Naive and Damned

Chapter 4: Lost Chance, but not the Last

Grice was a rather reserved man; that much Grisha had surmised easily.

He kept his past to himself, rarely talked about his family (with an exception for his beloved sister) and kept a certain level of distance between him and their fellow patriots both emotionally and physically.

It was partially due to this that Grisha valued the man's trust so much. They'd been close since he'd first introduced Grisha to the Restorationists all those years ago, the respect and trust they had for each other as comrades obvious to everyone around them.

That's why today had come as such a shock.

It was an average day. As usual, Grisha sent Zeke off to warrior training before leaving to decipher texts with Grice. It was repetitive work, and would have been dull if not for the overwhelming passion Grisha held for discovering their history, retaking it from the Marleyans. Dina, like the angel she was, had just brought them both fresh mugs of coffee, replacing the previously emptied ones.

"This language is truly unique," Grice said, picking up his mug and blowing gently.

"It certainly follows a completely different set of rules, but we'll get there." Grisha responded, picking up his own coffee and placing it to his lips, and – hot! He pulled his arm back, the jerky motion sending coffee flying from the cup.

Immediately regretting the impulsive move – how utterly childish of him spilling things at his age (even Zeke knew better than that) – he saw with dismay he'd managed to spill it all over his trousers and his friend's side.

"Shit, my mistake." Grisha cursed, quickly going to get a wet cloth. Upon returning, he impulsively went to wipe down Grice's side, pressing the wet cloth into his thigh to clean with spillage.

The reaction was immediate.

Grice bolted up from his seat and before Grisha could blink, he was standing a few paces away. The eye contact was brief, but he could describe his friend's eyes as if he had stared for hours – the flash of intense fear unforgettable; a flash that lasted not even a second, before returning to normal.

It had happened hours ago now, but it kept replaying in Grisha's mind. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. What that thing was, Grisha couldn't put his finger on. Nevertheless, it left him unable to concentrate properly, refusing when Dina gently suggested he took a break.

In the end, Grisha had never figured out exactly what'd gone so wrong that day. Both men had opted to act as if nothing was happened, neither willing to bring it up before the other. And as Grisha sat in the basement, writing the story of how Grice had introduced him to the Restorationists, he felt a weak smile tilt his lips. In an ideal world, he'd of had that discussion with Grice, bite that bullet and offer the man his shoulder to lean on.

Because now, almost eleven years later, he could only reflect on his mistakes, knowing nothing further could have been done.

*

Eren

Eren watched Falco flee the scene as the older man arrived, unable to make out what the boy had said, though the tone was obviously apologetic.

His gaze quickly switched to the newcomer, observing his dime-a-dozen face. The elder held a relaxed smile that accentuated his wrinkles – it was too wide and his eyes remained dull, without squinting.

"Ah, sorry about him... the kid's just a little shy. I'm his grandfather, you see... I hope he wasn't bothering you." The elder chuckled, as if trying to appear easy-going.