Breathless •Eremika (Love. Me. Now. Or. Never.)

X: Forlorn

Eren jabbed the broccoli with the tips of his fork, removing the coagulated gravy from its sodden discolored buds. He was sitting with his parents at the dinner table, unspeaking.

He had never told his parents that he had started coughing up blood. Neither did he tell them that he was on the verge of dying after he nearly drowned. He didn't want them to fret over him. Besides, he knew what they would do if they knew his condition had aggravated. They would withdraw him from school.

"Hey, honey, you haven't said much after you came home from school," Mrs. Yeager placed a slice of carrot in his dish, "So what happened during camp?"

"Nothing. It was boring," he replied banally, forcing food into his mouth so his parents wouldn't question him further. Without chewing properly, he swallowed and the piece of food lodged itself on the walls of his trachea.

He fell into a fit of brutal coughs, his insides doing backflips. Crap. The bridge of his nose stung at the smell of the metallic blood. He clamped a hand over his mouth, the legs of his chair scraping the floorboards as he tried to rise. His parents dropped their utensils noisily, rushing to tend to their son.

Eren swayed on his feet, his coughs calming, but kept his hands over his mouth. He knew there was going to be blood stains on his palms. There was no way he could escape his parent's field of sight without uncovering his bloodied mouth.

"Hey, what's wrong? You're just choking, it'll be fine," Dr. Yeager noted and he rested his gaze on Eren's hands, sensing that something had gone awry, "Remove your hands."

"No," his son gave an exclamation of protest, turning to face the wall overbearingly. His parents had flanked his side affectionately and he knew, deep inside, that soon he would have to leave everything he loved behind him, including his parents, including Mikasa.

"Remove your hands from your mouth, this is an order," his father hollered, shooting his wife a surreptitious glance.

"No," Eren whimpered, his knees buckling.

"Now!"

Eren jumped at the abrupt rise in his father's volume, and his hands inevitably fell from his mouth. He attempted hide his blood but he knew, by the horrified expressions on his parents' faces, that he was too late.

"Eren," his mother's voice was shattered, "since when did you start coughing like this?"

"Camp. During camp," he responded aversely.

"That's it. You're not going to school anymore," his father pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation, "Your illness doesn't allow it anymore."

"No, Dad, please, let me go to school, please, I need to go to school." Images of Mikasa being alone attacked his eyes.

"You're not thinking clearly. Your days are near, Eren," by then, Dr. Yeager's cheeks were damp with tears.

"No! Darling, please, don't say that, if you don't say it, it might not come true," his wife pleaded, her tears cascading down her face, her hands tight around her husband's arms for support.

"Why do you want to go to school so much, anyway?" Eren's father regained his straight composure, sniffling, pulling his wife into a comforting embrace.

"I just want to see my friends. Mikasa and Armin," he murmured sheepishly, his voice trembling.

"I'm sorry, son, but I'm afraid that's not possible anymore." His parents were resisting the urge to melt into a pool of tears. "Go to bathroom and clean your hands."

He ascended the stairs, feeling the blood crusting in his palms. He could hear his parents' annihilated whispers. "We've been expecting this anyway," his father's voice came through.

"I wish our son wasn't like that." It was Mrs. Yeager speaking. Her words made Eren stop dead in his tracks.

"I wish we had a healthy son."

Eren wished to hear no more. He bolted upstairs, fighting back his tears, his footsteps lighter than helium balloon. His parents had never wanted a son like him. His parents had never wanted a son like him.

**********

Eren flipped open his small, plastic phone, crouching in the corner of the bathroom, surrounded by the depressing white tiles. No school meant no Mikasa. He could feel his heart starting to decay, his chest aching. He scrolled through the contact list, finding Armin's number.

Eren: Armin. It's over.

The long-anticipated reply came through after an entire minute.

Armin: What do you mean? You alright?

Eren: My parents. They're not letting me go to school anymore. That means I won't be able to see Mikasa anymore and explain everything to her. I want to see her one last time before I go.

Armin: I'm so sorry, Eren. I'm so sorry.

Eren: It's fine, Armin. I'd just like to say, thanks for being there all the time.

Armin: You might want to check your email. I know you scorn Levi but he's invited the lot of us to his house for this party.

Eren: I think I know where this is going. Mikasa's going to be there, isn't she?

Armin: Yeah. You can redeem yourself there.

Eren: Armin, thank you.

Eren threw his phone onto his lap, leaning back against the cold tiles of the wall. He felt the tears pricking the back of his eyes but they would not fall. He eventually started crying when he recalled the words his father had said when he had thought that his son was out of earshot range.

'I wish we had a healthy son.' The same sentence, with the same tone of voice, replayed over and over again in his wretched mind. He looked down at his quivering palms. There was a red, dull flower of blood spreading from the center. His parents had never wanted a sickly son like him.

Every square inch of him missed Mikasa. He wanted a hug, or perhaps a kiss, from her. Now.

'Don't lay a finger on me.' She had said that to him when they were at the infirmary when he secured her in an embrace. He had been so foolish for telling her off at the cafeteria. Now all he wanted was her.

He tipped his head back wistfully, snuffing up his salty tears. Never had he felt this hollowed out and deflated before. Alone. He felt that he was genuinely alone. He felt as if no one in the world cared for his existence at all anymore.

His parents had hoped for better when they raised him, not the ill creature he was now. Mikasa deserved better, not a dying boy with a despicable attitude.

"Why," he whispered to himself, "why the hell do you screw everything up, Eren, just why?"