Why We Ended Things

World's Biggest Idiot

Armin was right. About a lot of things, but more specifically about Eren being great at guitar. Fantastic, actually. Not that you were an expert on the subject by any means, but it did have you wondering why it took him so long to share his talent with you.

He was shy about it at first — something you wouldn't have expected from the nosy bartender who carelessly fucked you in a gas station parking lot. But there was a lot about Eren that was left to discover. Dating was a delicate dance of putting the pieces together until you could step back and see the picture for what it was — the person for who they were. Still, Eren never failed to leave you with more questions than you had answers. But there was a chance that you weren't asking the right questions.

Once the guitar came out, you couldn't get him to put it away, but you loved every bit of it. Even when he tried to teach you how to play. Only once, though. That was all either of you could handle because you were terrible at it, almost to a shameful degree. It hurt your fingers, too. Eren had sworn up and down that anyone could play Brown Eyed Girl — the first song he had learned — but you managed to prove him wrong. It didn't even take an hour.

You ran your thumb across the fingertips of your opposite hand. You rubbed out each of the imprints the strings had left behind. You joked, "Now I get why your fingers feel like shit when you massage my shoulders."

Eren chuckled because he knew it was something you complained about often. He set the guitar aside and took your hand between his, raising it until it was at his lips. He left kisses along your fingers, then gently flipped your hand until he was pecking every one of your knuckles. It made you feel better about the fact that, just minutes ago, he was biting his tongue over your off-key plucking. Eren was cute when he was trying to keep his cool, so maybe there was a chance that you had played up your ineptitude.

He returned your hand to your lap and stood from his bed. "I have an idea."

Eren walked over to his dresser and began rummaging around the top drawer. You leaned forward, lifting yourself from the edge of the bed to steal a look. Before you could ask what he was searching for, he was facing you again. He was smiling, smugly, as if he already knew you would hate his plan, and between his fingers was an egg shaker. You know, the thing a kid would play with in their elementary music class.

You felt your expression go flat. "Wow. I'm insulted. Was I really that bad?"

"Just a little," he teased. He sat beside you once more, setting the 'instrument' in your palm, then he closed your fingers around it. "I kept this for little cousins. Back when we used to visit them for the holidays. They liked to be included."

Thinking back on it, you remembered how you didn't ask a single question about what he had said — what he was telling you. You were too wrapped up in the moment, too wrapped up in him, to read between the lines. You didn't notice how he spoke in the past tense. Back when. Used to. Liked. You wish you had picked up on it sooner.

Instead, you frowned at him. "That doesn't make me feel better."

Your eyes had settled onto your hands, with yours still encased in his. He bounced your wrist a few times, steadily and to whatever beat he had in his head. He looked up at you, his chin tilted low, curiously smiling as he waited to see if you would play along.

"Think you can handle it?" he asked.

Your heart fluttered in the way you would learn only Eren could pull from you. You bit back the smile that dared to span your face. "I think so."

"Good." The testing tone of his voice was back. He dropped your hand and reached for his guitar. "Because there's no hope for you otherwise."

You grew to like that dumb egg shaker because it meant you were always included in his practices. It made you feel as gullible as his younger cousins, but those nights were some of the ones you looked back on most often. You would laugh in tandem, passing his bong back and forth until your reserved giggles turned into bouts of laughter that hurt your ribs.