ʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴘᴇᴇᴅ | 𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣 𝙟𝙖𝙚𝙜𝙚𝙧

9. 𝙁𝙇𝙐𝙊𝙍𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝘼𝘿𝙊𝙇𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙏

009, 𝙁𝙇𝙐𝙊𝙍𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝘼𝘿𝙊𝙇𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙏

.⋆𐙚 🍒

I ALWAYS THOUGHT THE WORLD WOULD BE DIFFERENT AFTER HIGH SCHOOL.

Like once I crossed the invisible finish line—diploma in hand, tassel flipped to the other side—I'd suddenly know who I was. Like there'd be some switch flipped in my brain that made everything make sense.

Spoiler alert: it didn't.

Instead, life became this never-ending string of late nights, missed calls, and questions no one wanted to answer directly. People didn't change. They just got better at pretending. Smiled with their teeth. Lied with their eyes. Faked it 'til they forgot what the truth looked like. And maybe that's what bothered me the most—how familiar it still felt. Like no matter how far I ran, the scenery stayed the same. Just blurrier. Louder.

I used to sit in the back booth of our local diner—some off-brand copy of a chain nobody liked but everyone ended up at anyway. A cracked jukebox in the corner, menus laminated like hospital charts, and a server named Jane who always smelled like Weed and wore glitter eyeliner. Back then, we thought small-town drama was the worst it could get. Someone cheated. Someone lied. Someone spray-painted EAT SHIT, PRINCIPLE PIXIS on the entrance doors in neon orange.

The biggest scandal was the time I punched some guy in the parking lot for calling Hitch easy. I still have the photo Marco took—my arm mid-swing, expression unreadable, while the guy looked like he'd seen God and pissed himself in the same breath. 

We were seventeen. Stupid. Immortal.

I thought I was invincible then.

Now, I was stepping out of Eren Jaeger's car in a different city, surrounded by people I'd known for a week, with adrenaline still humming in my veins and my palms marked with ghost imprints of a steering wheel.

A different place. Different people. A different shitty diner.

|| 𝙉𝙊𝙒 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙄𝙉𝙂... 𝙁𝙇𝙐𝙊𝙍𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝘼𝘿𝙊𝙇𝙀𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙏, 𝘼𝙍𝘾𝙏𝙄𝘾 𝙈𝙊𝙉𝙆𝙀𝙔𝙎 ||

By the time we stepped out, the others were already halfway across the lot. Sasha and Connie were running full-speed toward the entrance like gremlins set loose from the underworld, limbs flailing and jackets half-zipped. Sasha let out a full-bodied cackle as Connie tripped over a rock and stumbled like a newborn deer. He caught himself, barely, and kept running like his pride wasn't limping behind him.

Jean and Ymir were in the middle of a loud argument that could've been about the race, the route, or possibly the existence of God—it was hard to tell. Every few seconds, Armin cut in to correct something, only to be immediately ignored. Mikasa and Historia trailed quietly behind them, arms linked, whispering in low voices and laughing softly like they were floating just outside the noise.

We joined the group quickly, just as Sasha pushed the door open. It creaked with a chime that sounded far too delicate for the group that spilled into it.

Sasha was beaming as she stepped in. And the second she spotted the oversized booth—half-moon shaped with high cream-colored backing and slick red leather seating—she sprinted like she was being chased by God himself.

"Oh thank god no one took our booth!" she yelled, arms already spread out like she was claiming territory. 

Armin chuckled. "Of course not Sasha. Who would come to this place at two in the fucking morning."