Eren's POV:

After (Y/N) had royally kicked my ass in front of Shadis, we were excused early. I was planning on just walking home with my bleeding hand— after all, it wasn't too unbearable, but she was persistent. As an apology, (Y/N) bought me a Slurpee and we walked to the park so she could fix my hand "properly." As if I couldn't do it any better myself, I thought.

We walked in silence for most of the way. That seemed to be a common theme between the two of us lately. I didn't mind. Sometimes the silence said more than words. I saw her shiver beside me, and thought for a moment to give her my sweatshirt. I decided against it; it was probably too soon.

When we arrived at the little bench that faced (Y/N)'s favorite tree, I remembered the last time I was here with her:

I decided to pay her a visit on my way to the police station. I was so angry. Angry at my dad for leaving, angry with Mikasa for following me everywhere, angry with myself for not believing that he would actually go. I should have noticed. I had seen the look in Grisha's eyes the night before when he had come home from work. There was a resoluteness that I hadn't seen before. He was so selfish. I hated people that were selfish. If it didn't require my family to go through so much shit, I'd say it was better that he'd left. I loathed my mother for still loving a man that wouldn't come back. How could she not see? How could she not understand that he was gone? That he didn't want us anymore? Why couldn't she just throw it all away? She had too much faith in him. She had loved him too much.

As I walked down the street, my hands clenched into fists, I saw from a distance, (Y/N) sitting alone in Shinganshina park. She was staring at a tree intensely, so intensely that it looked like she was in pain. I sighed. Maybe I should pay her a visit. I still needed to thank her for her letter of apology, though I wasn't sure that I deserved it.

When I sat down beside her after saying a quick 'thank you' I finally realized what her eyes were fixated on. There was a poorly carved 'J' written in the tree in front of us.

I wonder if they had carved that together. Then, I realized. No. If they had carved it together there would be a (Y/N) on the tree, too.

Without thinking, I apologized to her about ruining her relationship with Jean. She accepted my apology, but blamed herself for the whole thing. I couldn't understand why. She said it was because Jean had accused her of having feelings for me.

I remembered asking her lamely, "Why didn't you just disagree with what he said? About feelings and stuff? I'm sure he would've forgiven you after that. Jean's a pretty reasonable guy, as much as I hate to admit it."

She never answered. Like I had said before: sometimes the silence says more than words.

I snapped back into reality. I had become so absorbed in my memory that I forgot where we were. Then I remembered: (Y/N) and I were at the park and my hand was still bleeding. I don't want to get into all of the fixing-my-hand stuff— partially because it was uneventful, partially because it was embarrassing. By the end of it, we had started fighting, again, like always.

Once she had finished cleaning my hand up, (Y/N) stood up from the bench abruptly and moved to leave:

"You can go now," she said flatly.

I frowned, "You're joking, right?"

(Y/N), you can't tell me that you seriously brought me all this way just to fix a tiny scratch on my hand.

"Why would I be joking?" she retaliated.

Maybe because you like hanging out with me, I hoped.

"There's no way you went through all this trouble just to clean up a stupid scratch of mine. I get injured all the time. Since when do you care?"

"I felt guilty. It was my fault that you were hurt in the first place."

Guilt. Of course. She still felt an obligation to help me, despite me accepting her apology.

"Ah... So I was right, then. You're only here because of guilt," I smiled wanly, somewhat crushed. "Of course you are— because why on earth would you ever bother me again otherwise? You still feel guilty about shitting on me relentlessly for over an entire month," I snapped.

"That's not true! I don't have to be here! I made my apology to you ages ago. You accepted it. It's over. I don't feel like I need to repay you for that anymore. I'm just being a decent human being. I used to help you before without asking. Even though you hated me, I still bothered to help you. That wasn't out of guilt," she reflected.

"I guess so," I responded blandly.

That wasn't the answer I had wanted (Y/N) to give me. I know it was stupid, to think for a moment that her silence the last time we were together meant that she may have liked me, but what else was I supposed to do? I was trying to be optimistic.

"You know what? I don't get you. You're always so on-and-off with me. One moment, you're flirting with me very aggressively," (Y/N) started sharply, her face suddenly turning a brilliant red, "and the next— you feel awkward about me holding your hand just to fix a stupid cut!" She paused for a moment. I was shocked— I didn't think she wanted to talk about anything. "And, it's been happening forever! Since day one of meeting you!" She mimicked me poorly: "'Oh, (Y/N), I hate you so much! You're so dumb an annoying! But you know what? Let's have dinner anyway and act like everything's fine!'" She stared at me with crazed eyes, "Do you see the contradiction here?! You can't go from hating a person to liking them whenever it's convenient for you!"

My jaw dropped. I never expected her to be so blunt. When (Y/N) threw it all out there in one sentence... Yes, the contradiction and absurdity of it all was very apparent.

Yikes... Where to go from there exactly...? I thought for a moment. I decided if (Y/N) was going to put everything out there without a second thought, I might as well do it too.

"Well, I don't know! I don't know what's going on in your head either! I can't tell if you want anything to do with me!" I withheld the rest. I can't tell if you like me like I like you. And if you don't tell me, then we aren't going to get anywhere.

She leaned towards me, her face still flush with rage. I pretended not to notice the lack of distance between us. Was this intentional or...?

"I want nothing to do with you!" (Y/N) yelled.

"Well I want nothing to do with you either!" I retaliated confidently. That's a lie.

"That's a lie," she read my mind, leaning even closer. I tried to keep my eyes from flicking down to her lips. My face turned pink.

"Is it?" I whispered back as convincingly as I could.

We both stared at each other, unmoving. It seemed (Y/N) had just put together how close we were. The next part was a bit of a blur. I kissed her. Or did she kiss me? I wasn't sure, but it didn't really matter. All I know is that once again our bickering had led to a wonderful reward. I brought my hand up to hold her cheek, but she flinched away.

"Ouch," she winced. I jumped, surprised at the reaction. Was I really that awful of a kisser?

Then I saw (Y/N) put her hand up against her cheek, which still bore a little red scratch. Ah, so it was because of her cut. I sighed in relief. She didn't pull away because I was a bad kisser. That would have been a huge blow to my ego. Regardless, I apologized:

"Sorry."

She avoided my gaze. "No, it's fine, it didn't hurt that bad. It just... burned for a second. It surprised me."

I realized the moment between us was over. Defeated, I sighed, putting my head in my hands. My happiness was so short-lived.

"I, uh— I..." (Y/N) tried to fill the silence. Without anything to work with, however, she quickly gave up and turned her attention to the 'J' on the tree.

Jean, you will forever ruin this for me, I thought, my line of sight following (Y/N)'s. I saw her shiver. Maybe you should give her your sweater, dumbfuck. I walked back over to the bench to pick up my hoodie. I held it in my hands and thought for a moment: now was not the time for cliche things like that. Instead, I threw the sweatshirt over myself and did the next best thing. I knew that no matter what I said to (Y/N), I wouldn't get a reaction. So, I didn't say anything. It was time to use my Eren-charm, again— though it rarely had any success with her.

I snuck up behind her and snaked my arms around her shoulders, pressing my face into her neck and breathing slowly. That should do the trick.

I felt (Y/N) stiffen, but she still refused to say anything. Finally, I decided to speak:

"(Y/N)," I said bravely, "I think it's in our best interest to address the elephant in the room."

Unsurprisingly, she pushed me away:

"I think it's in our best interest to stay away from each other."

Will she ever give me the answer I'm looking for?

"Hmm..." I thought quietly, trying to figure out where to direct this numb conversation. "I think that's kind of dumb," I commented.

"Did I ask?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"No. But, did I ask to get slammed in the face by your locker and be forced to meet you?" I teased.

"I suppose not," she responded flatly.

"Then, it's fine."

I decided not to move, waiting for her to continue. Please just say it. When she didn't, I spoke bluntly:

"Why are you so against this?" I asked.

I wondered if she knew what I was referring to. By the look on her face, I think she did. I used this as a sign to continue.

"If we don't talk about it now, we'll be stuck in an infinite time loop that—"

"—that spans for the rest of this year," she interrupted. "Not horrible."

I rolled my eyes, my head still burrowed in the crook of her neck.

"Not ideal, either. At least not for me. Despite what Shadis may think, I'm not really a fan of running in circles..." I breathed deeply. "So, what's the deal?"

Finally, (Y/N) answered. "I feel... guilty. It feels like I'm betraying him."

Ah. This was an answer I didn't expect her to say out loud. Even so, it wasn't quite the answer I had come looking for.

"Hmm..." I tried to push her in the right direction. "I don't believe you. I think your reasoning is more selfish than that," I said plainly.

She stared straight ahead. "Do you even know why, Yeager, that 'J' is carved in that tree right there?"

"Of course. It's there because you loved him," I answered honestly.

(Y/N) tensed up. I guess she wasn't expecting me to be familiar with longing. Ironic, given my situation.

"Why'd you use the past tense?" she prodded, a bit anxious in my arms.

I let go of her. I knew she wasn't going to give me what I wanted.

"I don't know," I replied flatly, turning my back and walking away from her, my hands burrowed in my pockets.

What a stupid thing this was, I thought to myself. Why would I expect anything from her?

I slowed my pace, hoping that (Y/N) would follow me. I didn't hear any footsteps rushing my way. I wasn't sure why, but the memory of writing the beginning of my apology letter to (Y/N) flicked into my mind. It was so long ago.

"Eren." Armin sat on my bed, watching me spin around in my desk chair. It was the evening after our first day of school.

"Eren," he repeated, trying to get my attention.

I ignored him and continued spinning.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Of course, I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just seemed kind of... angry today."

"How do you mean?"

"Well—" he hesitated, "— with that girl, (Y/N). She hit you with her locker on accident and you lost it."

I put my heel on the floor to skid to a stop.

"And?" I questioned.

"It just seemed unlike you to react so aggressively to a girl doing something like that without malice," Armin explained.

"What do you want me to do about it?" I asked flatly.

"You don't have to do anything," he said, "I just wanted to know if you were aware."

"I am," I replied absentmindedly, spinning around again.

"Eren." I jumped as Mikasa slammed open the door to my room. "Stop fighting with Jean and (Y/N). I don't want to have to protect you from any new enemies you've created."

"I don't need you to protect me, Mikasa! I can handle things myself!" I yelled.

Everything Mikasa said to me, despite her good intentions, made me want to do the exact opposite of what she wanted. So, naturally, I made it my goal to piss off Jean and (Y/N) as much as possible to prove to her that I could handle things on my own. Every time I saw (Y/N) in the halls, I itched to do something— just to show Mikasa that this girl wouldn't do anything to me in the first place. So, desperate to prove myself, I acted like an asshole towards (Y/N) anytime Mikasa was watching, and pushed (Y/N) further over the edge when she wasn't.

But, every time I got home and looked at my desk chair, I was reminded of my conversation with Armin, and the secret guilt I had been repressing all day washed over me. I knew I couldn't apologize to (Y/N). That would mean I submitted to Mikasa, and that I had lost. So, to relieve me of some of my guilt from teasing (Y/N) at school, I decided to listen to Armin, and be aware of what I was doing. When I was on campus, I didn't think twice about anything— I was too focused on irritating Mikasa— but, when I was alone, Armin reminded me that I had done wrong. I knew that the only way I could be aware of everything was to make a list recounting what I had done, and pray that somehow that list would save my ass one day.

When, unfortunately for (Y/N), adding to that list had become routine, Armin's voice began to appear in my inner monologue. My voice of reason. The perceptive voice that was so logical and irritatingly honest that I had no choice but to accept its words as truth.

Eventually, something changed in me. Only slightly, but it was influential enough. I suppose I could thank my inner-Armin for that. I had finally gathered up the courage, self-restraint, and humility to turn my list into a letter of apology for (Y/N).

That day, after school, I sprinted up to my room, grabbed my list, and lay down on the floor to draft my letter. It wasn't long until my elbows were cramping from the hard floor and I had to pause. Instead of getting up, because I'm lazy, I pulled over my white blanket and put it under my arms. I only had one sentence left to write.

I slapped the letter on top of the blanket and wrote my ending note. I hadn't planned on saying it, but my hand just kind of wrote it out:

"I love you."

I lifted the letter up to examine how the three words looked on paper.

Not good. I jumped up and hastily scribbled over the letters, rewording and finishing my apology for (Y/N). I stared at the sheet. My handwriting was awful. I hoped she wouldn't mind. Regardless of the scribbles, the edited version was better— I wasn't in a position to be saying crazy things like "I love you" to people— especially ones that I've been terrible to. Besides, it was too soon— there was no proof that I actually felt that way. It was an impulse decision. A stupid, impulse decision.

Or, at least that's what I told myself at the time. As I drifted back into reality, feeling the crinkling of grass under my shoes at Shinganshina Park, hoping in vain for (Y/N) to catch up to me, I came to a decision: It was a good thing that I had crossed out those final three words of my letter.

Even if (Y/N) knew how I felt about her, she would eventually leave anyway.

When I arrived home, Mikasa greeted me at the door: "Carla wants you to get a job," she said bluntly.

"Hello to you too, Mikasa," I grumbled, walking past her and into the kitchen to grab some food. My routine for when I got home was always the same: grab food, then rush upstairs and hole myself up in my room.

"You're angry. Why?"

"I'm not angry, Mikasa. Leave me alone."

"Get a job. All you do is sit on your rug and eat. We could use the extra money, and it gives you something to do rather than mope around the house."

"And what if I don't want a job?" I asked, my hands now holding two bowls of chips and crackers.

"Too bad. I got you one already," she said, blocking my entrance to the stairs.

I turned towards Mikasa angrily, "You what?!"

"Eren, stop being selfish. If you haven't noticed, our biggest source of income has disappeared."

"He hasn't 'disappeared', Mikasa," I said coldly, "He left. He didn't want us anymore."

She still kept her blank expression, "Okay. Either way, we need to start saving up. I got a job, but it won't be enough." She saw my confused expression: "As a babysitter."

"A babysitter? You hate children."

Her face went cold. "I know. This world... is cruel," she said seriously, shifting her gaze to the floor. Mikasa's face quickly reverted back to her normal, expressionless stare. "Anyway, here's the address to your work— along with your schedule," she said, handing me a slip of paper. Her face softened and she looked me in the eyes: "This will be good for you, Eren. It will leave you with less time to think." Mikasa stepped out of the way and let me up the stairs.

Maybe she's right, I thought as I closed the door to my room and began eating my chips. I picked up my white blanket from the floor and wrapped it around myself, reading the faded blue ink letters that had stained it.

"I love you," it said in sloppy handwriting. Of course, that was what had to stain it, I complained to myself. When I had written my last section of the letter— just the final, exposing sentence, I had written it on top of my white blanket. The ink had bled through the paper, and now my darkest confession was written on the bright white fabric for the world to see.

As I thought of the positives of my new job, my eyes drifted towards my dad's cracked photograph. I won't have as much time to be angry. I saw (Y/N)'s letter out of the corner of my eye. And maybe... this distraction will leave me with less time to overthink.

I checked my schedule: I started tomorrow afternoon, and would be working every day after school besides weekends and Fridays. Doesn't sound too awful... It's not like I have anything better to do anyway.