"Eren, I think you need to see a therapist," Mikasa says to me over breakfast a few weeks later.

"What?" I mutter, shoveling in another bite of eggs. "My body works fine."

She pushes her own eggs around her plate, the fork making an irritating squeak against the ceramic. "I don't mean a physical therapist, Eren. I mean..." I raise my brows in question. She sighs. "I care about you, is all. I want you to be healthy."

"Are you blind or something? I'm fine," I insist.

"Physically, sure you are. But not...mentally."

Just as she says this, my teeth come down on my tongue and I hiss in pain. Even after nearly a year without my regenerative abilities, I expect the throbbing to subside almost immediately, but it doesn't. I sigh through my nose.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say stubbornly. I refuse to meet her eyes, because I know the patronizing, all-too concerned look too well, and I don't want to see it.

"Eren..." she mumbles, almost condescendingly. My fist clenches around my fork. "I know you do. I know you've been feeling like hell recently, and the way you've been acting--"

"What way I've been 'acting'?" I snap, finally looking up at her. She leans back a bit, frowning.

"Distant. Sad. And you blink out a lot, like your mind isn't even in the present. I'm scared one day you're going to fade out completely..."

I say nothing. Scrutinize her for a minute, fuming. What does she know? How could she possibly know what's happening in my head? No one knows but me, and I intend to keep it that way.

"Is it because the titans are gone?" she guesses. "You're not the only one of us who doesn't know what to do with himself, you know. We're all a little lost."

"That's not it," I grit through my teeth.

"What about nightmares? You have them. I know you do. Most of us do. PTSD, I heard Hanji call it. You...might be dealing with that."

"Yeah. That's probably it," I say before pushing myself back. The wooden legs of the chair drag noisily across the floor; I pick my tray up, and depart the mess hall as quick as I can. Again, Mikasa's eyes follow me all the way out.

This is what she means about distant, something whispers to me. It's right, but I ignore it as I stride out of HQ.

She can't understand why I've been acting the way I have. Not a single air-breathing soul ever can. They didn't know Levi the way I did, didn't understand him. It isn't that they're over the fact that he's gone, just that they've been able to cope better with the loss of someone they weren't close to. And I haven't. Because he and I...were something different. Something unexplainable that no one could ever understand. He's been in my every waking thought for years...

•♦•

Armin finds me a while later in the training grounds. I've been pacing around it for who knows how long.

"Hey," he says upon approach, stopping me in my tracks.

"Did Mikasa send you to find me?" I ask.

"No, but she is pretty upset you stormed out on her like that."

"Hmph. Whatever. It's not like she's my mom."

"But she is your family, and she cares about you. We all do. And we're worried."

I cross my arms and start walking again; Armin falls into step beside me.

"There's no reason to be worried," I say, but even I'm not convinced.

"So...it's normal to go off and pace around the training grounds?" Armin asks. "Or to disappear and lock yourself in the bathroom for hours?"

My arms tense. How could he possibly know about that? "I don't know what you're talking about," I lie.

"Your ears are turning red. I think you do."

"It's normal for me," I counter.

"And that's worrisome."

I have nothing to say to that, because he's right - not that that's such a surprise to anyone. But so what if I'm not exactly 'normal'? After the things I've been through, they should be glad I'm not completely insane.

...But that's just a petty excuse, and I sound just like the bratty teenager Levi accused me of being so many times. And I know he'd tell me everyone's been through shit, that the way I'm acting isn't exactly 'normal', either...

"I agree with Mikasa," Armin goes on. "I think it would do you some good to talk to someone."

"Like who?" I snap.

"There are plenty of psychologists available, Eren."

With nothing to say, I can only scowl...

•♦•

In the end, Armin talked me into seeing a shrink. Or maybe it was that strange manifestation of my captain in my head calling me names and telling me to stop being a stubborn brat and take care of myself. Either way, I ended up in the tiny office of some man with a white beard and piercing blue eyes. (His name is Thomas, and that only reminds me of a friend I lost in my early days in the military...of course.)

'Post Traumatic Stress Disorder' is what he called it, but I couldn't repeat what exactly he said it is. I only really understood that my mind is supposedly in constant fear of my surroundings because of all the shit I've been through.

"It isn't uncommon," he explained in a voice that told me he smoked way too much in his time. "Many soldiers like you are dealing with it."

He said it like that was supposed to make me feel better before he gave me some special tea mixture I'm supposed to drink twice a day that should 'calm my mind'. Sure. Yeah. Okay.

Seeing the guy seemed to make Mikasa happy, though. I'm supposed to go back in a week. Ha, like that'll happen.

•♦•

Presently, I'm making my way to the top of Wall Maria. I managed to sneak out of Rose, all the way through the northern district, and to the wall via a carriage carrying construction materials unnoticed. Wearing Levi's scout's cloak inside out with the hood up and a pair of glasses, no one recognizes or suspects me, even taking the elevator to the top of the wall.

I hold the notebook Thomas have me to my chest.

"Go somewhere you feel safe. Somewhere you can just be alone for a little while. Somewhere you can make your happy place, and just write," he told me.

I can't tell you why I chose the top of one of the walls. It certainly isn't the safest place, but to me, it's peaceful. Atop Wall Maria, you can see for miles and miles into the outside world. It seems to go on forever, and although I've been out there several times, it inspires me.

I make it out of the elevator with no trouble, thankful to find the top of the wall vacant of any people. All that's here are the cannons and the tracks they maneuver around on. A slight breeze pushes through, lifting my hair and rippling the cloak a bit. Slowly, I pace along the outer edge of the wall, drinking in the scenery around me.

Everything beyond the walls is green and so alive, much unlike inside the cage humanity has known for the past century. I can see for miles and miles. Grass and trees and fields bigger than my mind could ever possibly hope to comprehend exist out there. Animals and large bodies of water I can't even see. The sky seems so much closer up here, yet so much bigger as clouds float lazily by and the sun makes its descent toward the edge. It's the first real sunset I've seen, I think, while I'm surrounded by peace. Watching the sun fall behind a giant wall is hardly a sunset, but as it goes past the very edges of the earth where it can see absolutely everything I've dreamt of my entire life is so much more humbling; it sheds the reminder of how small I really am.

The inner peace is short lived, though, because I immediately think of the person I wish to be standing next to me and watching it all, too. I grip the notebook a little tighter and select a spot on the edge to sit, crossing my legs and pulling a pencil from the spiral binding of the book.

"What the hell am I even supposed to write?" I scoff to myself.

Write what you feel, Thomas's voice says in my head.

I roll my eyes and flip open the black cover to the first page. Blank and waiting. I stare at it for a while.

So, am I supposed to write about how much I miss him? I start in a messy scrawl. Or, like, the shitty thoughts running through my head every second? About my memories or whatever? Isn't that a little pointless?

I stop.

Yeah, it's pointless alright. I don't get how this is supposed to make me feel better, or help me 'cope'. Writing, thinking, or talking about how much I want Levi back or how much I wish I'd never let him die in the first place isn't going to bring him back, or take me any closer to where he is.

For shits and giggles, I jot that down.

"Nope," I mutter. "Don't feel any better at all."

I stare and stare at my messy handwriting. The longer I look, the more it pisses me off. With a growl, I yank the paper from the notebook, crumpling it in the process, and hurl it off the edge of the wall.

"Pointless, pointless..." I shake my head so hard my hair disarrays more. "He's not coming back and I'm a mess and I'm only staying here because of a shitty promise I made but it's all so fucking pointless!" I spit, watch as the spray from my lips glint in the waning sunlight. "And it hurts!" I scream. "It fucking hurts!!"

My hand seizes the notebook as I stand up. I hurl the entire thing off the wall and watch as the pages flap in the wind. It makes the long 50 meter descent to the ground. I can't hear it make contact with the ground, and tears blur everything anyway.

I don't know how long I stand there, heaving breaths in and out with clenched fists, one clamped around the pencil. I don't know if I'm angry or sad or what. I can't make sense of anything, really, and eventually I crumple to the ground with loud, horrible sobs jolting through my entire body.

"I miss you," I whimper into my knees. "You weren't supposed to leave, stupid. You promised me you'd stay...you promised I wouldn't have to be alone...but I am, Levi, I'm so alone...and I'm so fucking sad..."

Stupid, stupid, talking to air like it might respond, like Levi will walk up behind me at any second and flick me in the head for crying like such a baby.

I can never get away from thoughts like these, or this futile hope that he might do something like that, like my consciousness is trying to deny that I watched him die, that I felt the last breath leave his body and brush across my lips as I kissed him or felt his limbs fall limp or like I didn't shut his eyes with my very own fingers or like he didn't pass away right in my arms in a pool of his own blood...

This cloak, my memories, and my dreams are all I have left of him. And I'm convinced the remainder of my life will be like this. Bleak. Depressing. Lonely. Meaningless. 

---

The whole reason it took as long as it did for this chapter is because I'm terrible at coming up with titles, so coming up with each chapter title is a bit tedious, heh.

I do have a oneshot on the way, but it's delay is due to the same issue. /facepalm/ But hopefully I'll have it up within the next couple of days, if anyone's interested in that...