Naive and Damned

Chapter 15: Selfish Empathy

Falco

A breeze drifted through the window. Goosebumps rose upon Falco's arms, cool air grounding him. 2AM early Sunday, in his bedroom, motionless.

The apprehension churned in his stomach. It had built steadily over the day, making him take deep breaths periodically. He watched the night sky to remind himself that here was here, and in this moment, he was safe.

Since returning at midnight, Mr Braun walking him home under the sporadically placed streetlamps, his mind had circled around the same question.

In twenty-four hours, would the Liberio Internment Zone still stand?

His eyes dipped down to examine the patterns upon his blanket. Knees pressed to his chest, his hands held onto them tightly as one lone thumb rubbed up and down. Back to the sky, he gazed, mouth slightly agape as swirling thoughts overwhelmed his self-awareness.

The world outside his window was not as silent as he. Where talking with Mr Braun and Eren had left him isolated, alone with the men that seemed to force the world to still for them, he now sat under Liberio's shadow once more, taking comfort in those familiar sounds the city always provided.

However important those shifters were, the people of the world around them were far more so. A titan's destruction could leave the masses silent for a moment in time, the raw power unbeatable head on. Humanity was best at crawling back, more stubborn that the flies they swatted or the cockroaches they squashed. That presence was outside his window, all around, it told him to take a deep breath, and he obeyed.

As he did, the fear dissipated slightly. He uncurled from his knees, and shuffled to his bedside drawer, he took out his sketchbook and pencil (an old comfort, calling to him finally) and opened it upon his windowsill. A newly uncovered moon guided his pencil along, and he drew as he breathed – steady, continuous, doubt and regret a thing for tomorrow.

Feathers, smooth and free. Talons, sharp and secure. A beak, unbreakable and protective. When he lowered the pen, he saw the best drawing he'd ever done, one he'd unknowingly dreamed of since he could remember. Upon a background of clouds, infinite and stretching upon the entire world, he saw his freedom.

The clock told him 6AM had come and gone. He rose to his feet, skirting out of his room to get ready. Apprehension bit at his mind – and went no further. His stomach and body had settled, ready and waiting for what was to come.

Falco held his sketchbook to the light, looking upon the picture before he placed it back in his drawer, leaving it for another day.

The festival had arrived.

***

Downstairs, he chewed on his toast, the reliable meal seemingly evaporating before it could fill him. His mother entered the room, preparing her own toast and sitting next to him. She gave him a thin smile, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

"Good morning, sweetie. How are you doing?"

"I'm okay, don't worry... is dad not...?" at his question, she averted the shaky eye contact entirely.

"He's just shaving; he'll be down in a minute."

Falco nodded. He had nothing more to say upon noticing the red surrounding her eyes, slightly puffy under the kitchen's direct lighting. The guild swarmed him once more, and he only looked back down to finish eating.

Colt entered the room, scratching at his neck. It was almost as if he'd heard his thoughts and came to reassure him. Even unknowingly, his brother was always there for him. A gift he repaid with a murder. Colt's eyes were just as red as his mother's was.