If nobody ever read we would never get anywhere. We wouldn't have music, we wouldn't have books, newspapers, television, movies, anything, really.
However, sometimes people hate reading certain things. For example, Levi never, never wanted to read the 2 sentences written on a sheet of notebook paper- wrinkled and folded countless times. The two sentences said only this: "I'm so sorry to have caused you this trouble. I love you."
He hated coming home and reading it, taped to the back of the door. He hated the widening of his eyes, the small shake of his head, and the whispered, "no" that left his lips. He hated yelling Eren's name over and over as he pounded on the boy's bedroom door. He hated kicking it in and kneeling on the ground, cradling Eren's dying body in his arms. He hated pulling out his phone and dialing 911, hated the excruciating wait for them to get there, hated the slits down Eren's wrists, hated the knife covered in blood, hated the color red, hated the floor that had almost been a death bed, hated the world, and hated himself.
Levi now clutched the wrinkled paper in one of his hands, resting his elbows on his knees and kneading his forehead with the other. He had come so close to losing someone so indescribably important to him; to think, he may have never seen those green eyes or that passionate smile again. The thought in itself was horrifying enough, but finding the boy covered in blood and laying on the floor was beyond horrifying. It was excruciating. It was miserable. It was unthinkable, disgusting, terrifying. It was hell.
Slowly, yet deliberately, Levi stood up from his seated position on his bed. He loped out to the living room of the apartment he shared with Eren, shrugged on a coat, and exited, locking the door behind him. He arrived at the hospital around twenty minutes later. He carried with him a disposable coffee cup filled with warm hot chocolate.
Upon Levi's arrival in his room, Eren turned his head and looked at him; his face showed no joy when he layed eyes on the man. It stayed emotionless, cold, numb. Levi pointed at the cup in his hand and set it on the table next to Eren's bed. He drew up a chair and sat down in it, not saying anything for a long while.
At last, he drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "Eren," he murmured in a low tone. Eren turned his head towards the light filtering in through the pink curtains. He didn't like pink much, but he couldn't dislike the warm, rosy glow the sunlight gave the room when it poured through those curtains.
"Eren," Levi repeated, his voice cutting through the thunderous, utter silence. Eren turned back to face him as Levi gently took one of his hands. "What happened last night... We should talk about it." The boy looked down at their joined hands before closing his eyes and shutting the older man out. Levi's gaze went up to the face of the person who was nearly a son to him. It was completely blank.
He cleared his throat and spoke again, "I... I'm sorry, Eren. I had no idea that you weren't happy in life. Please, don't leave like that."
Eren simply laid there, unmoving and breathing deeply. Levi reached up and gently brushed a few stray hairs out of his face. He uttered the younger's name once more, quietly this time. They stayed quiet for a long while before Eren broke the silence.
"It isn't your fault, you know. It would've happened even if my mom was still here. It's my fault."
Levi cringed at Eren's last sentence, angry that he blamed himself for something that he knew, logically, that nobody was responsible for. He ran the pad of his thumb over the back of Eren's hand slowly, keeping his eyes on his lap.
"It's nobody's fault, Eren," he stated matter-of-factly.
Eren didn't say anything. He just continued to lay there, brows knitted and eyes half-lidded.
Levi stayed quietly at Eren's bedside as long as he could, asking the boy if he needed anything every so often. He only left after a nurse had come in a third time with a ferocious look on his face, warning him that visiting hours were over. Once home, he pulled a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and took it to his room. It was left unopened as he drifted to sleep on top of his immaculately straight bed covers.
