Shards In Your Heart || AOT x Male Reader

Purpose

A/N: Entire chapter has been re-written as of (25/03/2023).
CW: Child abuse mention, Blood mention,

829

(Y/N) was running, running for his life from those men, his footsteps echoing on the hard street. He had no shoes, after all, he was forced to sell it to buy himself food: he would've died if he didn't. The stones and discarded nails on the ground poked and pierced his feet, drawing blood but he kept on running. The scuff marks on his arms and legs and face hurt uncomfortably and the pain in his torso from when he'd been kicked made his mind feel woozy. But he didn't stop. He couldn't. These people would never spare him. It was a small conflict, an accident and a miscommunication and here he was, being chased down by grown men wielding knives, out for his blood. He just needed to outrun them today, just to live another day, he thought, the tears streaming down his face. He felt so lost, so confused, so empty. It was like the soul had been stripped off of him. But everyone here was like that. It was, after all, the underground, where grudges don't last past a day and life was co clouded with uncertainty that every moment could be their last. (Y/N) ran past the street and into the next, where starving families, murderers, prostitutes and abandoned children lived. It was the same, all the same so he kept running, street after street, turn after turn until he was sure he'd lost them.

The memory of this feeling came back to him. The feeling of sheer hopelessness at his situation. He didn't know what to do next, it was only living to get through each day. If he made it to the end of the day he'd succeeded. There was nothing left to live for, he thought; quite mature a thought for someone his age. When his father and grabbed him by the collar and thrown him out onto the streets, (Y/N) had been force to age ten years in one day. His mother, he thought, he couldn't even go back to his mother. She forbade it, These men, she had said before she left him, These men, these people are bad. They're bad people (Y/N). You mustn't stay here or they'll use you the same way they used me. Go away from here, go back to your father! The words had been distant, haunting and (Y/N) listened to her. What he didn't realise at the time was that going back to his father had probably done more damage to him in the long run than if he had stayed underground. Being a rather skilled doctor of a high rank in the main city meant that the old man had family; two other children, and a wife, all of high status and class. So when (Y/N) arrived on his doorstep: well, it didn't reflect well on the doctor to have a bastard son. So he put (Y/N) to work in his house instead.

(Y/N) was interrupted by a lone drunkard, stumbling across his path. The streets were getting darker and darker and (Y/N) knew enough to realise that stopping here would be like stepping in a death trap. The man groaned, swaying hard and (Y/N) took a tentative step back. And then a few more and he backtracked his way to the intersection he had passed earlier, taking yet another turn on it.

All (Y/N) wanted to feel was his father's affection but he couldn't. He wouldn't even be seen as a son in that household, reduced to just another servant. It was only a matter of time before (Y/N) lashed out; his mother had taught him to fight after all; to fight for his own choices and wants. It was a blur of events after that, one that (Y/N) had intentionally tried to forget. Maybe if he had just kept his mouth shut he could've at least lived with his father, servant or otherwise. (Y/N) wondered if life would be easier if he just burned down the desire, the feeling of want and longing he felt every time he saw the old man play with his kids or take them out to play. He hadn't even raised him, or acknowledged him; he kept (Y/N) at the house because it was free work and because it was better to keep him with him that to leave him out running; if word ever came out that the child belonged to him, his name would be ruined. He was kind only because it would reflect bad on him not to be. This man wasn't worthy of being called a father to (Y/N) but still, (Y/N) wished, maybe he could have been one to him. At least he wouldn't be stuck here, now, running for his life and fighting every single day.