Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zeke had a perfect family. 

Mornings smelled like coffee and his mother’s jasmine perfume. Grisha would ruffle his hair on the way out the door, press a sweet kiss to Dina’s cheek, and mutter something corny like, “Don’t miss me too much~” And Dina would roll her eyes and smile like she absolutely would. Their weekends were slow and golden—pancake breakfasts, trips to the science museum where Zeke would get stuck for hours in front of the primate exhibit, memorizing monkey trivia with the same reverence other kids reserved for superheroes. Evenings were spent sprawled on the couch, Zeke tucked between them like he belonged nowhere else.

Zeke had a perfect family. Or at least, he thought he did.

One morning, the kiss his parents usually shared didn’t come.

Grisha left in a rush, no corny jokes to start the day, no hair ruffle. Just a distracted "see you" and the soft click of the door. Zeke frowned, watching the space his father had occupied just seconds ago. 

“Mama,” he asked. “Did Dad forget to kiss you today?”

Dina smiled, soft and tired. “Your father was running late, love. It’s okay to forget things sometimes.”

Zeke nodded, but it stayed with him, that first unraveling thread.

It was never sudden. No screaming matches, no slamming doors. Just little things—too-quiet dinners, mismatched schedules, Grisha missing more weekends. His parents looked at each other like strangers wearing familiar faces. The house stayed the same, but it felt like someone had moved all the furniture an inch to the left—subtly off.

He was nine when they sat him down, hands gentle, voices careful. The living room felt colder that day, even though the sun was still shining through the windows like it always did. Dina took one of his hands, Grisha the other, their fingers warm but trembling slightly—as if they were afraid they’d lose their grip on him, too.

“Zeke,” his mother said softly, and her voice trembled in a way it never had before.

She smoothed down his golden hair, even though it wasn’t messy, then folded her hands in her lap—only to wring them seconds later. Grisha shifted beside her, clearing his throat like he had something in it he couldn’t swallow. The silence was thick, taut, like the living room itself was bracing for impact.

Dina glanced at Grisha, then at Zeke, then down at her hands. “Your father and I—”

She paused.

Reached out again. Tucked the hem of Zeke’s shirt even though it wasn’t untucked. Touched his cheek. Brushed something invisible from his shoulder.

“We love you very much,” she finally said, voice barely above a whisper.

Grisha nodded, but his eyes didn’t meet Zeke’s.

Then Dina inhaled, deep and shaky, like she was diving underwater.

“But we won’t be staying together.”

For a moment, Zeke didn’t understand. The words hung in the air like smoke—too light, too quiet, too impossible to hold. He blinked. “What do you mean?”

Grisha’s voice cracked as he tried to explain. “We’re... going to live in different houses. Just different places, that’s all.”

Zeke stared at them. It didn’t make sense. Families didn’t just split down the middle. Love didn’t mean moving away, did it? No one was yelling. No one was angry. But somehow, that made it worse. If they weren’t fighting, then why were they falling apart?

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Dina gasped softly, cupping his face. “No, my love. No. This isn’t because of you. Never because of you.”

But the words didn’t stick. Not really. Because no matter how many times they told him it wasn’t his fault, something deep in his chest already believed that if he had just tried harder—been better, quieter, easier—they wouldn’t be saying goodbye like this.

And just like that, the perfect picture cracked. Not with a bang, but with a whisper.

ᯓ★

“Zeke?”

He blinked, and was pulled out of his thoughts just in time to nick his finger with the knife he was currently using to slice apples for his mother. He hissed.

“Shit!” He curses, quickly sucking on his index finger to soothe the cut. 

“Language.” Dina chastises, with no real bite. “I told you, you didn’t have to do that for me.” She huffs, a smile on her face.

“I wanted to,” Zeke muttered, already heading to the sink by the corner of the hospital room. He ran his finger under the water, wincing a little. “I even tried to make them look like bunnies. I saw this in the internet and figured—why not?”

He patched himself up and returned with the plate of slightly misshapen bunny apples, setting them gently on the breakfast tray beside her. Dina picked one up and giggled.

“Oh, that’s what they were?”

Zeke pouted. Dina only laughed harder.

He sank into the chair beside her bed. She reached over, brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead. “How was school, dear?”

“It was okay,” he said, then sighed when she gave him that look — the one that waited, patient and expectant. He sighs. “Uhm, same old. We gave out our college application forms today. Since we’re uh… graduating soon.”

“That’s wonderful! Which university are you aiming for?” Dina asks.

Zeke swallowed. His palms felt sweaty. He had hoped to dodge this conversation for just a little longer. How was he gonna tell his poor mother that he wanted to study medicine like the man who had left them? Abandoned them? After Grisha left, with all of Zeke’s childish anger, he vowed to never be like him. But look at him now. Grisha must be out there somewhere laughing and mocking him.

He looked away. “I applied to Liberio University.”

“That’s great! Your grandparents–”

“And… Trost,” he added, voice small. “Trost University.” 

Silence.

Zeke didn’t look up. He couldn’t. It was where his father went. Where he studied medicine. The man who had left them — left him. He had vowed never to follow in his footsteps, never be like him. But here he was, applying to the same place. Wanting to wear the same white coat.

When he finally gathered the courage to look up, Dina was smiling. Not the tired kind she wore lately — no, this one was soft and real. Like sunlight. Like home.

“I see.” She said simply.

“Y-you’re not mad at me?” Zeke stared. “After Grisha– that man left, I spent the rest of my life vowing I was never going to be like him after he had left us. And here I am, dropping a bomb saying I’ll study in the same university he did. Doesn’t that mean something to you?”

“That you’ll be pursuing medicine?” Dina tilted her head.

“Yes! So why aren’t you more—” he waved his hands, exasperated. “Angry?”

“Oh, my love. Come here.” She reached for him, and he scooted closer, letting her cradle his hand between both of hers. “Why would I be angry? Choosing medicine doesn’t make you your father. You are your own person, Zeke.”

Zeke’s throat tightened.

“I know you’re still hurt,” she continued gently. “Still confused. But it was a mutual decision, between your father and me.” 

Zeke knew that. Deep down, he always had. But it didn’t stop the ache. Because why hadn’t Grisha tried harder? For her? For him?

He’d pieced their story together over the years, mostly from his grandparents. A love story that began in med school — two brilliant students, all late nights, shared coffee, and impossible dreams. When Zeke came along, Dina stepped back. Grisha stepped forward, chasing ambitions that stretched across borders. His work took him places; and Dina stayed behind to take care of Zeke. They were both young then.

They didn’t fall out of love. They just… fell out of sync.

They tried to make it work. Therapy, family trips, sundays together. But in the end, love alone wasn’t enough. Not when they wanted different things, needed different lives. So they split. Quietly. No slammed doors, no bitter courtrooms. Just grief and a decision to choose peace over pretending. Dina got full custody and Grisha moved to Shiganshina. He still supported them, from afar.

Zeke never saw screaming. He saw silence. Sadness. The kind that lingered in doorways and phone calls.

Still, knowing didn’t ease the sting.

Grisha had a son. And he left him behind.

Zeke had watched classmates get picked up by both parents after school. Heard cheers from the audience on graduation day — but never from his father. Year after year, he convinced himself it didn’t matter.

But it did.

And sometimes, it still hurt.

Dina seems to have noticed him going quiet. She sighs. “Zeke, love, listen to me.” She clutches his hand tighter, her thumb brushing gently over his knuckles—like she’s memorizing the feel of him. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

Zeke turns to her, wary. “What is it?”

She hesitates, her breath hitching slightly before she continues. “I don’t have much time, sweetheart.”

Zeke stiffens. “Mom, don’t.”

“I know it’s selfish, I know how much your father hurt you by leaving, but—when I’m gone, I want you to consider... reaching out to him. I want you to go to Shiganshina.”

Zeke jerks his head away. “Why are you talking like that? You’re not going anywhere. You will get better. We’re going to stay together.”

Dina smiles at him sadly, and her silence says everything his heart refuses to hear.

“I’m so proud of you,” she says, gently brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You’re kind. You’re brave. You’ve grown up so strong. But you shouldn’t have to keep carrying all this anger. Not for me.”

Zeke’s voice cracks. “But he left.”

“I know,” she whispers. “And he’ll carry that weight for the rest of his life. But he loves you, in his own way. Maybe now, he’ll learn to show it better. Just... give him that chance. For me.”

She squeezes his hand once more, a quiet tremble in her fingers.

“Promise me, Zeke. Promise me you’ll try.”

He shakes his head at first, stubborn, aching. But the look in her eyes—the soft plea, the love, the finality—undoes him.

“I promise.” he whispers, tears slipping down his cheeks.

ᯓ★

The house was too quiet now.

Zeke sat alone at the kitchen table, the same one where he and his mother used to share late-night snacks and silly conversations about medical dramas. Her tea mug still sat by the sink, untouched since... since everything changed.

He stared at his phone, thumb hovering over a contact he never thought he’d dial again.

Grisha Jeager.

The name looked unfamiliar somehow. Like it belonged to someone else's father.

His chest ached. He remembered the promise, the weight of it pressed into his hands by fingers that could no longer hold his.

Zeke inhaled sharply and pressed the call button.

It rang once. Twice.

A click.

He brought the phone to his ear.

"...Hello?" Says the person on the other line.

Zeke swallowed. His voice was barely a whisper.

"Hey. It's me."

ᯓ★

Zeke was 18 years old when he moves to Shiganshina.

He stood awkwardly in the doorway, duffel bag in hand, staring at the unfamiliar surroundings. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind in a whirlwind of doubt. What had he gotten himself into? Had he really just left the life he’d known behind—his mother, the only stability he’d ever had, for this? For Grisha?

Maybe he was just overwhelmed by grief. Maybe that was why he had impulsively agreed to his mother’s dying wish, to reach out to the man who had abandoned him. But now, as he stood here, second-guessing every step, he wondered if this was a mistake. He didn’t know if he was doing this for his mother, for the sake of fulfilling her last request, or if he was just trying to avoid the mess of unresolved feelings by seeking closure. Maybe, in the end, he was just a scared little boy pretending he knew how to grow up.

His thoughts were interrupted by muffled voices from behind the door.

“How long is he gonna stand there?” A childish voice groaned.

“Hush, Eren!” A woman’s voice responded sharply, followed by a yelp. 

“Ow! Why did you pinch me?!”

Zeke’s brow furrowed as he heard more scuffling.

“Give him some time to—Wait, Eren!”

Before Zeke could process it, the door swung open, and he was immediately startled by the sight of a woman standing there, looking like she had been in the middle of chasing someone but had failed. She froze, and Zeke blinked at her in silence.

“Hey!!” A voice piped up from below. Zeke looked down to see a boy with bright, teal eyes, his hands firmly planted on his hips like he was trying to assert authority. “What’s taking you so long to knock, seriously? You’re weird!”

“Eren!” The woman scolded as she rushed over to pull him away. “What did I say about being rude?”

Eren, rubbing his behind where she’d slapped him, frowned. “But he’s just standing there like a weirdo! He doesn’t even talk!”

Zeke blinked. “Wha—”

Before he could say anything else, a voice he hadn’t heard in years called his name.

“Zeke?”

He froze.

The voice he’d dreaded hearing—the one that once brought him comfort, now a reminder of the betrayal.

Grisha Jeager.

Zeke couldn’t even respond. Eren’s childish mutterings faded into the background as Grisha stepped into view. The older man’s face wavered between joy and disbelief. It was almost as if he was about to cry.

“Zeke!” Grisha said, his voice thick with emotion. “I haven’t seen you in so long! You’ve grown up to be such a fine man! How are—”

Zeke flinched away at the attempt to hug him, as though the very touch would burn him alive. They stood there, frozen, staring at each other. Grisha’s smile faltered, and Zeke’s grip tightened around the strap of his duffel bag, the tension in the air suffocating. The silence was unbearable.

Grisha cleared his throat and, with visible effort, tried to salvage the moment with a gentle smile. “I’m sorry. Too fast?”

Zeke didn’t answer, only frowning at him in return. Grisha, sensing the discomfort, changed the subject quickly.

“Well, uhm, come inside, Zeke,” Grisha said, ushering him inside with a wave.

Zeke reluctantly followed. The house felt strange, foreign in a way that made his stomach churn. It wasn’t their old home, the one filled with memories of his mother and father before everything changed. This place was... messy but homely, like it had been lived in without any intention of hiding the clutter.

As Grisha led him through the house, Zeke glanced around, noticing how much had changed. A few steps later, Grisha left him alone in the living room, going to the kitchen to grab drinks and snacks.

He stepped on one—some sort of ugly monkey figurine—and winced. Still, he couldn’t help himself; he picked it up and carefully set it on the coffee table, adjusting its limbs until it struck a familiar pose: left leg lifted, right arm pulled back, head tilted slightly, eyes fixed on an invisible target—just like a pitcher mid-windup. He chuckled softly at his handiwork.

As he sank into the couch, he noticed a wall full of pictures of Eren. The portraits were so full of joy that Zeke couldn’t look at them for long. One was of Eren’s first steps, another of his first day of prep school, and the final one was a family picture, a rare moment where it seemed like Grisha, Carla, and Eren were genuinely happy. Eren was squished between his parents' cheeks on his 5th birthday, an annoyed look on his face, but the joy in Grisha’s expression was unmistakable. Zeke had never seen his father look so happy. Not even when they had been a family.

Grisha came back with two glasses of orange juice, and Zeke accepted his without a word. He set it down on the table in front of Zeke and took a seat on the small one-seater next to the couch.

Before Grisha could break the silence, Zeke spoke.

“So you had another son.”

The words came out flat, but the weight of them wasn’t lost on either of them. Behind Zeke’s bluntness was the pain of a question he had never voiced aloud before.

Was I not enough for you?

Was I such a disappointment that you couldn’t even try harder to stay for me?

Grisha’s face shifted, guilt flickering in his eyes. Good. Zeke took a sip from his glass with a little more force than necessary. The cool orange juice did nothing to settle the heat in his chest, though.

Zeke felt the promise he and his mother made, and it hurt. He thought he could handle this. He thought coming here would give him the closure he needed. But now that he was here... nothing about it felt easy.

He set the glass down too hard. The clink rang like a warning bell.

Grisha turned his head. “Zeke...?”

Zeke stood up slowly, like the weight pressing on his chest finally forced him to move. His voice came low, controlled—at first.

“You look happy here.”

Grisha blinked, unsure if it was a compliment or a threat. Zeke answered that question for him.

“Good for you, Grisha,” Zeke spat. “Here you could completely forget your first family and live in happiness. And no one would find fault with that. Even if you forgot that you had a previous son.”

Grisha’s mouth opened, likely to deny it, to defend himself, to say something, but Zeke didn’t let him speak.

“Tell me something.” His voice was shaking now, the cracks starting to show. “Did you ever think about what happened to us after you left? Or did you just shove it into a box and lock it away—like the rest of your failures?”

Grisha flinched, but Zeke wasn’t finished. The dam had cracked. There was no stopping it now.

“You talk to me like I’m a guest in this house. And that’s exactly what I am, isn’t it?” Zeke gestured around the room. “None of this has anything to do with me. Not the toys. Not the pictures. Not the laughter I hear from upstairs. That’s your life, but it’s not mine.”

Grisha looked stricken. Zeke kept going.

“You abandoned me . You abandoned her. She died believing in the version of you she built out of scraps—because the real one wasn’t worth it. And I—I spent my entire childhood waiting for you to come back. Do you get that?! I waited for you!”

His voice broke now, sharp and breathless. “Every birthday. Every school event. Every time I scraped my knee or had a nightmare. I kept hoping I’d look up and see you at the door.”

He paused, chest heaving.

“But you never came.”

Grisha stepped forward, eyes filled with quiet sorrow. “Zeke—”

“ No! ” Zeke barked, stepping back. “Don’t you dare say my name like that! Like you have the right. Like you’ve earned anything.”

“I didn’t come here to forgive you,” he continued. “I came here because I thought maybe I could understand why . Why you left. Why I wasn’t enough. Why you never looked at me the way you look at him .”

He jabbed a finger toward the photos on the wall. “What did he do that I didn’t, huh? Was he just… easier to love?”

Grisha’s lip trembled. “That’s not true.”

“Then tell me what is!” Zeke’s voice cracked. “Tell me why you never fought for me. Why you let us rot while you got to move on and play happy family. Why I had to carry her grief and yours and mine and pretend I was okay!”

He was shouting now, eyes burning. “You don’t get to cry. You don’t get to hurt .”

Grisha’s voice came soft. “I’m not the one hurting right now.”

Zeke’s face twisted, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe right. It all came crashing down—every year spent trying to be strong, every tear he never allowed himself to cry, every lie he told himself to stay upright. His legs gave out, and he dropped onto the couch like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“I hate you,” he whispered.

Grisha stepped closer.

“I hate you for leaving. For forgetting. For living.” Zeke clutched at his chest, like something inside was shattering. “But I missed you. I missed you so much it ruined me.”

Grisha knelt in front of him. His hands hovered in the air, uncertain—then finally, carefully, he wrapped his arms around Zeke. It wasn’t tentative, it wasn’t gentle. It was desperate.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice cracking. “I was a terrible father.”

Zeke didn’t move.

“I love you, Zeke.” Grisha gasped, grief folding him in half. “I wish—I wish I could have played with you more. I wish I had been there. I should’ve been there.”

Zeke sobbed, fists curled into his father’s shirt like a child. “Then why wasn’t that enough?”

Grisha pulled him tighter, as if he could will time to reverse, to fix everything with a single embrace.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice thick. “But I’m here now. If you’ll let me be.”

Zeke didn’t answer. He couldn’t. But he didn’t let go.

And maybe that was enough.

For now.

ᯓ★

Grisha retires to his and Carla’s bedroom after helping Zeke settle into his own room that night. He must have sensed Zeke wasn’t quite ready to fully accept him yet. 

Zeke quietly unpacks his things. He hangs up his outerwear, folds his indoor clothes into the drawers, methodical. On the bedside table, he places a small photo of him and his mother when he was fifteen—both of them smiling, a little tired, but proud. At the very bottom of his luggage, he finds a worn baseball and an old monkey plush. He chuckles, barely shaking his head. Dina must’ve snuck it in sometime ago. He places the plush on his bed, its limbs flopped awkwardly, and hides the baseball in the desk drawer.

“Hey.”

Zeke jumps so hard he nearly knocks the drawer shut with his knee. He spins around, heart lurching—and finds a kid standing in the doorway, arms crossed, chin up like a tiny dictator.

“Your eyes are red,” the boy says flatly. “You look ugly.”

It’s Eren.

Zeke stares at him, unsure what to do. Then, he clears his throat. “It’s late.” He gestures to the clock. “Shouldn’t you be asleep by now? Kids need sleep to grow strong, you know.”

“I heard you and Dad yelling.”

Zeke winces.

“What were you fighting about?”

A pause. “Uhm…”

“Actually, I don’t care. Come on!” Eren marches into the room and grabs a fistful of Zeke’s shirt like he’s commandeering a ship.

“H-Hey—hasn’t anyone taught you not to talk to strangers?” Zeke stammers, but lets himself be dragged anyway. It’s not like he can say no to a pint-sized goblin with a mission.

“But we’re not strangers. You’re Zeke, right? You’re my big brother.”

Zeke blinks. “Did your dad tell you that?” he mutters. “Where are you taking me?”

“Nope! Not really!” Eren chirps, popping the ‘P’. “I was trying to find a crayon in Dad’s study—you know, the one I’m totally not allowed to go in? And I saw a photo of you in a drawer! He hides it! Like it’s treasure or something. He always looks at it and gets all snotty and sad. He calls it his 'son' which is weird, ’cause I’m his son. But that means—!” Eren spins around dramatically, walking backward now.

“You must be my brother! Math!” He beams.

Zeke is still processing the phrase snotty and sad when they arrive at Eren’s room.

Eren kicks the door open like a man possessed. “Ta-da!”

The room looks like a toy store exploded and no one bothered to clean up. Clothes, action figures, crumpled paper, a sword made of pool noodles—chaos. It screams “ a child lives here!” Zeke hesitates in the doorway, unsure if this is a trap. Eren releases Zeke’s shirt and dives headfirst under the bed.

Zeke frowns. “Okay... what are you doing?”

A muffled “Wait!!” comes out from under the bed. Zeke raises his arms in surrender, as if Eren could see him. After a few seconds, Eren emerges with a crumpled piece of paper.

“Here! Look! I made this before I even met you.” He holds it up like a sacred scroll. The drawing has four stick figures, two big and two small, one of them drawn in yellow.

“That’s you,” Eren declares proudly.

Zeke squints. “...Why am I yellow?”

“I dunno. I ran out of brown.” Eren shrugs like it’s obvious. “Also, I think yellow makes you look cool. Like lightning. Or a banana. Like your hair!”

Zeke tries not to snort. He fails. Then he notices the words messily scribbled in terrifying red across the top.

“丨 山丨ㄥㄥ 千丨几ᗪ ㄚㄖㄩ”

Zeke stares at it for a long second.

“...Is this paint?” he asks. He hopes.

Eren shrugs again. “Might be ketchup. Or Mom’s lipstick.” Zeke sighs in relief. “I was feeling it, okay?”

Zeke blinks slowly. He’s not sure whether he’s more touched or deeply, deeply unsettled. Possibly both.

“…Thanks,” he says finally, and to his own surprise, he means it.

Eren grins, victorious. “You’re welcome! You can keep it. But only if you promise not to cry on it like Dad.”

Zeke lets out a real laugh then. Exhausted and a little broken. But real.

Chapter Text

Zeke blinks his eyes open, squinting against the sharp streak of morning light cutting through the curtains. His brain lags for a few seconds behind his body, loading his consciousness like a startup screen. His mouth is dry and his back aches. And something smells like lemon scented floor cleaner and boy.

Boy???

He turns his head slightly. A mistake. A bolt of pain shoots through his neck. His pillow (if it can even be called that) is a couch cushion that's migrated somewhere near his shoulder blades in the night, leaving his spine to suffer unsupervised.

He tries to sit up.

He cannot sit up.

Because there is a child on him.

Zeke freezes. His eyes drop to his chest, and sure enough, there lies Eren. Fully starfished across Zeke’s body like a sun warmed cat. One arm draped over his ribs, one leg slung across his waist, cheek squished firmly against his sternum. There’s a smear of dried drool soaking into the fabric of his shirt. It’s still warm. Zeke doesn’t scream, but he thinks about screaming. He stares at the ceiling instead, trying to remember where he is, who he was, how he got here, and what life choices led to him being used as a human mattress by a third grader with the grip strength of a koala. His internal monologue is one long, flatlined "what the hell."

He attempts to shift Eren off gently, but the child snuffles in his sleep and clutches tighter. Zeke stares in abject horror.

He's being held hostage. By a child. A drooly, sweaty, sleep warmed barnacle of a child. And the worst part...

It’s… kind of warm.

No. No. He refuses to feel comforted by this. He is a grown man. A future college student. 

And yet here he is, pinned beneath eighty pounds of unconscious affection and booger breath.

He debates whether to just lie here forever, maybe become part of the furniture or die peacefully or be reborn as a decorative throw pillow.

That’s when the door creaks open.

“Eren? Wake up, it’s time for— oh.”

Zeke's body goes full possum. Still and lifeless, with his eyes wide open.

Carla stands in the doorway holding a folded towel, taking in the scene with a neutral expression that’s about three degrees away from delighted amusement. Her eyes flick from Zeke’s disheveled hair to Eren’s octopus grip to the trail of drool soaking into Zeke’s shirt.

“Well,” she says lightly. “You two look cozy.”

Zeke tries to speak. What comes out is a strangled noise.

Carla raises an eyebrow. “Would you mind waking him up for me? Breakfast is ready so come down when you’re…” she gestures vaguely at the entanglement. “…Mobile.”

The door closes with a soft click.

Zeke exhales. Eren mumbles something unintelligible and snuggles in deeper, like he’s docking into sleep charging mode.

Zeke glares at the ceiling.

He is not mentally equipped for this.

And yet, he doesn't move.

ᯓ★

Breakfast is a war zone. Not in the explosive way, but in a quiet, diplomatic crisis kind of way. Zeke is uncomfortably aware of every single creak of the wooden chair beneath him as he shifts, adjusting to the day that refuses to go smoothly. His shoulders are stiff, as if his entire body has recognized the impending awkwardness of this situation. To his left, Grisha was using his newspaper like a fortress, probably hoping Zeke won’t notice the awkwardness he’s clearly not addressing. To his right, Carla hums to herself while buttering toast as though she didn’t just catch her son spooning his estranged half brother this morning.

Across from him, Eren is making a spectacle of eating cereal. Slurping, splashing milk all over the place, and talking with his mouth full like he’s announcing the next big thing. His sticky hands smudge the edge of the table.

Zeke’s grip tightens on his spoon. He doesn't know whether to strangle the spoon or just himself. He hasn’t dared look at Grisha once. His eyes are trained resolutely on the table, a perfect example of avoidance. Grisha might as well be a stranger.

Carla seems to find all of this… amusing. She glances between Zeke and Grisha every now and then, like she’s waiting for some sort of sitcom laugh track to cue in.

Zeke swallows. His mouth feels dry. He chews the inside of his cheek for something to do, anything to stop the uncomfortable knot in his stomach. He shifts in his seat again and fidgets. He doesn't know what to do with his hands. It’s the kind of quiet that’s so thick, you can almost hear the awkwardness in the air.

“So uh, you start college soon?”

The question drops into the tension like a stone hitting still water. Zeke freezes mid bite, the spoon hovers in the air as he processes. His eyes flick toward Grisha just for a second, then away.

He wasn’t going to answer. But then his mom’s voice in his head echoes the promise he made.

Try.

Zeke shifts in his seat and hews the inside of his cheek again, then exhales through his nose.

“…Yeah,” he mutters, his voice flat, like the word is weighing a ton.

It should’ve ended there. It should’ve just been a blip in the conversation, like any other casual question. But the silence that follows feels like it’s crushing him. He can feel Carla’s eyes on him, heavy but gentle. And Grisha... Grisha’s probably still pretending he’s not noticing anything, but Zeke can’t escape the strange shift in the air between them. He taps his foot under the table, trying to distract himself from the awkward current threading between him and his father.

“…In a month and a half, actually,” he mutters, almost too quietly to hear. “Summer break’s over by August. I start in Trost then.” The words come out slower than he expects, like his mouth is working against him. It feels like he's dragging them out by hand.

Grisha lowers his newspaper. He’s not quite looking at Zeke, but the brief flicker of surprise in his eyes makes something twist in Zeke’s gut. Zeke avoids his gaze, his throat tight.

The moment lingers.

Then—

CLUNK!

Zeke’s heart jumps when Eren slams his bowl down onto the table. “I’m gonna go play now!” he announces.

Before Carla can even blink, Eren’s already out of his chair and halfway to the stairs.

“Eren, wait—” Carla’s voice rises as she grabs the back of his shirt mid sprint, stopping him in his tracks. She yanks him backward, like a seasoned veteran who’s had enough of her son’s nonsense. “Brush your teeth first! And change out of those pajama pants, mister!”

“Ughhh mooom,” Eren whines, going limp in her grip like a human noodle. “I gotta go fight the Monkey Beast before Armin steals all the XP!!”

Zeke blinks. “…Monkey Beast?”

Grisha chuckles, like this is the most normal thing in the world. “It’s a game he and the neighborhood kids made up. Something about a giant monkey and walls or something.”

“Not a game!” Eren yells, already halfway up the stairs, voice echoing. “It’s lore! And Jean’s the monkey today!”

Zeke stares at the stairs for a solid moment, dumbfounded.

What the hell is this family?

He sighs, running a hand through his hair as if the action could clear his brain of this nonsensical morning.

Turning back to Grisha, who’s sipping his coffee like he’s just witnessed a perfectly normal exchange, Zeke’s next question slips out almost before he can stop it.

“…When does Eren start school?” He’s surprised to hear the words coming from his mouth. He’s genuinely curious, which might be a first.

Grisha pauses, clearly not expecting it. He looks at Zeke over the rim of his cup, surprised for just a second before he responds.

“Uh, August, too. Second week. He’s in third grade now.”

Zeke nods slowly, processing this random tidbit of information. Then… he doesn’t say anything else. He can’t.

The air is still thick with unspoken words, but at least Eren’s monkey game provides some distraction from the social landmine he’s stuck on.

ᯓ★

A little while later, Grisha and Carla were heading out for groceries. Or trying to, anyway.

Zeke caught them hovering by the doorway, deep in what could only be described as a stealth marital debate. They spoke in hushed tones, throwing not-so-subtle glances toward the living room, like they were arguing over who had to leave the potentially unstable adult with the loud and explosive child.

It was ridiculous. He wasn’t going to set the house on fire. Probably.

With a sigh, he cleared his throat, making his presence known to the two of them. “I’ll be fine alone with Eren, you know.”

Both of them turned toward him like they’d forgotten he could speak. Zeke raised a brow and added dryly to Grisha, “You’re not gonna let her drive alone to the store, are you?”

Carla smiled softly, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little. Grisha, on the other hand, looked like someone had just handed him a baby made of glass with knives. He opened his mouth, closed it again. Then finally, reluctantly, gave a stiff nod.

After another minute of silent panic, they were out the door, though not before Grisha threw Zeke the most worried, reluctant look known to man.

Zeke rolled his eyes. “Carla’s waiting in the car,” he reminded him.

Grisha lingered. “Eren’s probably at Armin’s house again, so you won’t need to watch him much but… just in case. We’ll be back soon. I mean it. Not long. You don’t have to—”

“Okay, okay.” Zeke waved him off. “I’m not going to lose him, calm down.”

Grisha frowned. “That’s not—”

Carla honked from outside. 

Zeke ushered him out with one last shove. “ Go .”

When the door shut behind them, he slumped into the couch like he’d just finished an emotional triathlon.

Peace, finally!

The television flicked on, the cushions molded around him, and he was just starting to forget where he was when—

BANG!

The front door slammed open like someone was staging a raid.

“ZEEEEEKKKEEEEE!!”

Zeke sat up so fast he nearly pulled something.

Eren came charging into the living room like a human cannonball, red cheeked and wild-eyed, and— oh god, there were two other kids trailing behind him. One looked like she could stab him with her eyes and the other looked like a gust of wind might take him away.

“I brought my friends!” Eren beamed, like he’d just won a prize. “This is Mikasa and this is Armin. Mikasa’s strong, and Armin’s smart, and we’re gonna build a treehouse and maybe time travel. But also we need a monkey beast because Jean is a pussy and backed out.”

Zeke’s brain short-circuited. There were too many stimuli. Words. Children. Eren cursing?! Time travel? He opened his mouth then closed it. He thought about scolding Eren except he also somehow forgot how to speak.

Mikasa, all scarf and silent judgment, gave him a barely perceptible nod. Her eyes didn’t leave him for a second. Zeke had seen assassins with softer gazes.

Armin gave an awkward little wave. “Hi, sir. I like your glasses.”

Zeke tilted his head and cleared his throat. “Well uhm, hello Mikasa. Hello, Armin. I’m Zeke. Eren’s…” He paused, trying to define their relation without triggering an existential crisis. “...older brother.”

Eren flopped dramatically onto the couch next to him. “Zeke, Mikasa punched a kid in the face today ‘cause he said my head was shaped like a coconut.”

“I didn’t punch him,” Mikasa said calmly. “I tripped into his face with my fist.”

“Technically he fell into her fist.” Armin scrunches his tiny nose. “Which was... stationary. Mostly.”

Zeke blinked again. So Eren has a protector and a lawyer. He’s kind of impressed. Good combo.

He watched as Mikasa wordlessly began rearranging the throw pillows into a fortress and Armin pulled a notebook out of somewhere and started sketching what looked suspiciously like a zipline off the roof.

Zeke leans back and mutters under his breath, “Yeah. These kids are gonna destroy the world...”

Eren beams again beside him. “So, Zeke.” He starts like he means business.

Zeke squints at him. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”

“Yes, I do. The answer is still no.”

Eren pouted, tugging on his sleeve. “But we need you!” Eren whined, dragging out the last syllable like it gave him more power. “We need a Big Boss Monkey Monster for our game!” Eren stood in front of him, hands clenched in pleading desperation. Mikasa stood beside him, arms folded. Her eyes narrowed at Zeke like she was already choosing where to hide his body if he refused.

Armin steps forward, all polite smiles and eerie calm. “Zeke-san, studies show that cooperative play between older siblings and younger children fosters emotional resilience, trust building, and cognitive development. Plus, Eren already told us neighborhood kids you’d be the big boss, sooo it’d be socially damaging if you didn’t follow through.”

Zeke gapes. “…Did you just socially blackmail me using developmental psychology?”

Armin smiled wider. “I wouldn’t call it blackmail. Let’s say… strategic motivation.”

Zeke blinked. “How do you even know what that means?! You’re nine !”

Mikasa steps closer and Zeke swears the room dropped five degrees. He gulps.

Eren tugged on his sleeve. “Please, Zeke? You don’t even have to do much. Just roar or throw a pillow or something. And then I’ll stab you with my swords and be the hero. You can even die dramatically! That’s, like, your whole vibe anyway.”

“…My vibe ?”

“Tragic older brother with unresolved trauma! Armin said so.”

“?!” Zeke turns to the blond kid, startled.

Armin shrugged. “Statistically speaking, the dramatic fall of a morally gray anti hero leaves a lasting impression on the audience.”

Zeke stared at all three of them. “This is a hostile takeover.”

Eren’s eyes sparkled. “So you’ll do it?!”

Zeke closes the TV with a sigh. “Fine. But if one of you hits me in the face with a foam sword, I’m filing a report.”

Eren whooped, Armin clapped, and Mikasa, Zeke swore, smiled just a little.

ᯓ★

“So, how exactly do you play this game?” His tone was flat, as though he’d rather be anywhere else.

Eren, already sporting a plastic sword and grinning like an idiot, flicked his hair back and gave Zeke a dramatic once over. “It’s simple! You’re the monkey monster, and we’re the 'scouts' protecting the walls from your attack!”

Zeke blinked, then glanced at the “walls” they’d put together: an odd collection of chairs, blankets, and an overturned box. It looked less like a fortress and more like a pile of old junk.

“The monkey monster? ” Zeke asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Yep!” Eren grinned wider. “You’re the giant monster that tries to break through! We have to stop you!”

Zeke sighed, though he couldn’t quite suppress the slight curiosity bubbling up. “I’m supposed to break these walls?”

“Yes.” Mikasa said, adjusting her sword and shield with a confidence that suggested she had spent more time planning for this than Zeke had. “If you get past us, we lose.”

Armin added with his usual tactical precision, flipping through his notepad. “You’ll need strategy to break through. Even a monster has to be clever.”

Zeke raised an eyebrow. “Armin… you’re taking notes for this?”

“It’s all about preparation,” Armin said seriously, his eyes not leaving his paper. “A scout must always be prepared.”

“Great,” Zeke muttered. “I’m facing an army of nerds.”

Mikasa, ever the tactical warrior, shot him a chilling glare. “You’re facing us, so you better step up your game.” She raised her foam sword. “I’m strong, so, come at me all at once.” She said seriously. Zeke had no doubt she meant it.

Eren grinned at him. “Ready? Let’s go let’s go!!”

Zeke hesitated for a moment, watching Eren’s excitement. His younger brother—so carefree, so full of life.

So loved by their father.

The same father who had abandoned him for years, leaving him with Dina and a promise that always felt hollow. The same father who showed up with a new family, a new son… and made Zeke feel like an afterthought.

How is it that he gets all of it?

Zeke’s eyes narrowed as Eren charged off, already darting toward the 'walls' with a speed Zeke didn’t expect. His brother’s carefree laugh rang in the air.

Zeke took a deep breath. It’s not his fault. It’s Grisha’s.

He pushed the thought away and let the game unfold, trying to focus.

Eren leaped forward, Mikasa at his side. Zeke didn’t waste any time. He dashed forward, using the element of surprise, pushing Mikasa aside with little effort. She tumbled but quickly got back up, unbothered. It wasn’t enough to stop Zeke, he was going straight for the wall.

But then, just before Zeke reached it, his mind flashed back to that moment when he was nine years old—when Grisha had walked out on him and Dina, the crushing silence in their home after that, how Zeke had always felt like he was never enough to keep his father.

And now Eren… Eren had it all.

A sudden surge of anger twisted Zeke’s gut. He wasn’t just the “monkey monster” in this game. He was a monster in Grisha’s eyes too. A failed son, abandoned in the shadows of his father’s new family. Zeke’s hand shot out, not just to tag Eren, but to shove him back with more force than he’d intended.

Eren stumbled, caught off guard, falling backward, but there was no fear on his face, only confusion. The laughter died in the air for a moment.

Zeke’s eyes widened. What the hell did I just do?

For a brief moment, anger flashed across Zeke’s face, but he quickly shoved it down. He’d seen that look in Eren’s eyes before— the same look I had when I was his age. Confused, unsure, but always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt. Always too trusting.

He had to stop. This wasn’t Eren’s fault. The anger wasn’t about him.

“I—I didn’t mean to—” Zeke quickly stepped back, his voice softer than usual.

Eren, ever the forgiving younger brother, waved it off with a grin. “It’s fine! You’re just playing the part of the monkey monster, right?”

Mikasa, who had been watching closely, shot Zeke another of her killer glares. “Zeke-san, we’re here to have fun.”

Zeke hesitated. Have fun? Is that even possible for someone like me?

The guilt started to creep in. Maybe this game wasn’t just about defending a stack of chairs and old blankets. Maybe it was about something else entirely. The walls they’d built, haphazard and uneven, looked like nothing. But Zeke couldn’t help staring at them, seeing something more. They reminded him of himself.

Flimsy, improvised defenses. Wobbly barriers thrown together in a rush. That’s all his walls ever were, wasn’t it? Something to hide behind. Something to keep people out. Something that said don’t touch me, don’t look too close, I’m fine. He’d spent years building them, layering over every bruise, every abandonment. With silence, and with distance. With a sharp tongue and a tired smile. And he thought if he made them strong enough, tall enough, no one could hurt him again. No one would ever get close enough to see the child who got left behind.

But now, in this ridiculous game, in this mess of laughter and foam swords and childish rules, he was the one trying to break through.

The one tearing the walls down.

And maybe that scared him more than anything. Because what if there was nothing underneath? What if all that was left of him was the monster?

He stood still for a moment, heart thudding in his chest. Not from the game, but from the thought. The silence between movements stretched thin. Then, he felt it. A tug. Eren’s hand, reaching up from where he’d fallen, eyes wide and laughing like nothing had happened. Something in Zeke’s chest cracked open.

He took a deep breath, feeling the weight lift from his shoulders, even if just a little. He hadn’t realized how much of that resentment had been tied up in this game until now. Eren deserved his joy. Mikasa and Armin deserved their smiles. And Zeke… he needed to change too.

He took a step forward, more slowly this time, a smirk creeping across his face.

“Alright,” he said, lowering his voice. “But now, I’m coming for that wall. And I’m bringing a whole monkey monster army with me.”

Eren’s grin returned, and Mikasa’s stance relaxed a bit. “Bring it on.”

Zeke let himself laugh, genuinely this time, watching as Eren readied himself again, his enthusiasm a stark contrast to Zeke’s old, hardened demeanor. The game continued, and for the first time in a long while, Zeke was beginning to feel like he could just… play.

Eren darted toward him, shrieking something unintelligible about 'scout honor' and 'humanity’s last hope' as he swung his foam sword. Zeke dodged easily, grabbing a pillow from the couch and using it as a makeshift shield.

“Pillow tactics? Really?” Armin called out, scandalized.

“You brought a clipboard to a foam sword fight,” Zeke deadpanned, parrying Eren’s next attack with a dramatic spin.

Mikasa came in from the side, fast and precise. Zeke had to admit, she had scary reflexes. He narrowly ducked a swing that, if real, might’ve actually decapitated him. Somewhere in the chaos, Armin tried to flank him with a pool noodle. Zeke grabbed a couch cushion and hurled it like a grenade.

A startled squeak. Direct hit.

“Hey!” Armin coughed dramatically. 

Zeke smirked. “I’m a monkey monster. What did you expect?”

Then came Eren again, arms flailing, eyes wide, charging him head on. This time, Zeke didn’t dodge. He scooped Eren up mid run, tackled him onto the carpet with a theatrical growl, and started mock wrestling. Eren shrieked with laughter, squirming beneath him. Mikasa rolled her eyes, a smile on her lips. Armin adjusted his notepad to record something about "tactical errors in frontal assaults."

Zeke laughed again. It came out easier this time. 

He didn’t know when he’d last done that.

There was something about the way Eren laughed without holding back, without shame. Something about the way Mikasa threw herself into the game like it was life or death, and the way Armin made up rules as he went just to keep the fun going. Something about how none of them flinched when Zeke raised his voice or moved too fast. Like they didn’t expect him to break things. Like they didn’t think he was dangerous.

He wasn’t sure what to do with that.

For so long, he’d been the one left behind. The son not chosen. The shadow of a life Grisha walked away from. Even with Dina-- sharp and brilliant, fiercely devoted-- still, there had always been a hollow space where his father should’ve fit. And now… here he was. Playing the villain in a game that wasn’t real. Letting kids knock him over. Letting himself fall. And maybe... feeling like someone other than a mistake.

They collapsed into a heap eventually. Out of breath, sweating from the effort, foam swords and couch cushions scattered around them like the remnants of some great, stupid battle.

Eren flopped dramatically onto the floor beside him. “We win!!” he declared, panting.

“You cheated,” Zeke said, voice soft and a little fond. 

Eren grinned. “You let me.”

Zeke stared at the ceiling, at the warm yellow of the light. At the way dust drifted lazily through the air. His heart was still thudding. Not from exertion. From something else.

From feeling… okay.

Not whole.

Not healed.

But okay.

ᯓ★

Later that evening, Grisha came home with groceries and that same tired, gentle smile, the kind Zeke remembered from when he was five. 

Zeke met him in the kitchen, arms folded tight across his chest like a shield. He hadn’t meant to wait for him. And yet, here he was.

“You didn’t tell me,” Zeke said flatly.

Grisha blinked. “Tell you…?”

“That Eren has a little murder gremlin and a blond war tactician following him around like ducklings imprinted on violence.”

Grisha set the bags down slowly. “I assume you met Mikasa and Armin.”

“Oh, I met them,” Zeke deadpanned. “Mikasa stared at me like I owed her money in a past life, and Armin complimented my glasses while simultaneously locating every structural weak point in this house. I think he was silently judging the ceiling insulation.”

Grisha tried not to laugh. “They’re good kids.”

“Mikasa nearly snapped a throw pillow in half from pure tension. Armin said the word ‘aerodynamically inefficient’ when Eren showed him a paper airplane. Nine year-olds, Grisha.” He dragged a hand down his face. “They built a blanket fort that somehow included a ventilation system.”

“Sounds… impressive?”

“They had blueprints .”

Grisha chuckled, tentative, and set a hand lightly on Zeke’s shoulder. There was hesitation in the gesture, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.

Zeke didn’t shake him off. But he didn’t lean in, either.

“How were they?”

“Happy. Loud. Still convinced they're gonna invent time travel before they finish third grade.” Zeke groans.

“Well, that’s good, right?”

Zeke didn’t answer at first. He glanced over his shoulder, toward the living room. He could hear muffled laughter, the rustle of blankets, the creak of the couch as tiny bodies fidgeted restlessly. Eren was probably explaining something ridiculous again.

“…Yeah,” Zeke said at last, softer. “It is.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Next time, though? Warn me. Or leave out whiskey.”

Grisha let out a quiet chuckle. “Noted. I’ll add it to the grocery list.”

Silence pooled between them, thick, but not hostile. Like a pause between storms. Zeke stared at the tiled floor. It was the kind of silence that made you think about things you didn’t want to.

He watched from the kitchen as Mikasa and Armin’s guardians arrived to pick them up. Mikasa’s uncle looked like someone who used to break kneecaps for a living, but there was a gentleness in how he carried her, slumped asleep over his shoulder like something precious. A moment later, Armin’s grandfather came in with a careful gait and a scarf wrapped twice around his neck, eyes crinkling with warmth as Armin ran to him.

Zeke watched it all. Behind him, Grisha started unloading the groceries.

“Earlier…” he began, tentative again. “I’m sorry if I came off like I didn’t trust you with Eren. That wasn’t my intention, it’s just… it’s only been a day. I didn’t want to pressure you. Or make you feel like you had to take care of him. Eren can be a lot.”

Zeke laughed quietly. “Yeah. He’s a lot.”

But even as he said it, something in him ached. The kind of ache you only get when you remember being a lot, too. When you remember needing someone who couldn’t handle it.

“And I’m sorry,” Zeke added, after a beat. “For… assuming the worst.”

It was easier to assume the worst. It kept things from hurting so much when people disappointed you.

Grisha let out a breath that seemed to come from somewhere deep. “Thank you.”

Zeke shifted, unsure what to do with the lump building in his throat.

“…The only reason I’m here,” he said finally, voice low. “Is because I made a promise to Mom before she died.” Grisha turned to him, listening.

“She asked me to try,” Zeke said. “To reconcile with you. I remember being angry about it. Still am, honestly. Why would she ask that of me? After everything?” He laughs bitterly then swallows hard.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever stop being angry. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop feeling like you picked a new family and left me behind. And I sure as hell don’t know if I can forgive you. Maybe I can’t. Maybe I never will.”

Grisha said nothing. His face was drawn, stricken, but he didn’t interrupt.

Zeke looked away. “But I’m here. I’m trying.”

That last word burned in his throat. Like admitting weakness. Like peeling a scab back to show it never healed right.

“I don’t know if that’s enough,” he whispered. “But it’s all I’ve got.”

When he finally looked up, Grisha’s eyes were full of tears.

“Son,” he said, voice breaking. “May I… may I hug you?”

Zeke froze. The word son hit like a wound pressed with salt.

He hesitated.

Then, softly, “Okay.”

Grisha moved like he’d been holding himself back for years. He wrapped his arms around Zeke, gently, like Zeke might vanish if he held too tight.

“There’s so much I want to tell you,” he whispered. “So much I want to share, if you’ll let me. I know I wasn’t there when you needed me. I know I left. But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Zeke didn’t respond at first. He just stood there, stiff in the embrace. Then, slowly, like thawing ice, his hands lifted and wrapped around his father. His face buried into the crook of Grisha’s shoulder.

“...Okay,” he said again.

But this time, it wasn’t about permission. It was a promise. Tentative, yes. Cracked around the edges, sure. But it was real.

He wasn’t sure if he believed in healing. Not yet.

But maybe, if he stayed, if they both did, he’d figure it out.

Zeke may have lost the perfect family he’d once begged the world for, but maybe...

He hadn’t lost the chance to build something real.