ʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴘᴇᴇᴅ | 𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣 𝙟𝙖𝙚𝙜𝙚𝙧

33. 𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙍𝙍𝙔 𝙁𝙇𝘼𝙑𝙊𝙐𝙍𝙀𝘿

033, 𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙍𝙍𝙔 𝙁𝙇𝘼𝙑𝙊𝙐𝙍𝙀𝘿

.⋆𐙚 🍒

MOST CHILDREN GROW UP BELIEVING THAT LOVE WILL SAVE THEM. 

I wasn't one of them.

Growing up, my mom used to tell me a lot of things—but the lesson that stuck, the one she made sure I'd never forget, was that when you open up to someone, you hand them a weapon. She'd said it once, calm and clinical, as if reciting a medical fact.

"Never give anyone enough of you to ruin what's left." She'd said once after drinking a glass of wine—something she almost never did. "I did that with your father, and look where it's left me."

So I learned early that happiness belonged to people who didn't know any better—fools who still believed that love could save them. People who hadn't realized that every confession comes with a cost.

But right now—standing here, sunlight spilling through the windows, his laughter filling every corner of the room—I can't bring myself to believe her.

Because for the first time in my entire life, it doesn't feel like I've handed over a weapon.

It feels like I've been disarmed.

A feeling that would've terrified me months ago.
And yet, I've never felt so at peace.

For once, I'm not afraid of losing control. I'm not afraid of being known. Because somehow, with him, it doesn't feel dangerous.

I trust him not to destroy me.

|| 𝙉𝙊𝙒 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙄𝙉𝙂... 𝙈𝙍𝙎 𝙈𝘼𝙂𝙄𝘾, 𝙎𝙏𝙍𝘼𝙒𝘽𝙀𝙍𝙍𝙔 𝙂𝙐𝙔 ||

"You know it's not that bad if you leave it like that." My thumb traces the uneven spot behind his ear, where a strand sticks up no matter how many times I try to smooth it. His hair is shorter now—neater—but still soft, still smells faintly of his shampoo. That clean, warm scent that's almost too gentle for him. "I actually like it."

Eren looks up from where he's sitting on the barstool he dragged in from the kitchen, green eyes catching the light as he tilts his head back. His hands rest on my waist, thumbs pressing idly against my hoodie like he's keeping me in place. "You're only saying that because you're the one who cut it."

"Maybe." My palms slide down to cup his face. His skin is warm, soft cleanly shaven skin brushing my fingers as I squeeze lightly until his cheeks squish together and his nose scrunches. "Guess you're going bald, then."

He exhales through his nose, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth, but before he can respond I lean in and steal a kiss. Quick. Soft. Barely there—but enough to make his breath catch. I linger close, my words brushing against his lips. "I'll still like you anyway."

For a heartbeat he doesn't move. Then his pupils widen, that green swallowed by something darker. His jaw slackens slightly, and I feel the warmth blooming beneath my hands as color creeps up his neck and into his cheeks.

"Cute," I whisper, my own lips curving before I can stop them.

His eyes narrow—half flustered, half defensive—and I know he's about to bite back, but his stomach cuts him off with a low, loud growl that echoes in the quiet bathroom.