ʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴘᴇᴇᴅ | 𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣 𝙟𝙖𝙚𝙜𝙚𝙧

31. 𝙞 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧ₑ

031, 𝙞 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧

𝘵𝘸: 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘦/𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥/𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦. 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘺𝘰𝘶 are 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 <3

.⋆𐙚 🍒

| Eren's POV, Wednesday Night |

HUMANS ARE SELFISH CREATURES. EREN JAEGER KNOWS THAT BETTER THAN ANYONE.

|| 𝙉𝙊𝙒 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙄𝙉𝙂, 𝙄 𝙆𝙉𝙊𝙒 𝙄𝙏'𝙎 𝙊𝙑𝙀𝙍, 𝙅𝙀𝙁𝙁 𝘽𝙐𝘾𝙆𝙇𝙀𝙔 ||

His father was proof enough. A man who had everything—status, respect, a family that would've worshiped the ground he walked on if he'd only let them. But it was never enough. He wanted more. Always more. And when that hunger stripped him of everything, when it hollowed out the walls of their house and left Eren staring at a door that would never open again, he still kept reaching. Still chasing. Still selfish.

Eren learned early that people never stop taking. His mother gave everything—her hands, her voice, her sleep, her love—and in return the world ripped her away in the middle of the night. No one came when he screamed. No one heard him. People moved on. That was selfish, too.

Friends were no different. Some wanted to be protected. Some wanted to be understood. Some wanted to use him for what he could give, what he could do, who he could be when they couldn't carry their own weight. All of them reaching, all of them grasping.

But none of them compare to him.

Because if there's anyone Eren knows who defines the word selfish, it's himself. Selfish. That's what he is. Down to his core—every fiber of his being. He doesn't need anyone else to remind him. Every blunt rolled, every half-empty glass sweating on the counter, every promise he swore—that he'd leave you alone, give you the space you begged for, that he'd never hurt you—every single one, broken.

He told himself he was giving you distance. That this time he'd stay away. That this time he'd listen. But he always came back. Always found himself typing out the message, orbiting too close, pushing past the words you threw at him:

I can't keep pretending like this is okay—like you're okay. So I need you to leave me alone. Stay the fuck away from me. Please.

If only he'd listened then.
If only he'd had the strength to stay gone.
If only he hadn't been so selfish.

Because it isn't the fights, or the blood, or the way his hands tremble when the anger claws its way out of him that makes him the worst kind of selfish. It's you. It has always been you.

Not last year, when he realized you didn't remember the night on the rooftop.
Not a month and a half ago, when he saw you behind the wheel of that Mustang and everything inside him snapped.
Not three weeks ago, when you begged him to stay away.
Not ten days ago, when you laid beside him beneath a starless sky and listened as he cracked himself open about his mother.

Again and again, he forced himself back into your life. Poison dripping through your veins in the shape of his hands, his words, his presence. Knowing he ruins everything he touches. Knowing he should have walked away that first night, the moment your eyes narrowed, your voice cracked, your chest rose with the sharp edge of fear.