee…” You repeated slowly before you gasped. “It’s amazing…”

“Um... yeah it’s- it’s pretty cool.” He stuttered in reply.

“And what’s that!” You excitedly asked again.

“A microwave.” Mr. Kruger told you.

“That!?”

“The-- The fridge.”

You continued to dart around the apartment pointing at all the new sights around you and asking for explanations of what they were. It was amazing! Everything was amazing!! It was all so shiny and clean, the complete opposite of the grimy life that you were used to!

As you buzzed around the apartment, Eren’s eyes followed you.

He knew how you felt right now. Exactly how you felt, actually; because he’d experienced the same thing just that morning. He'd also woken up with no memories of the modern world, completely swept up in his first lifetime and amazed by the lack of war, death, and even the absence of titans . He knew how it felt to leave the last world and wake up in this one but… it wasn't supposed to be the same for you.

Armin said that you weren't like them. That you hadn't been from before and you only existed here, in the better world. But Armin had been wrong because just over an hour ago, as Eren had finished retaining his own memories from his modern life, you lost yours.

Which explained why you, his girlfriend of six years, kept calling him Mr. K-

“Mr. Kruger what is this place?” You asked, finally coming to a stop in front of him, wearing a smile so wide that his stomach flipped as the sparkle of excitement in your eyes made his heart race.

“Well uh- it’s-... it’s where you live.” He awkwardly answered.

“I live here!!” 

“Uh- yeah…” Eren cleared his throat. “And… I- I do too.”

Your eyes somehow grew even wider. “You do too?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“W-Well uh-” Eren looked away from you and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure how much was safe to say. He knew how confusing it would be if he threw too much information at you all at once and he had a feeling that confusion would do more harm than good. His friends had taken things slowly with him, so he figured he should do the same with you. Besides, it had only taken him about half a day for his memories to come back; so all he had to do was wait a bit for the same to happen with you. Right?

“Is it the same here?” You suddenly asked him.

“Is… Is what the same?”

“Do I take care of you here too?” You asked, causing a rush of heat to run up Eren’s spine.

“Y-Yeah… sort of…” He stuttered before he could think of anything else to say.

To be fair, it wasn’t a complete lie. You were his girlfriend so you did take care of him sometimes. You made dinner when he worked late. Cleaned the apartment on your days off. Got on his ass about not matching his socks on laundry day. 

But he took care of you too. He mopped after you swept. Made sure the dishwasher ran when it was full. Watered the (overpriced and half-dead) plants you kept insisting on buying from the supermarket anytime you got groceries.

It was a partnership. And it had been for the last six years.

“Hm…” You hummed softly in reply as you continued to smile with that same glimmer of something- something familiar - flickering in your eyes. “It feels the same.” You told him.

Eren wasn’t sure what you meant by that, but he was too intimidated to ask.

Especially when your eyes flicked left, then right, then left again as you looked between his own. You were smiling, still smiling so widely as the expression on your face became so familiar but still so new.

He’d seen the look before.

Not here, but before.

In another time. In another life. Under different circumstances that made being close to you in any way impossible. 

“It’s probably time for bed, isn’t it?” You asked him as you pulled away. “Do you need me to help you change?”

Eren’s heart leapt into his throat again. “N-No!” His cheeks flushed crimson. “I can um- I can do that myself.”

You laughed and it made his heart flutter.

Just like it always did and just like it always had- even in that brightly lit hospital room in Liberio.

A Cozy Bedroom

There was a weight against your chest when you woke up the next morning.

A solid weight.

It was warm. Soft. And it lifted, just slightly, before something tickled your nose.

“Mrr…”

Your eyes fluttered open and met two wide yellow eyes with pupils in straight slits staring back at you.

The cat, with striped brown fur and a single canine sticking out from between its lips, immediately nuzzled its face against your cheek.

When you didn’t react it pulled back, yawned, stretched, and then crawled off your chest before hobbling on three legs to the end of the bed. It sat down, looked back at you, and then jumped to the floor with another “ mrr” as if to say: “It’s time to get up.”

You blinked once. Twice. Three times. And then fully sat up to glance around the room. 

When you’d fallen asleep last night the room had been unfamiliar; and now, as you were waking up, it was the exact same. 

It was unfamiliar. 

But there were photographs of you and Mr. Kruger on the walls. A shelf full of books that look very well-read. A pile of laundry and a warmth that surrounded you, immediately making you feel calm.

   This place was home.

Even if Mr. Kruger hadn’t told you that last night, you felt like you’d still know without needing to be told. Something in you would just know.

A small home.

No war, pain, or death.

A warm bed.

A cat and the smell of good food wafting from down the hall.

You knew it wouldn't last long- this beautiful dream, because the beautiful dreams never lasted long. So you made up your mind that you were going to cherish it. Cherish every moment of this wonderful dream.

The cat stuck its head back into the room:

“Meeeooowwwwwwww…”

You smiled.

“You're right, it’s time to get up.” You told the cat.

This dream was too nice to let it go to waste.

A Warm Living Room

As you left the bedroom you immediately took in your surroundings. You'd been in here the night before, but this looked different during the day.

The same itchy couch sat in the middle of the living room. There was a pillow on it and a blanket messily thrown over the back. A coffee table with scattered pieces of paper and a chipped tea cup. One side of the wall had a large window and a balcony, which was the source of most of the light.

From another room, just across from the living room, you could hear shuffling.

Sizzling. 

Feet against tile and music playing. 

There was a voice, just barely audible as he hummed along to the melody on the radio.

(at least you assumed it was a radio)

You couldn’t help slowly creeping towards the kitchen to seek out the sound.

That's how you found Mr. Kruger, standing in front of the stove and holding a spatula in one hand with a small black cat in the other. He flipped a pancake, bouncing to the beat of the music as he rocked the cat back and forth in his arms.

A smile spread across your face as he started to mumble the words to the unfamiliar song:

 I know I have good judgment, I know I have good taste.

   It's funny and it's ironic that only I feel that way,

       I promise 'em that you're different and everyone makes mistakes

   But just don't-

The kitten reached up to swat Mr. Kruger’s nose, which made Mr. Kruger look down at it.

  I heard that you're an actor, so act like a stand-up guy

    Whatever devil's inside you, don't let him out tonight

  I tell them it's just your culture and everyone rolls their eyes

             Yeah, I know

         All I'm asking, baby~

Suddenly, he held the spatula like a microphone:

Please
        Please
                Please

      Don't prove I'm right!

You noticed the cat he was holding had a missing eye.

  And please, please, please

          Don't bring me to tears

                   when I just did my makeup so nice!

He kissed the kitten’s forehead.

  Heartbreak is one thing, my ego's another.

     I beg you, don't embarrass me, motherfucker

                       oh~

Mr. Kruger placed the cat on the counter and tapped its nose along to the beat:

            Please
   Please
                       Please!

On the counter next to the kitten was a big fat orange and white cat. It easily tripled the kitten in size. Mr. Kruger scratched it under its chin before he continued to sing, this time slightly louder and with more confidence, completely oblivious to the fact that he was being watched.

   And we could live so happily if no one knows that you're with me

        I'm just kidding, but really, really, really-

The spatula became his microphone again.

             Please,
      Please,
                         Please

               Don't prove I'm right~

The brown cat that had woken you up stumbled into the kitchen and rubbed against Mr. Kruger’s leg.

And please,
           Please,
                 Please,

  Don't bring me to tears when I just did my makeup so nice!

He crouched down to pet its head. 

  Heartbreak is one thing,
                   my ego's another,

            I beg you, don't embarrass me
                  motherfucker,
                                         oh~

The cat let out a happy ‘mrr’ as Mr. Kruger scooped it up into his arms and dramatically held it up in the air. Its three limbs dangling uselessly at its side.

     If you wanna go and be stupid

                    don't do it in front of me~

He lowered the cat to cuddle it to his chest.

     If you don't wanna cry to my music

                   don't make me hate you prolifically~

“Mrr.” The cat said again before it looked across the kitchen at you. 

     Please, please, please,

Mr. Kruger sang.

     Please, please, please,

He curiously tilted his head to the side.

   Please,

He followed the cat’s line of sight

      Please,

He saw you.

          please, pl- “AH!” 

Mr. Kruger jumped, dropping his spatula to the floor as his face burned bright red. The cat leapt from his arms (stumbling to land on account of its missing back leg). It wobbled as it ran past you out of the kitchen while the last few notes of the song rang out. 

Mr. Kruger was left completely frozen.

You pressed your hand to your mouth and held back a laugh.

That’s when the fire alarm went off and the kitchen filled with smoke.

A Warm Living Room

“So it’s… a radio then?” You asked as you flipped the strange device around in your hand. It was the thing that Mr. Kruger had been using to play music earlier but you weren’t sure how that was possible given the smooth texture that felt like glass. He had called it a ‘phone’ but you thought that was an odd thing to call it, considering it looked nothing like a phone.

“That’s one thing you can use it for, yeah.” Mr. Kruger explained as he held out his hand and you gave it back to him. “It’s also a camera.” He explained as he clicked one of the buttons on the side and suddenly you were looking right through the device to the floor.

“Woah!” You exclaimed, excitedly grabbing it back from him as you flipped it around in your hands again. 

You were about to comment on how strange this place was. How strange and wonderful, but you worried that mentioning it might put an end to the fantasy. As if acknowledging that this wasn’t real, it would make it all be over.

You quickly shoved all thoughts of what was a fantasy and what was reality into the back of your mind as you handed Mr. Kruger the device back, sure that he would have even more fascinating things to show you as the day went on. 

On the coffee table in front of you were two empty plates from the breakfast he had made. It was delicious, sweet pancakes with more syrup than you’d ever been allowed. You’d gotten so used to bland rations with no flavour whatsoever. Even your tea always had to be taken black because anything else would be a waste of the limited resources you had. 

Sitting on the couch next to you was the brown cat that woke you up. He was purring loudly with his three legs tucked under him. He occasionally nuzzled against your thigh to beg for attention so you patted his head and gave it to him. The black kitten was completely asleep on Mr. Kruger’s lap as her tail twitched occasionally despite it. Between the two of you was the big fat orange and white cat. He was grooming himself after spending your whole meal begging for food (which Mr. Kruger said you weren’t allowed to give him because he was on a strict diet). 

You’d met a few cats before, street cats that is. Cats that were much too wary of humans and wouldn’t let you near them without darting off. Those cats were the exact opposite of these ones. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of affection as you watched Mr. Kruger idly scratch the kitten behind the ear as he tapped away at the glass phone in his hands.

“There are some people coming over later.” Mr. Kruger told you as he put the phone down on the table.

“Some people?” You asked.

“Yeah. Our friends, they um- they wanna talk to you.”

“Which friends?”

Mr. Kruger sounded hesitant to answer. “You probably don’t remember them.”

You curiously tilted your head to the side. “Why not?”

“I uh- it’s- they’ll explain it.”

“Why can’t you explain it?”

“I don’t wanna confuse you.”

“Why would you confuse me?”

“Just-” Suddenly he seemed irritated and more reminiscent of the Mr. Kruger that you knew. Of the real Mr. Kruger. The one that exists outside of this place. “I’m sorry.” He said with a sigh as his shoulders relaxed and the tension washed out of his body. It wasn’t something the real Mr. Kruger often said. “I don’t want to make this harder for you.”

You studied his face.

His beautiful face.

You studied the way his eyebrows tensed and scrunched together before they flattened again and he looked over at you with so much care in his eyes that it made your heart feel like it might beat right out of your chest.

“Mr. Kruger?” You asked, just above a whisper.

“Yeah?” He answered, just as softly.

But you didn’t have anything to ask him. Not really. You had things you wanted to ask him, of course. You wanted to ask him where exactly you were, but you couldn’t risk that. 

Because if you asked him then-... then it might all be over.

His hand moved to the couch between you and you felt his fingers gently brush against it. It sent an electric rush of heat up your arm that radiated through your entire body.

If this was real life he wouldn’t have touched you.

Couldn't have touched you, because it wasn't allowed.

So you were glad this wasn't real life.

You were glad this wasn't real life, because it meant you could curl your fingers around his and hold his hand.

It was warm.

“It’ll make more sense eventually.” Mr. Kruger told you.

“...okay.” You replied.

But you didn’t want it to make sense.

It was so much more wonderful when it didn’t.

Chapter Text

Liberio
854

Mr. Kruger was frustrated that day.

You didn’t know why , but he was.

Regardless of the cause, his frustration was why you had been sent in to “deal with him” since, apparently, you were the one he was most reasonable with. 

You weren't sure what you’d done to earn Mr. Kruger’s favour over the last few weeks, but if his favour got you praised by the higher-ups then you weren’t going to complain.

As you walked to his room you briefly thought back to Myra’s comment a few days ago. Her little: “He probably has a crush on you.” You immediately brushed the thought away figuring he was probably just the type to respond better to positive reinforcement. Lord knew enough of the hospital staff leaned towards the opposite method with patients.

Regardless, you eventually ended up there: knocking on Mr. Kruger’s door an hour after you normally headed home for the day.

Your knock received no answer, so you timidly pushed the door open.

“Mr. Kruger?” You asked.

He was sitting on his bed, staring out the window and completely lost in thought.

He must not have noticed you enter, so you cautiously approached him, all too familiar with how violent some patients could be when surprised.

“Mr. Kruger?” You asked for the second time, hoping he would respond now that you were closer.

He didn’t. 

You moved towards the window, carefully putting enough space between yourself and him so that you could get away if he lunged for you. Once you were at the far end of the room, you could finally see his face. 

He was in a daze, just like you thought he would be; trapped between his world and another as he stared out the window.

You smiled at the sight, knowing exactly how it felt to be that far away.

“Mr. Kruger.” You said for the third time. This time it was softer, barely above a whisper as you politely asked for his attention instead of demanding it.

He blinked.

And then he looked over at you for half a second before his eyes fell to his lap.

“Oh,” he said, “it’s you.”

You gave him a smile that you hoped was reassuring. “Yeah, it’s me.” Now that he was aware of his surroundings, you stepped closer to him. “Dr. Rall said you didn’t want to take your medication this evening.” The empty paper cup on his bedside table might have suggested a different story, but you knew it wasn't empty because he’d taken them. It was empty because he’d hidden the pills under his tongue.

You had a replacement in your pocket, but you wouldn’t give it to him until you were sure he’d accept it.

You’d never taken the time to check if Mr. Kruger was swallowing his pills. Instead, you'd always trusted that he had (especially considering how often he complained about wanting his painkillers). Earlier, you’d been wrapped up with another patient so Dr. Rall had come in to give Mr. Kruger his medications instead of you.

Dr. Rall was the type to demand proof that they’d been swallowed.

And they hadn’t been.

You could see a deep purple bruise forming against Mr. Kruger’s cheek in the shape of a thumb. You didn’t need to ask to know that it was where Dr. Rall had grabbed him as he tried to force the pills down his throat. Mr. Kruger had bitten him in defiance, nearly taking his thumb clean off. 

The blood splatters across the front of his shirt were proof of it. 

“He wouldn’t tell me what the green one was.” Mr. Kruger explained simply, with no emotion behind his tone to indicate anything about his mood.

“ Oh… ” You answered.

“So what is it?” He asked, slowly meeting your eyes again after he’d spent the beginning of the conversation avoiding them.

Your chest tightened as your palms became damp.

You normally tried not to make eye contact with him because it always felt… strange.

Confusing.

His eyes always brought you to a different plane of existence. With deep blues and greens so beautiful and almost out of place against the bags beneath them and his unshaven face.

It made you wonder what his eyes would look like on someone else or maybe on a different version of him. A happier version. A version that was free from war and pain and death. A version of him that existed somewhere-

…somewhere nice.

You wondered how his eyes would light up the rest of his face somewhere like that.

Mr. Kruger sighed at your lack of answer before he pushed himself out of bed. He stumbled as he reached for his crutch. You were immediately at his side, holding him up so he wouldn't fall.

“Gotta change-” he mumbled before he stepped towards the shelf on the other side of the room that housed a single change of clean clothes.

“I’ll help you,” you said.

“I don’t need your help,” he pushed you away.

“You can’t walk,” you told him as you tried to guide him back to the bed. “If you sit down I’ll-”

“I SAID I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP!!”

You didn’t want it to affect you. You knew it shouldn’t affect you.

You’d been yelled at by plenty of patients. Doctors. Fellow nurses. Being screamed at was in your job description and it was something that happened to you every single day, so it shouldn’t have affected you. It shouldn’t have but-...

But you could feel heat building in the back of your eyes.

Your vision blurring.

His words ringing in your ear.

Mr. Kruger had always been so quiet. Always so wrapped up in his head as he stared out the window and let himself get lost against the horizon.

That’s why he was your favourite. Because he had a habit of slipping away to spend time somewhere else, just like you did.

Mr. Kruger was your favourite.

“Th- The green pills are a sedative,” you said as you blinked away your tears and handed him his crutch. You didn’t pull away from him until you were confident he was stable enough to stand on his own. Then you took a step back. “We give them to the patients that become violent. I- I don’t know why Dr. Rall wants to start you on them.”

Mr. Kruger didn’t say anything as he hobbled to the other side of the room. He grabbed a shirt, a clean shirt, with no blood stains mucking up the front.

He leaned his crutch against the wall as he pulled his old shirt off and tossed it to the floor.

He stumbled.

He caught himself against the wall.

He couldn’t lift his hand to pull the shirt over his head without risking falling over again so he grabbed his crutch and staggered back to the bed before sitting down.

“I haven’t been violent,” Mr. Kruger muttered. 

“I know.”

“Then why are they drugging me?”

“I-... I don’t know,” you confessed.

And you didn’t. Truly you didn’t. You were the nurse that tended to Mr. Kruger the most and you’d never indicated on your reports that he was anywhere close to even mildly uncooperative. He’d always taken his medications. Always changed when you asked him to, bathed when it was his day for that, asked politely to be escorted to the washroom, the courtyard, or just for a walk down the hall.

He was a model patient, really, so you didn’t know why Dr. Rall wanted him sedated.

“...guess they’ve a got reason now.” Mr. Kruger mumbled as he pulled his new shirt, a shirt that was free from the doctor’s blood stains, over his head.

“Yeah, I-... I guess they do.” 

Mr. Kruger’s arms fell to his sides once he finished getting changed.

“But I-... um…” you hesitated. 

“What?”

“I could… I could not give them to you…”

Your eyes met again. It was the same as it always was- your heart hammered in your chest as his blue-green eyes, eyes that were so beautiful and didn’t belong on such a depressed face, lit up.

For an instant, it took you somewhere else.

For an instant, everything was warm.

“And why would you do that?” Mr. Kruger asked, still maintaining eye contact.

“Because I… I have no reason to believe that you need them.”

“Hm.” Mr. Kruger hummed as he broke away from your stare and looked back out the window, regaining the position he’d been in when you’d come to find him. “Then I’ll make sure to keep it that way.”

His eyes met the horizon and he was gone again, leaving you unsure where he drifted off to. 

But as he stared out the window, out at the horizon, you had a feeling it was somewhere warm.

And maybe, just maybe, it was also somewhere nice.

As you left Mr. Kruger’s room you reached for the clipboard hanging in front of his door. 

It detailed his entire treatment plan. His daily vitals. When he got his meals and when he was given free time outside of his room.

And it listed his medications:

Morphine - checked off for body daily doses

Penicillin - checked off for both daily doses

Nutrilite  - checked off for both daily doses

And finally:

Zolpidem - newly added to Mr. Kruger’s chart and currently not checked off.

You patted your pocket where you could feel the cylindrical green pill against the fabric. You twirled it between your fingers and recalled the way Mr. Kruger had stared out the window, blissfully unaware that you’d even entered the room.

He’d bitten Dr. Rall, but only because the doctor hadn’t answered his question.

Only because the doctor had become violent first.

You couldn’t blame Mr. Kruger for it. You would have done the same. 

So you pulled your hand away from your pocket and grabbed the pencil tied to the clipboard.

Zolpidem - ✓

A Warm Living Room

You didn’t know what you were supposed to be doing.

Or saying.

Or… who any of the people around you were.

Mr. Kruger had told you they were your friends, but you were certain you’d never had friends like them.

But there they were: staring at you, unblinking, and you were staring right back.

Thankfully, Mr. Kruger was on the couch next to you. 

You leaned over to him: “...are these people also Eldian devils?” You whispered.

Mr. Kruger immediately began sputtering: “You- You can’t call them that!”

“What?” You said as you pulled back, forgetting to whisper due to your confusion, “Eldian devils?”

“Yes!” Mr. Kruger exclaimed.

“Oh,” you paused as you thought it over. “Why not?”

“Fucking hell Eren…” one of them mumbled. He had his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl across his face as he leaned back in his chair. “You really know how to pick ‘em, don’t you?”

“Shut the hell up, Jean!” Mr. Kruger snapped (it was the angriest you’d seen him so far). He turned back to you and the anger washed off his face, replaced with concern. “You don’t remember them,” Mr. Kruger explained, “but yes, everyone here is your friend.”

You scowled and looked down into your lap. He had told you that earlier. That you didn’t remember but… you weren’t sure you believed him. How could you forget so many people all at once? It didn’t make any sense.

“They caught another filthy Eldian lover.” Your mother had said to your father over breakfast.

“Yes,” he had agreed, nose shoved in his newspaper, “they did.”

Confused by their tones, you looked up from your doll and glanced between them. “What’s an Eldian lover?” You asked.

“A vile creature,” said mother.

“Disgusting things,” added father.

“Oh….” came your soft, uncertain reply.

You looked back at your doll as you wonder why your brother was running so late to breakfast.

You blinked rapidly as your head swirled with the memory.

It felt so far off but- but you knew it happened. You remember leaving the breakfast table and walking to your older brother’s empty room. 

                         Eldian lover. Eldian lover. Eldian lover.

                                                                           ‘Vile creature.’

                                      ‘Disgusting things.’

His empty bedroom. With everything so perfectly in place.

                                                                    Flesh.

                                                            Rope-

“But I-... I can’t be friends with…” you muttered, “with Eldians.”

                                     Flesh.

                                                    Rope.

                                     Spray paint.

No, no, no. 

This wasn’t real.

You weren’t somewhere real . You were somewhere nice . Somewhere perfect, so- “If I am then- then-”

                                   Birds.

                            Bone.

                                        Red.

                                                ‘ELDIAN LOVER’

“They’ll- they'll do it to me too I’ll-” you reached up to hold your pounding head.

This wasn’t real, it was somewhere nice. Not real, nice. Nice. Nice. Nice. Nice. Ni-

“They’ll kill you too we can’t-”

“It’s okay.” Mr. Kruger’s warm hands cupped yours. He held them softly, so softly, and then he guided them back to your lap. Your vision blurred as you blinked away your tears. “It’s okay,” he repeated in a tone that left you no choice but to believe him.

          It was warm.

          It was safe.

          It was nice.

The brown cat that seemed so fond of you jumped onto the couch with a ‘mrr’. You looked down at him and scratched his head as he curled up in your lap.

One of the Eldian De- one of your friends- gained your attention as he cleared his throat. You looked up at him. He had blonde hair and angelic ocean-blue eyes that briefly make you wonder why Eldians had ever been called “devils” in the first place. “What’s the last thing you remember?” He asked.

“What do you mean?”

“The last thing you remember before you… woke up here,” he clarified.

You looked back down. Back at the cat asleep in your lap as you tried to answer his question.

                Fire.

                                                   Screaming.

                  Gasping for air.

You immediately brushed the thoughts away because this wasn’t real.

This was somewhere nice.

Somewhere that those kinds of things didn’t exist so: “I-... I fell asleep.” You lied.

It made sense. You must have fallen asleep. Why else would you be here?

No one said anything so you looked up. You met everyone’s eyes. The bright blue ones that had asked you the question. The ones of the angry man, still scowling after you called him a devil. A brunette with a ponytail. The most beautiful woman you’d ever seen. And a man who had come in with the widest smile imaginable (a smile that was now completely washed away).

None of them said a word.

And then you looked at Mr. Kruger.

“Mr, Kruger I- I think-” You didn’t want to be here anymore. You were worried that if they asked you more questions, you would wake up. “I think I need to lay down…”

Mr. Kruger lifted the cat out of your lap and placed him on the couch. “Yeah, okay.” He said as he offered you his hand and guided you out of the living room.

Eren helped you back into bed, pointing out the glass of water on the bedside table in case you needed it. You were out almost immediately.

In a move of predictability, Bitcoin hopped onto the bed. He stumbled on his three legs but quickly regained his footing before walking up to you and curling up at your side.

“Good boy, Bitsy,” Eren said as he scratched the old cat under his chin.

Bitcoin let out a soft ‘mrr’ and flopped over, exposing his belly to Eren as his loud purring began.

Eren patted his stomach before pulling away.

He was trying to make this easy for you, but it was hard.

It was hard because suddenly being thrust into a new life with no memories to match it wouldn’t be easy for anyone . But it was especially hard for you because you didn’t have what he had.

When Eren had woken up, even though he didn’t recognize you he still recognized everyone else. He had them, his friends, to ground him; but you- you just had…

All you had was Mr. Kruger.

And what a truly terrible person to have at your side.

Eren looked down at you, asleep, with your hair splayed out across the pillow. The urge to lean forward and kiss your forehead was a strong one, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. 

Even though he knew how you felt about him (and how your past self felt about him too) he wasn’t going to cross that line.

Mr. Kruger.

That was the man you loved.

For some reason, even after everything. Kruger.

“Fuck.” Eren hissed as he pushed away from you, immediately trying to distance himself from both you and his memories. 

He didn’t want to think about it.

He didn’t want to think about that.

He was different now.

It was a new life. He was starting over. And once you got your memories back he’d explain everything to you so you could start over too. So that you would stop loving the evil man who had twisted your thoughts for his own selfish gain. You would realize how messed up it had been and how he had- how Kruger- had used you.

You’d realize that and then you’d-...

You’d be happier here.

With him . Not with Kruger.

With Eren.

Just like you had been for the last six years.

Eren pulled himself away from the bed and quickly left the room. 

As he headed back to his friends, he could hear everyone speaking in hushed voices:

“..obviously a Marleyan soldier!” Jean whispered.

“No way dude!” Connie answered. “Eren would never pull something like that! That’s fucked, even for him!”

“She could have been a civilian,” Sasha offered.

“Maybe they didn’t even know each other,” Mikasa added.

“She called him Mr. Kruger .” Armin pointed out. “Reiner said that was the name Eren used undercover before the raid.”

“Maybe he just gave her an alias when she woke up.” Jean dismissed, “by the end of it, every Marleyan on the planet knew exactly who Eren Jeager was, he probably didn’t want her freaking out about a fucking war criminal being next to her!”

Eren cleared his throat as he fully entered the room, cutting off their conversation.

Immediately they all looked guilty.

“Sorry, Eren...” Armin mumbled.

Eren said nothing as he fell back onto the scratchy sofa with a huff.

Nirvana poked her head out from between his feet, blinking up at him with one eye. He reached down to scoop her up and place her in his lap. She wasn’t in the mood to be held, so she squirmed out of his grasp and hopped back onto the floor before darting off to chase an invisible force in the corner of the kitchen. 

He reached over to pet Ted instead, the fat orange and white cat was completely passed out on his favourite couch cushion, like usual.

“How much does she know?” Armin asked.

“Not much,” Eren answered. “I didn’t know what was safe to tell her. She obviously knows she’s somewhere different but… I don’t think she knows how different.”

“Do you remember her?” Mikasa asked.

Eren stilled. “...yes...”

The way he said it, so softly and packed with a lifetime of pain and regret, was enough to keep the group from asking more.

“She’ll get her memories back soon,” Armin reassured, “take it slow and eventually she’ll be just like the rest of us.”

“Right,” Eren said as his fingers twirled around Ted’s soft orange fur.

“Just give it a few days,” Armin said again. 

“Yeah,” Eren mumbled, unsure what to make of the hesitation churning in the pit of his stomach. “Sure.”

He should be happy, shouldn’t he? Happy that you wouldn’t stay this way forever. That eventually you’d regain your memories of this life and he could tell you the truth. Finally, for the first time, he could explain everything. Once he did that you’d stop loving such a horrible man and you'd love him instead.

You’d love Eren .

So he should be happy.

He should.

You’d find out who Mr. Kruger was and Eren should be happy.

“She’ll remember, Eren,” Armin reassured him for the third time with wide blue eyes full of hope and a comforting smile across his face.

Fear.

That was it.

Instead of joy, the only thing Eren felt was fear.

Chapter Text

Liberio
854

After two months, you and Mr. Kruger established a routine.

Every morning you woke him up.

You gave him his medication (slipping the green sedative into your pocket to dispose of later), checked his vitals and made your notes about his progress.

Then you helped him change so he could go down to breakfast.

He got free time for a few hours.

You made sure he ate lunch.

After that, he went to physical therapy with Dr. Rall.

He was normally in a bad mood after physical therapy so he would return to his room to read whatever he’d been given from the library. You’d commented on his books a few times because they were normally ones you’d read, but he never wanted to talk about them. Sometimes it made you wonder if he was reading them at all. Sometimes you thought he might have been staring at the words with his mind somewhere else, only returning to his body when an appropriate amount of time had passed and he should flip to the next page.

Regardless, he was there for another hour.

After that he had dinner. A shower (on his days to do so). And then it was back to his room for his last dose of medications before you locked him up for the night.

You chatted sometimes throughout the day as you made his bed or checked his blood pressure. And every day you noticed him getting a little more talkative. 

He was healing. That was why he talked more now. He was healing. 

That fact alone would make any nurse proud, which it did; but at the same time, selfishly, it also did something else…

“Do you think you’ll be discharged soon?” You asked as you packed up your small bag of equipment once you were done changing his bandages. 

His eye wasn’t healing as quickly as it should have been. You were worried about it, but it wasn’t your place to say anything, so you put it in your notes instead and left it up to the doctors to discuss.

“Dunno.” He answered casually.

“What’ll you do once you are? Do you have family in the internment zone?”

His silence said everything. 

“I don’t either.” You told him before he looked over at you. “Have family, I mean. My parents died a few years ago and my older brother he-” You froze, bandages half packed into your bag as the sight of it flashed through your mind.

The sight of your older brother’s corpse strung up against the outer wall of the internment zone.

             Rope.

                          Flesh.

              Crimson words on faded brick.

No.

You pushed the memory away, filling your head with other thoughts to replace it:

     A house.

     A warm bed.

     Homemade food.

Better.

“Anyway.” You cleared your throat as you shoved the rest of the bandages into your bag and zipped it closed. “I guess that’s why I’m so much of a workaholic!” You laughed.

“Hm.” Was Mr. Kruger’s only reply.

“Maybe that’s what you could do once you get out of here!”

“What? Be a workaholic?” His tone was dry and void of emotion, but you now knew that was how he told jokes.

“Oh ha-ha.” You answered back in a tone just as dry. “Not a workaholic,” you were back to smiling as you grabbed your bag, “but a job.”

“Yeah,” he said as he glanced out the window, “maybe…”

Two Days Later

Mr. Kruger wasn’t in his room.

Which wasn’t a bad thing. His schedule indicated that it was his free time so he was allowed to be in the open areas of the hospital. It was just that normally during said free time he still kept himself locked away. You should have been happy to see him getting fresh air for once, and you were happy, but…

You’d smuggled him a peach tart from the morning market and you wanted to make sure he got a chance to try it before you were found out.

It wasn’t your first time sneaking him food that he technically wasn’t supposed to be having. It had started with small things: candies, apples, the occasional warm tea. Each time you did it he mumbled a short “thank you” as he slowly ate whatever you’d brought him.

Whenever it happened there was a fraction of a second where you were filled with warmth.

The same warmth you felt when you thought of-

     A warm house.

     A scratchy couch.

     Homemade food.

You tried not to think too hard about why Mr. Kruger reminded you of that warmth, but he did. Despite his tired appearance, his slouched shoulders, and the monotone way in which he spoke- something about the moments you spent with him were warm. And because of that warmth they often always brought you somewhere better. Somewhere without brick walls, blood, and spray paint.

     Somewhere nice.

With the shake of your head, you pulled yourself back to reality and continued down the hall in search of Mr. Kruger.

From the stairwell on the first floor, where a large window faced down to the lower courtyard, you spotted him. A tree covered half of the bench he was sitting on, concealing the person that he was talking to. But he was talking, and it made you smile.

Mr. Kruger kept to himself most of the time, so the notion that he might have made a friend was something new.

You could see his lips moving, his beautiful eyes set against the blank expression he always wore, the way his shoulders slouched as he sat there with his crutch leaning against the bench next to him. 

You watched him. 

And maybe you spent a little bit longer than you should have doing it, but you couldn’t help yourself.

You didn’t know what he was saying, but you could imagine the gravelly tone of his voice. The tired sarcasm he snuck in on occasion. The soft sighs he’d let out as he paused in what he was saying. You didn’t know what he was saying, but you’d talked to him enough to imagine what it sounded like.

To imagine the short “thank you” that he would mumble as you passed him the peach tart.

Mr. Kruger leaned forward and stared at the ground in front of his feet as he kept talking to his mysterious friend.

Everything was warm.

And then the sound of a doctor chatting with a nurse as they walked together down the hall pulled you away from that warmth.

Birds pecking flesh from bone-

         brick walls-

                           crimson words.

You tore yourself away from the window to head down the stairs towards him.

By the time you joined Mr. Kruger, his new friend was gone. Maybe they went back to their room or they had grown bored of the conversation. As much as Mr. Kruger was your favourite patient, he made for a pretty terrible conversationalist. 

He was still staring at the ground as you approached. 

“There’s a surprise in your room~” You sang as you sat down next to him.

“What kind of surprise?”

“If I told you it would ruin the surprise part of it.”

He sighed. “You’re going to make me walk all the way up there, on one leg, without giving me a reason for why I should be doing it?”

His dry sense of humor (at least you thought it was humor, honestly maybe he was being serious, you could never really tell) made you laugh.

“Your free time’s almost over anyway,” you pointed out.

“Hm…” Mr. Kruger hummed in agreement before he reached for his crutch and used it to support himself as he stood. 

Your eyes fell to the bench. “Is this yours?” You asked, grabbing the baseball and holding it up to him.

“It was a gift.” Mr. Kruger answered as he started to walk away.

You followed after him, tossing the old ball between your hands. “Whoever got it for you must not know you very well,” you commented.

Mr. Kruger stopped walking and looked over at you with his visible eyebrow raised, wordlessly asking you to elaborate. 

“It’s just-...” you looked down at the ball again, “you’re not exactly in the right condition to play catch.”

You met his eyes.

Then you gestured to his missing leg.

For the first time ever, Mr. Kruger smiled. He let out a short huff of amusement and then kept walking.

You didn’t follow after him though.

You couldn’t.

Instead, you stared at the back of his head- completely transfixed by the way his smile lit up his face and made deep green eyes all the more breathtaking.

Warmth.

     A warm room.

     A warm bed.

     A warm life.

Nothing but warmth.

Your knees felt weak. Your arms like noodles. And for a moment, you wondered if Mr. Kruger would let you borrow his crutch.

He thanked you for the tart and ate it right away.

He didn’t smile again, but his eyes lit up enough that he may as well have.

That night, when you were trying to fall asleep you took yourself somewhere nice.

     A warm house, just big enough for two.

     Nice food.

     And a comfortable bed.

It was the same place you always went, the same place you’d been visiting your whole life. So peaceful and warm and safe.

You thought about Mr. Kruger’s eyes.

You thought about Mr. Kruger’s smile.

You thought about Mr. Kruger’s laugh.

“What is this place?” Mr. Kruger asked as he appeared in front of you. As he sat down on the scratchy couch and looked up at you with his expression blank, shoulders slouched, and a crutch propped up next to him.

You had never had guests here before.

.

.

.

The sun rose and lit up your cramped nurse’s quarters, pulling you back into the real world.

The world that didn’t have anything nice at all.

The world of rope…

…of flesh torn from bone…

…of two crimson words spray painted on the brick wall…

Two words. Words that haunted you.

     Rope.

     Brick.

     Crimson.

That wasn’t the scary part. It had never been the scary part. The scary part had always been the words.

The rope. The brick. The crimson.

None of those things bothered you anymore. They were just reality but-

Mr. Kruger’s eyes.
Mr. Kruger’s smile.
Mr. Kruger’s laugh.

Those things had somehow become reality too…

Two words against a wall.

Mr. Kruger on that couch.

Two words.

The most terrifying part of the memory.

                                And it was just two words :

…Eldian Lover…

You’d always had a problem with spacing out.

Always ended up physically in this world, but with your head completely elsewhere. Ever since you were a little kid, chatting with your older brother about somewhere nice, it’s what you’d done. You’d been called out for it before- normally by your coworkers and occasionally by your friends.

“There she goes again,” they’d say, “there she goes into her daydreams.”

No one ever asked what you were thinking about, which you were glad for because you’d have to make up a quick lie if they did. It was always “snap out of it”, “wake up”, “come back to us”. It was never: “what was it like?”, “what did you do?”, “where did you go?”

Mr. Kruger was the same.

For you, it was the blank hospital walls but for Mr. Kruger-

For Mr. Kruger, it was the window.

You were packing up your bag of supplies, ready to move onto your next patient; and as you did so you watched him.

You watched him stare out the window- not to the courtyard below, or the trees that lined it, or even to the street that ran in front of the hospital.

That’s not what he was looking at. Never what he was looking at.

Mr. Kruger’s eyes were always on something else.

They were always on the horizon.

You couldn’t blame him for it, really. He knew what was below him, what was next to him, what was around him; but the horizon-... well…

Over the horizon, there could be just about anything.

“Where do you go, Mr. Kruger?” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Where do you go?

It was the question that no one ever asked you, so you wondered what he would say in reply. Would he tell the truth? Would he lie? Would he even answer you at all?

You didn’t know how he would answer, but you still asked him anyway.

Where do you go?

At first, he didn’t look back. At first, he just kept staring. At first, you wondered if he even heard you at all. But then: “Hm?” He hummed, not moving a muscle.

You clarified: “When you stare out that window and slip away,” you asked, “where is it that you go?”

Slowly. Hesitantly. As if he wasn’t even aware that he was doing it: Mr. Kruger’s gaze moved from the window and back to you.

Your breath caught. You wanted to look away. You should look away. You should look away and stand up, grab your bag and lock the door behind you as you left.

The words came to mind before you could do anything to stop them: Eldian Lover

You didn’t get up. Instead-

     Instead, you didn’t do any of that.

Instead, you stayed in a room you shouldn’t have stayed in, looking at a man you shouldn’t look at, while your heart sped up in a way it shouldn’t.

There were a lot of “shouldn’t”s when it came to Mr. Kruger.

The biggest one being how you felt every time his eyes met yours.

But you couldn’t help it that your stomach flipped. You couldn’t help it that your cheeks turned pink. That your heart hammered against your chest and that you were suddenly flooded with warmth. You knew why your body did this- why it had always done this, despite the fact that it shouldn’t.

Two crimson words.

     Eldian lover.

     Eldian lover.

     Eldian lo-

No.

     A warm home.

     A soft touch.

     A homemade meal on a scratchy couch.

Better.

Mr. Kruger was still looking at you. Still staring with a reply to your question hanging off his barely parted lips.

Where do you go, Mr. Kruger?

You hoped he would answer you. You hoped he would tell you. You hoped you’d learn all about his special place in the horizon.

But instead, he said something else.

Instead, he became the first person to ever ask you:

“...where do you?”

Chapter Text

A Warm Living Room

“Mr. Kruger?”

“Um- …yeah.”

You scowled.

Mr. Kruger looked over at you. “What?” he asked.

“Why do you do that?”

“Why do I do what?”

“Get uncomfortable when I say your name,” you pointed out.

“It’s-” his cheeks flushed pink. You weren’t used to them doing that. 

In the real world they didn’t, in the real world Mr. Kruger looked at you with his expression blank, his face pale, a bandage wrapped around his head and obstructing part of the view.

But here, in this world you had found yourself trapped in, things were different.

Mr. Kruger was different.

And he looked at you with his face flushed a healthy pink as a million golden stars danced across the blues and greens of his eyes.

“Is it because that’s not your name here?” you asked when he still hadn't finished his sentence. “I can call you by your other name, if you want.”

He shifted uncomfortably on the couch next to you and you couldn’t help but want to tease him, just a bit. He was so easy to tease here and it was fun. So you leaned closer.

He froze as your hand rested against his arm. As your chest brushed his shoulder. As your lips tickled the shell of his ear when you whispered:

“Eren.”

His cheeks burned an even deeper red. It made you think about the differences between this place and reality. 

Everything was so much quieter here. The city was loud, of course, but there was a peace to it. A peace that you knew you would never find in the real world. In Liberio. 

The food here was better.  With more flavor and more of it in general, because nothing was rationed.

There was no war. No pain. No suffering. And no red spray paint against brick walls.

And then there was Mr. Kruger.

Eren.

He looked the same (although he has both eyes and legs). With the same brown hair (although here it was cut shorter and not hanging down) and the same facial features (although his skin was less rough, with fewer scars and no tired bags under his eyes). He was the same height. Basic build. And had the same blue-green eyes that revealed golden flecks of stars when the light hit them just right. But…

But Mr. Kruger smiled here. He smiled and he laughed and he played with his cats while he told you about his friends. 

He was alive in Liberio in the sense that he was breathing, eating, moving around and going through the motions of existence. But here, in this beautiful vivid peaceful place, here Mr. Kruger was able to live .

And there was a difference, you supposed. A difference between living and being alive .

Maybe that was what made them different people, despite all of their similarities.

Mr. Kruger was living.

But Eren was alive.

There was something depressingly poetic about the whole thing, though you didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about it right now.

“Mr. Kruger,” you said and he visibly relaxed at the familiarity of it. You followed it up with: “I’m hungry.” 

Mr. Kruger shot off the couch and darted into the kitchen without another word.

You smiled to yourself as you watched it, reminded of another difference between this beautiful peaceful world and reality.

He might look like him, sort of, but at the end of the day Eren wasn’t Mr. Kruger at all.

Mr. Kruger had no idea how to cook.

???

There’s a small living space.

Some people might hear that and immediately imagine a cottage. A cottage with vines of ivy growing up the red brick walls. A creek running alongside it. Wildflowers and baby bunnies and birds singing every morning with a beautiful melody that echoes through the woods around it; but that’s not what you mean at all. It’s not a cottage. It’s… It’s not even a house. And there certainly aren’t any woods.

It’s a small living space.

A small living space right in the heart of a bustling city.

You like the city. The chaotic business. The fact that you could step outside at any moment and be surrounded by people. Sure, it was a little dirty. Yeah, there was always noise outside your window. But you like that.

The loudness- the dirtiness- the people. It's life.

And that’s why you like it.

It’s a city. 

And it’s alive.

So no, contrary to popular belief, it’s not a small cottage in the middle of the woods. Actually, you’d hate to live in a small cottage in the middle of the woods.

There would be too many bugs.

Despite the hustle and bustle outside, the inside of the warm-living-space-in-the-middle-of-the-city is cozy.

The furniture is crammed together because there’s only one bedroom which doesn’t leave enough space for all of your things. You’ve had to forgo a dining room table to make space for a (slightly scratchy but nevertheless comfy) couch.

There are a lot of plants.

Some of them are dying because even though you try your best to keep them alive, at the end of the day you’ll always have a black thumb. But that’s okay. The ones that die get replaced with new ones and if those die they’re replaced again. The cycle continues until you eventually find a plant that’s hardy enough to constantly flip back and forth between living in a desert and being drowned. 

There are four cats asleep on the-

“Four?” Mr. Kruger interrupted with a short, breathy laugh.

“I-” Your cheeks burned out of embarrassment, illuminated by the glow of the setting sun that seeped through the hospital window. “Yes,” you answered firmly, “four.”

“That’s a lot of cats.”

“Well, I-... I like cats.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you scowled. “They’re cute. And they’re not messy like other pets so that’s why I want four.”

Mr. Kruger let out another short huff of amusement as the corners of his lips tugged into a soft smile. You were transfixed for a moment before he broke you out of your trance when he leaned against the wall behind him. You did the same.

You looked out at his hospital room, your legs spread across his bed.

You knew you shouldn’t have been sitting there.

It was too close but-

But you also knew that no one was going to be checking on Mr. Kruger again until morning since you were the one that was locking up.

No one would come in, so you didn’t move.

And neither did he.

“What are the cats doing then?” Mr. Kruger asked as his eyes slid closed.

It was the second question Mr. Kruger had asked you. The first one being:

‘Where do you?’

It's how he'd answered, just minutes ago, when you had asked him about the place he wandered off to when he looked at the horizon.

‘Where do you?’

So you'd told him. You'd told him all about it. 

“Um…” Your back pressed against the wall behind you as you continued to stare out into the bleak hospital room. “There’s… There’s a little one that’s playing.”

“Hm…”

You begin imagining out loud again: “She’s bouncing back and forth in front of one of the others, but he’s old so he paws her to leave him alone.”

“Does it work?”

“No,” you smiled. “She’s a bit of a brat.”

You kept going. You described everything in vivid detail. From the colour of the curtains to the age of the old rug on the floor and the story of how you got it, second hand, from an old man who claimed it was cursed.

You told him every single minuscule detail about the place you’d created in your head.

The nice place.

The place you escape to, constantly, because escaping to somewhere nice like there was so much better than living somewhere terrible like here .

You’d never told anyone about this place. This nice place . 

Not your friends, not your parents, not Myra. No one.

But you told Mr. Kruger. For some reason, it was so easy to tell Mr. Kruger. 

You supposed it was because he got it. He understood what it was like to slip away to somewhere else. To get stuck in his head with wonderful thoughts of somewhere better.

You still didn’t know about the place he went, but you hoped one day, maybe, he’d tell you about it.

That he’d tell you every minuscule detail about his somewhere nice that he saw when he looked out his window and beyond the horizon. 

“When I fall asleep at night the city is quiet,” you concluded as your eyes fluttered open. “But I guess that’s a little unrealistic to expect from a busy ci-”

You cut yourself off.

Mr. Kruger's eyes were still closed, just like they had been earlier.

But from the steady rising and falling of his chest. From the way his breaths slipped in and out of his parted lips. From the way the tension on his face was completely gone- you knew he was asleep.

Mr. Kruger didn’t normally emote much, but when he was sleeping his expression was different.

When he was awake, it was neutral.

When he was asleep he was-

…when he was asleep he was at peace.

Maybe it was because he was there. In that place beyond the horizon. The place he went off to that was warm.

His hand rested against the bed next to yours. There were a few inches of space between the two of you and the realization of this space left you feeling warm.

Like Mr. Kruger often did.

Warm.

Slowly, ever so slowly, you slid your hand across the sheets.

You stopped just before you could touch him. With your fingers only a hair’s width away, you could feel the heat radiating off the back of his hand. You were so close, but still not touching.

You wished you could though.

You wished you could touch him.

But you couldn't. Not here, anyway. Never here.

   Rope.

                      Flesh.

                                  Eldian Lover.

                               Eldian Lover.

                                 Eldian Lover.

Not here.

But-

     A warm living space in the heart of a bustling city.

     Life in the streets below.

     Warm food. Soft bed. Scratchy couch.

There.

There was where it could happen.

Tucked away in your mind where no one else would ever be able to find it. It was somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Somewhere safe.

Somewhere nice.

You imagined what it would feel like to hold his hand. To cross the forbidden space between the two of you and curl your fingers against his. 

You could feel it. His calloused fingers, chipped nails, the scars against his palms.

It wasn’t happening, but you could still feel it.

As you imagined it, as you felt it, his hands became soft…

The hospital bed below you faded into that scratchy couch and the empty white walls that surround you were now covered in framed photographs of the two of you. A three legged cat hopped onto your lap, purring loudly as it made itself comfortable.

You didn’t need to reach out to touch him.

Your fingers twitched against the hospital sheets.

But you didn’t need to reach out to hold Mr. Kruger’s hand…

…because somewhere nice
you’d already done it.

3 days later

“I made you a cake, obviously,” you answered Mr. Kruger as you began to rebandage his head.

“What kind of cake?” he asked.

“Hmm… strawberry.”

He grimaced.

“Chocolate?”

He shrugged.

You stopped bandaging. “You like vanilla?”

“I don’t like flavors that are too strong.”

You scoffed.

“Hey,” he protested, “it’s my birthday.”

You smiled as you continued to bandage his head. “Alright fine, I made vanilla then,” you said as you expertly wrap and tuck the bandages, continuing to ramble about the made-up birthday party you would throw him in your head. Describing it in vivid detail, as if it was real. 

As if it was in front of you instead of the place in your head.

You imagine Mr. Kruger’s hand brushing against the back of yours as you hand him a slice of cake.

But you didn't tell Mr. Kruger about that.

2 days later

“I would wear… a blue dress. Oh! And one of those big floppy hats to keep the sun out of my face!”

You were helping him cross the courtyard. He was sore from an intense session of physical therapy with Dr. Rall and needed more than just his crutch to get around.

Mr. Kruger grunted as you lowered him to his favourite bench where he said he was meeting a friend. 

“Do you sunburn easily?” he asked.

“Yes,” you answered, “all the time.”

He let out a short huff of amusement as his eyes trailed your face. “I bet you skip tan and go right to red.”

Your cheeks burned as he said it.

In your head, you were potting hanging baskets of pretty red flowers on the balcony. In your head, it was more than just his eyes that trailed your cheeks. In your head, his fingers brushed against them too.

Again, you didn’t tell Mr. Kruger about that.

1 week later

“Chamomile.” Mr. Kruger said softly as you handed him his paper cup and his three pills. You had already slipped the green one into your pocket.

You blinked away the tears that had started to well up in your eyes.

“That’s the kind of tea I’d bring you.” Mr. Kruger said. “It’s relaxing.”

You always got this way on the anniversary of his death. You weren’t supposed to be sad though. Your brother had been a traitor, so you were supposed to be happy he was dead.

But you weren’t.

You took in a shaky breath. “Would you… Would you sit with me while I drink it?”

“Yes.” Mr. Kruger took his medicine.

You imagined the couch. The tea.

You imagine letting your head fall to his shoulder and your eyes slipping closed as Mr. Kruger described the chipped cup he’d hand you, and the cat that would be asleep in your lap.

Once you were finished with your tea, he’d take the empty cup from you. He’d place it on the table and then wrap his arms around you so you could tuck yourself against his chest. He would rub your back as you cried. As he let you cry. 

When you were done, he’d kiss the top of your head while you drifted off to sleep.

Like usual, you don’t tell Mr. Kruger about the end.

At some point later

The house grew more vivid. More detailed. More wonderful and into a more perfect escape with little pieces of you and little pieces of Mr. Kruger as well.

Paintings. Souvenirs. A collection of different mugs and teacups because you couldn’t help constantly buying new ones.

It became more than just your home.

Your nice place.

It became his too.

“What would you do?” Mr. Kruger asked. 

It was well into the evening and several hours past the end of your shift. You should have gone home ages ago, but instead you were sitting in his hospital bed next to him- so close that you could feel the heat radiating off his shoulder.

But you weren’t touching.

Never touching.

The few centimeters between the two of you were as close as you’ll be able to get in reality.

Thankfully, you weren’t in reality right now. You were swept up in the fantasy of your small, safe home. 

You were somewhere nice. 

“I would read a book on the couch,” you answered. “What would you do?”

“Sit next to you,” he said. “The cats won't leave me alone.”

You laughed. “It’s because you ignore them. Cats like that, you know. They like it when you play hard to get.”

“Maybe I should play harder.” 

“It’ll only make them want you more.”

The corners of his lips just barely lifted into a smile.

A silence passed over the two of you as you sank into the moment. You were staring at the wall across from you, but the hospital room wasn’t what surrounded you.

Not really.

What surrounded you was framed photos. Plants. A warm couch and the smell of a homemade dinner wafting in from the kitchen. There were people in the streets below. People at peace, because there wasn’t any war. Not here. There wasn’t war. There wasn’t pain. There wasn’t any suffering at all.

There were only nice things.

Nothing else was allowed.

It was just you and Mr. Kruger.

You leaned against him.

But, like usual, you didn’t-...

You took a breath.

You could imagine doing it, but you’d never told him about it like you had told him about everything else. But what if you did? Just this once. What if you…

“I’d move closer to you...” you told him, just above a whisper, “...so our arms could touch.”

You could imagine it so perfectly. 

The brush of his arm against yours.  

If you leaned over, even just slightly, you’d feel it. But that was reality.

And you weren’t in reality right now. You were somewhere nice.

You took a short breath: “And I’d-”

“I’d hold your hand.” Mr. Kruger cut you off, “...I bet it’s soft.”

You held your own hand, fingers twitching against your lap. They curled together and you imagined the sensation of his hand replacing one of yours. 

     Soft.

“I-...” you stuttered, “...yours is too…”

     It’s soft.

Not just his hand, but everything else. 

The house. The couch. The life. The people on the street below. The cat in your lap. Mr. Kruger sitting beside you.

It’s soft. It’s warm. It’s comfortable. It’s perfect. The most wonderful escape. The most amazing fantasy. You wished it was real, you really did, but at the same time you hoped somewhere like that never slipped into reality because you knew if it did it would be ruined. 

Reality was thick ropes. Flesh. Bone. Red words against brick walls. Reality took the tiniest spark of something pure, of something good , and turned it into a nightmare.

Somewhere nice couldn’t possibly be real. That warm, soft, comfortable, perfect place would be tainted if it was.

So you didn’t want it to be real. Not at all. You never want it to be real. If it was real it wouldn’t be perfect.

If it was real, you could never-

“...I’d kiss you...”

You can see it so vividly, just like the couch and the food and the chipped tea cups.

You see Mr. Kruger right next to you. Holding your hand. You see yourself pull back, just enough that you can meet his blue-green eyes, before your own eyes flick down, just for one second, to his lips.

When you glance up he looks different.

His bandages are gone and he’s got both of his eyes and legs. His brown hair is cut shorter and no longer hanging down. His skin is less rough, with fewer scars and no tired bags under his eyes. He’s the same. He’s the same height. Basic build. And has the same blue-green eyes that reveal golden flecks of stars when the light hits them just right. But…

He's smiling.

He's smiling and laughing and talking to you so much faster and louder than he normally does he-

He's alive.

And there was a difference, you suddenly realize, a difference between living and being alive.

Without a second thought, you lean forward.

You kiss him, cutting off whatever he had been rambling about in favour of sinking into the feeling of his warm lips against yours.

Warm.

Just like the rest of that wonderful place.

You’d spent the last few weeks describing a lot of your fantasies to Mr. Kruger, but there were still things you kept to yourself. Stolen glances. Forbidden thoughts. Feelings that you couldn’t admit to, not even in the fantasy.

But then you’d gone and said it:

‘I’d kiss you.’ You had told him, only a fraction of a second ago without taking a moment to think it over. 

But you weren’t given a moment to think it over, not really, because the image of it happening flashed through your mind so quickly, and in that time, Mr. Kruger made his reply.

He took a short breath. His body completely motionless next to you.

He was looking out the window, gaze firmly set on the horizon and he whispered: “...I’d kiss you too…”

He lifts a hand to cup your cheek and kisses you back, pulling you against him on the couch.

     The scratchy couch.

     The warm world.

     Somewhere nice.

   The perfect fantasy where you’ll never live -
   but for once in your life you could be alive.

The next day was your day off.

Your body spent it in bed, but your head spent it somewhere else.

Somewhere with no flesh.

No bone.

No spray paint against stone walls.

Somewhere that there was just you. Your home. Your cats.

…and Mr. Kruger.

It was a beautiful place, your favourite place; but it could never be real.

Nice places like that didn’t exist.

If they did they would be ruined.

If they did they would be tainted.

     Somewhere nice didn’t exist.

And you were so thankful that it never ever would.

Chapter Text

A Warm Living Room

Jean resented the word “babysitting”.

Connie said: “I mean that’s basically what it is though, right?”

And Sasha- well… actually Sasha didn’t really say much of anything. Her face was too full of french fries when Eren asked them to do it.

Regardless of their feelings on the matter, after Eren called them to cash in a favor they all end up there:

Alone. In your apartment. With only you because Eren was running out of excuses to give his boss and he was going to get his ass fired if he called in sick one more time.

“Don’t stress too much about it,” Armin had told him on the phone the night before. “If anything, getting back into your old routine might help her remember things.”

“Yeah but… I still feel weird leaving her alone. What if something happens?”

There was a muffled sound from the other side of the phone before Armin was back: “Jean said he could come over and keep an eye on her.”

Eren could barely make out Jean’s defiant: “I DID NOT !” from the other end of the phone.

“Oh, and he just told me Connie and Sasha could help too!” Armin added.

Jean awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. “I feel like a phone call would have worked fine…” he mumbled. Jean knew you were his friend, a version of you anyway, but that version was tucked away in your subconscious with the current version leaving a lot to be desired.

Especially with how you were staring at him.

“What?” Jean’s glare caused you to jump before looking back to your lap.

‘Good riddance,’ he thought as a proud smirk spread across his face.

“Play nice,” Sasha ordered, slapping him on the back of the head as she crawled over the back of the couch to join the two of you in the living room. “Soooooo…” she started.“What do you like to do for fun?”

“I like to read,” you answered.

Connie snorted. “Fuckin’ nerd,” he mumbled.

Your head tilted curiously to the side as you looked at him. Obvious confusion was plastered across your face.

Connie was only half paying attention to what was going on, slumped in the loveseat and more absorbed in his phone game than anything. At least, until he realized what he had said and his eyebrows rose. He immediately sat up straight, his phone falling to his lap. “Sorry! Normally you’d- uh call me a dumbass back or- um-...”

Your eyebrows tightened together. “Mr. Kruger said we were friends.”

“We are friends.”

“But… I’m mean to you?”

“That’s-... oh boy…” Connie sighed. “You really are different.”

You scowled into your lap. “...everyone keeps saying that…” 

“ ‘s not a bad thing that you’re normally different,” Jean mumbled. “The old you seems kinda...” he vaguely waved his hand as if you were supposed to know what he was saying.

And you supposed you did: “Marleyan?” you finished for him.

“Woah there!” Sasha quickly jumped in. “You being Marleyan doesn’t have anything to do with it! My fiancé is Marleyan and I’m Eldian or at least- we used to be. Technically Marley and Eldia don’t really exist here but-”

“You’re engaged to a Marleyan!?” you exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise.

“Uh-... yeah,” Sasha answered, “have been for a while. We’re doing that whole ‘long-term engagement’ thing.”

“And you tell people that?”

“I mean I do, ” Sasha said. “Nico’s kinda embarrassed about the fact that the economy is in shambles and it’ll be a while before we can afford a wed-”

“No not about that! ” you interrupted, “about… about you being in love!”

“Huh?” Sasha seemed confused. “Oh- yeah! Yeah, we tell everyone.”

“It’s kinda gross, actually,” Connie said.

“You’re just jealous,” Sasha stuck out her tongue.

“Ew gross! If anything I feel sorry for Niccolo having to kiss your burger breath all the time.”

“Hmm… bold of you to assume he doesn’t have a food kink.”

Connie threw his head back with a loud laugh. “Oh my god he totally has a food kink!” he clutched his stomach through his laughter, almost falling out of his chair as he did so. “Sash, you're nasty! Is he into that feeder thing too!?”

“Even if he was I-”

“Guys please shut up,” Jean cut them off. “You’re traumatizing her.”

Connie and Sasha looked over at you. You’d gotten quiet (which would have been weird under normal circumstances, but they were starting to realize that silence was pretty typical for your old self). 

“No I-” you stuttered, “sorry. I was just… thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” Sasha asked. 

“I-” your cheeks flushed pink. “Wh- Where I’m from an Eldian and Marlyan can’t-... a-and even if they did they would… well…”

“We know,” Jean told you. For the first time, there was an undertone of concern in his voice. Like a part of him cared about you. Or at least some version of you. 

Of course, that concern was quickly washed away as your eyes met his and he went back to scowling.

You looked back at Sasha and Connie (they were a lot nicer). “Well if you know that then maybe you also know that I-... I um…” Your cheeks turned a darker shade of pink. “I’ve never said it out loud before but-...”

You squirmed against your seat, suddenly unsure if you should keep your hands in your lap. No, the armrests! No wait next to you! No, that looked awkward!! 

“I think she’s gonna hurt herself,” Connie whispered to Sasha.

“Yeah, she looks like she’s about to have an aneurism,” Sasha mumbled back just in time for you to blurt it out:

“I-I’m in love with Mr. Kruger!!”

Your cheeks burned deep crimson as you clenched your hands in your lap, tightly gripping your skirt while your shoulders trembled. 

You couldn’t believe you had just admitted it! You’d said it, out loud, to someone that wasn’t him!! This place was so amazing, if you were allowed to admit that then you really, truly never wanted to leave!

Jean sighed. “Yeah everyone fucking knows that.”

Your heart leapt into your throat. “E-Even Mr. Kruger!?”

“Oh my god...” Jean rubbed his hands over his face with a loud groan. “Yes. Mr. Kruger,” he said in a mocking tone, “is very very aware that you’re hot for him.”

“A-And… how does he um-... how does he feel about… me?”

Jean groaned again as he leaned back in his chair.

You turned your attention to Sasha and Connie instead, eyes begging them for reassurance. 

Instead of offering you any, they both held back their laughter:

“...this is so fucking priceless...” Connie snickered.

“...wish I had this on camera…” Sasha agreed.

You scowled as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I don’t get what’s so funny about someone having feelings for another person! No one was laughing at you when you were talking about your- your- your feeder kink fiancé!!!”

Whatever that meant (and honestly you had no idea) it must have been pretty funny because Connie started laughing so hard that he fell out of his chair. Sasha clutched her stomach yelling “My abs! My abs stop! They hurt!!” Even Jean, who seemed to hate your guts, let out a loud bark of a laugh. 

You still weren’t sure what you said, but you knew their reactions.

Part of you did, anyway.

And that same part encouraged you to join in on their, strangely familiar, laughter.

So you did.

You laughed with them. You laughed with your friends over a joke you didn’t really understand.

You’d never laughed like that before.

An Office Downtown

Eren was pulled from his computer screen daze as Armin placed a coffee on his desk.

“You’ve been glaring at your computer all day,” his best friend pointed out.

“Sorry,” Eren sighed as he leaned back in his chair. “Just catching up on emails. Buncha bullshit piled up.”

“Then how about you actually take your lunch today and give yourself a break?” Armin asked. Eren was notorious for getting sucked into something and forgetting to eat, which is why he’d spent the entire morning in complete silence glued to his computer. Thankfully, working at the same company as his best friend meant that he normally had someone looking out for him.

Eren glanced back at his monitor and a half-written email stared back at him. Then he looked down at the coffee Armin had brought over.

He reached for it. “A break sounds good.”

They ended up circling the small park next to their office building, enjoying the sunshine while it lasted before sitting down by the fountain in the middle of the park where they usually ate lunch together (on the days Eren remembered to do so, of course). 

It didn’t take Armin long to get to the elephant in the room:

“Still no luck getting her to remember?” he asked.

Eren sighed, knowing that this question was coming. “Nothing,” he answered, immediately running his fingers through his hair. “It’s been a week and she hasn’t remembered a single thing. What if she never does? What do we do if she’s just stuck like this and-”

“Eren, don’t worry about it,” Armin cut him off, “sometimes it takes a little longer.”

“But a full week?”

“Yeah. That’s not unheard of,” Armin shrugged.

Eren let out a short sigh as he picked at the lid of his empty coffee cup. The past week had been… rough, to say the least.

He’d kept trying to maintain an air of normalcy, but that was growing increasingly more difficult every time you looked up at him in wide-eyed amazement over something in the modern world, or smiled at him like he’d hung the fucking moon, or every single time you called him Mr. Kruger .

It was never Eren.

Always Mr. Kruger.

And every time you said it, it felt like a punch in the gut.

“Eren?” Armin asked, sensing his best friend’s apprehension. 

“I just-” Eren dropped his hands with a sign. “I just miss her so fucking much,” he said, “she’s right next to me but it’s not her and I-...” he drifted off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

“I know, Eren. We all get it. It’s hard waiting for things to go back to the way they were.”

Eren scoffed. “It’s not going to though.”

“Of course it will.”

Eren didn’t reply. Instead, he stared down at his coffee cup and ran his thumb against the light brown stain on the white lid.

“This is how it always happens,” Armin said. “Every time someone wakes up it’s hard for a few days, but once their minds catch up with them things have a way of working out.”

“ ‘Working out’ and going ‘back to the way it was’ are two different things,” Eren pointed out.

“I-- yeah,” Armin sighed, “you’re right, but sometimes ‘working out’ is better. Don’t you think?” 

Eren’s hold on his cup tightened, causing the thin paper to crinkle as the lid almost popped off.

Armin continued: “Remembering everything that happened back then made all of us cherish this life so much more. All the bad stuff from the past doesn’t-”

“Don’t you dare tell me it doesn’t matter, Armin!” Eren exclaimed as the lid to his coffee popped off and fell to the pavement below them.

Armin remained silent at his friend’s outburst.

“I’m sorry but it just-- it can’t not matter,” Eren said. “Just because we’ve been given a chance to try again doesn’t mean that what we did before doesn’t count for anything!”

A silence hung over them again.

Eren stared down at his empty cup. He noted how light it felt, the way it crinkled against his hold. The way it felt to dig his nails into the white paper.

A paper cup with coffee stains.

A paper cup with three pills.
The green one discreetly slipped into a pocket before anyone could notice.

Armin captured Eren’s attention with the soft calling of his name:

“Eren?”

Eren was scared to look up, so he didn't.

“Who was she?” Armin asked.

It was the question Eren had been avoiding. The same question he couldn’t answer. Not to the rest of his friends. Not to Armin.

Not to you.

“Whatever happened to the two of you in your first lives,” Armin told him, “no matter how- no matter how terrible it was, this is our chance to try again. Everyone who’s woken up understands that.” Armin reached out to place his hand on Eren’s, giving it a soft squeeze. “...and she will too.”

Eren pulled away. He tossed the coffee cup into the trash can and shoved his hands into his pockets.

He didn't want Armin to feel the way they trembled.

The way they shook.

The way his fingers twitched with nervous hesitation as Armin’s words repeated in his head.

But more importantly, he didn't want to look at them for himself.

At his hands.

Eren wanted to cut them clean off, even now that he couldn’t regenerate. Especially now that he couldn’t regenerate.

He wanted to cut them off and make them pay for their crimes.

A Warm Living Room

Pandemonium had broken out in the time Eren had been gone, and that fact became immediately obvious as he stepped back into his apartment.

“Connie if you don't fucking back me up here I'm going to chop your balls off in your sleep!!!” 

“Fuck you, Jean! What do you want me to do!? It's completely chance!”

“It is not chance!! It depends on when you push the button!”

“NO IT DOES FUCKING NOT!!”

“Okay then push it now! Push it right fucking now I dare you! You won't do it because it's not completely cha-”

“Oh look I won!” The third voice wasn't Connie, Jean, or even Sasha.

The third voice was you.

Everyone burst out into excited screams:

“HOLY SHIT!!! HOW DID THAT JUST HAPPEN!!” Sasha exclaimed. 

“IT'S NOT CHANCE I TOLD YOU IT'S NOT FUCKING CHANCE!!!” Jean shouted, immediately followed by Connie’s loud:

“FUCK MY ASS OFF DUDE HOW ARE YOU STILL THE MARIO PARTY CHAMPION!?!?”

Eren tucked his shoes into the closet and Bitcoin stumbled out of the living room. He hobbled over to his dad and rubbed against Eren's leg before he began loudly meowing for his dinner. Eren leaned down to pick him up and walked into the living room, towards the commotion.

“Guys we have neighbours you know,” he sighed, “can you please keep it down?”

Everyone looked over at him as he entered the room. 

Jean and Sasha were on the couch as Connie took up the loveseat. Despite how there was more than enough room for you to sit on the couch too, you were in front of the coffee table, much too close to the TV for it to be doing anything good to your eyes.

You clutched your GameCube controller in one hand as you smiled at him. “Look Mr. Kruger, I won!” You told him, pointing at the TV where Princess Daisy stood in front of the flashing lights and banner that declared:

You are the DREAM STAR!!

Apparently god given Mario Party 5 skills trumped even reincarnation.

Who knew?

Eren chuckled with a smile. “Good job ba-” he stopped himself before the pet name came out. “Good uh-” he cleared his throat, “good job.”

You smiled.

His stomach flipped, just like it always did.

A Cozy Bedroom

“Connie and Sasha told me something,” you told Mr. Kruger that night as you crawled into bed.

Mr. Kruger always came to make sure you were all set before falling asleep. He’d turn the lights off for you, check that the cats were comfortable (although the old brown one was the only one that would actually stay in the bedroom overnight) and then he’d tell you goodnight before leaving.

It was the exact opposite of the real world, but given the way everything else in this somewhere nice was the opposite, you figured it made sense. 

“What did they tell you?” Mr. Kruger asked, placing a glass of water on your bedside table, just like he did every night.

“They said um-...” You looked down at your hands, curling the blanket in your lap against your fingers. “They said that Eldians and Marleyans didn’t really exist here.”

“They don’t,” Mr. Kruger confirmed as he sat down on the end of the bed.

“Sasha also told me that she has a fiancé who’s Marleyan.”

“She does.”

Eren watched you stare down at your lap as you avoided his eyes. He noticed your cheeks turn pink in a way he’d never seen on this version of you. 

The old you.

The old you had two modes, and he’d gotten familiar with them after the months he spent with you in Liberio. You were either spaced out, completely gone as your body moved in robot mode to complete whatever task needed to be done, or you were fake.

Smiling.

Cheery.

Putting up a performance that, in the past, made his blood boil to watch.

Right now though- with your slightly flushed cheeks, the subtle smile that slowly spread across your face, and the way you eventually looked up at him- right now you looked like the version he was used to.

The version he met here. The version he fell in love with without any memory of what had happened in the past.

Who he’d been in the past.

“Is that allowed here then?” you asked, making Eren’s heart feel like it might beat right out of his chest.

Eren cleared his throat. “I--Is what allowed here?”

Your reply came out after a moment of hesitation. Softly, as if you were nervous about how he would answer: “Are an Eldian and Marleyan allowed to be together…?”

Suddenly, the two of you were in dangerous territory.

Suddenly the same feeling of impending doom washed over Eren, just like it had when Armin asked: ‘who was she?’

It was all he could see. It was all he could feel-

     The grinding of stone.

     Fire.

     Screaming.

     The roar of his titan.

     The zipping of lines.

     And a body lifeless against the battered streets.

At some point, he’d sat down on the bed.

At some point, you’d leaned closer.

At some point, you’d looked back down at your lap. Down at your hands before you took a short breath.

Before your hand slid across the covers and hesitated, just a fraction of a centimetre from his.

It was all so familiar but so different at the same time.

The way you paused. The way the bed dipped between the two of you. The way Eren could feel the warmth radiating from your fingers, even though they weren’t touching his.

But the sheets below you were dark green, not white, and the walls were covered in framed photos, not completely bare.

So it was different, and he tried so hard to focus on how it was different but---

But it all felt so familiar. 

So familiar that he got lost in it for a moment. So familiar that when your hand finally moved closer to his, brushing so gently against his pinky finger- Eren jumped.

“Is…” you whispered, “...is this allowed?”

Your finger brushed against his, just your finger, so hesitantly that you could easily have pretended it hadn't happened if you wanted to.

But Eren didn’t want to pretend it hadn’t happened. The moment you touched him finally actually touched him, lit a fire in the pit of his stomach as his heart pounded.

“It’s-- It’s allowed…” he slowly answered, so softly that if there had been any other noise in the room at all you might have missed it.

His finger hooked against yours, body moving completely on its own as if it was instinct.

And it was.

At this point, it was instinct.

Eren could hear his heart beating in his ears at the simple sensation of your finger pressed against his. He’d touched you so many times (you’d been dating for six years, so obviously he had) but it had never felt like this.

It had never felt so intense…

He didn't know at what point your fingers had curled together.

He had no idea how long it took until he looked over at you.

And he surely couldn't recall when you'd looked back at him, but all of a sudden you had.

All of a sudden the two of you were sitting there in that bed with that wall and your hand in his.

And it was just like Liberio.

“Don't go tonight,” he'd said as his fingers curled, for the first time, around yours. You were touching him. Not to change a bandage, or give him his medicine, or check his heart rate. You were touching him all on your own for the first time.

“Why wouldn't I go to the festival?” You laughed with a smile. A smile so wide and genuine that Eren wanted to bottle it up and keep it forever. “It sounds fun.”

“Please,” Eren begged. Before he could stop himself, he'd lifted his hand to cup your cheek.

He was touching you. He was touching you and not because you were changing his shirt, or passing him a tart, or helping him hobble across his hospital room. He was touching you all on his own.

His thumb brushed against your cheek. Your warm cheek, as the image of your bloody body, discarded against the cobblestone, flashed through his mind.

No. No no no no no please no.

“Mr. Kruger I-”

You were just as close right now as you had been then. Looking up at him with the same eyes, the warmth of your palm against him in the same way.

Except it wasn't the same, right? It was different now.

He was different now. He was Eren, not Mr. Kruger.

In a different life under different circumstances with a different path in front of him.

You were safe here, finally, where there wasn’t fire or rubble or cobblestone. Here, where nothing bad could happen to you.

Eren's hand cupped your cheek and the two of you moved closer. It was warmer here. It was better.

He was better. He was Eren, not Mr. Kruger.

“Is… Is this allowed...” your breath ghosted across his lips as you asked it again.

Eren's eyes slid closed as he nodded. He leaned in, craving your kiss so badly that it almost hur-

“...Mr. Kruger?” 

Until you finished your sentence and Eren’s world completely shattered. 

Mr. Kruger.

Right.

That’s who he was to you right now. He wasn’t Eren, he was Mr. Kruger.

“She’ll do it.”

“Oh good, your dog can do more than just fetch.”

“She's distracting you, Eren.”

“No, she's not.”

“Then kill her.”

Eren’s palms grew damp with nervous sweat. His stomach turned. His heartbeat rang in his ears, this time for a different reason entirely.

Mr. Kruger

Mr. Kruger

Mr. Kruger

That’s who he was to you.

Mr. Kruger

Eren pulled away from you, trying not to watch your heartbroken expression as he pushed out of bed. “H-Have a good night,” he stuttered before he left the room.

He didn’t turn back to look at you. He couldn’t.

He was worried that if he did, all he’d see would be-

   Fire and screaming.

   The roar of his titan.

   The zipping of lines.

   And a body- 

        your body

            -lifeless against the battered streets.

Eren didn’t want to look back because if he did, he’d remember who he was to you.

Mr. Kruger

The man who had manipulated you into loving him.

Libero
854

“Good morning Mr. Kruger!” Three days into his undercover mission and it had quickly become one of his least favourite sounds. 

Eren groaned as he sat up.

     Headache.

     Pills.

     Wate-

“I snuck you an extra apple,” you told him with a wide smile, holding up the crisp red fruit just for him. He wanted to deny it and tell you he didn’t need your pity, but his rumbling stomach betrayed him and he reached for the apple anyway.

You laughed. “Don’t tell anyone or they’ll accuse me of picking favourites.”

Juice dribbled down his chin as he bit into the apple.

He looked over at you as he chewed.

It was a good apple.

     Crisp.

     Fresh.

     Sweet.

It was a good apple.

And the way your eyes light up- with so much hope and joy, like a dog waiting to be praised- it was-

It was pathetic.

Pathetic how eager you were to please.

…he could use that…