❝𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆? 𝐈 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔.❞
« A story in which you join the Training Corps and meet a man named Eren who is secretly infatuated with you. You've been making friends with most of the cadets and have b...
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"So..."
Eren's voice is monotone and cold as he saunters on the pavement with Levi in front of him.
Levi remains quiet, not desiring to engage in conversation with a murderer.
"Any reason you're interrogating me?" the brunette questions, an annoyed edge to his tone.
Levi continues to face ahead. "Erwin is."
"But why?"
"It's mandatory for everyone. You're not special, Jaeger."
Eren scoffs but doesn't speak, contemplating Levi's attitude. He sounds agitated—much more than he normally is. A facet of him seems disgusted, and a sliver of his disposition appears... apprehensive.
It causes Eren to grow suspicious.
As the door to Erwin's office opens, the blond is able to be seen brooding at his desk through the crack in the ajar door. Once the noise of the knob twisting is audible, he instantly fixes his posture and dons a composed facade.
Eren steps inside and sits at the chair in front of the desk, examining the room for glints of camera lenses or other mechanisms they might use against his knowledge to capture the conversation.
Levi eventually exits the room, leaving the two alone.
Erwin stands up, his towering body providing a sense of imitation to engulf Eren's mind. "Hello, Eren."
"Hello, sir," the boy replies, slightly clutching the armrests of his chair.
"I'd like to ask you a few questions about the murderers that have been happening at the Training Corps. Please answer honestly and descriptively," the blonde states, eyes locked with Eren's as he awaits a response.
Eren swallows. "Okay."
♥
Surprisingly, the questions weren't horrible. Eren was able conjure up quick yet believable lies to act as alibis, and Erwin didn't appear doubtful.
Eren exits the office, closing the door behind him and walking along the pavement. He doesn't know exactly where he's walking. He's just walking.
He's thinking, too. Thinking about many things that have been needing to be thought about for a long time. His murders, his sanity, his love for you.
He knows what he did was wrong. The reality was painfully tattooed into his brain after the interrogation. Illustrious futures could have awaited his victims, but he ended their lives over the most stupid reason.
Love. Demented, messed-up love that drives him mad.
He loves you so much that it's insufferable, insufferable enough that he slaughters people. The blood has been splattered onto his hands, and no matter how many times he glances at them, unwanted memories of carmine liquid engulf his brain. He hates it. He hates it more than words can describe.
