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seeingivy · 1 year

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sick with sadness

actor eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic

content: mentions of depression/anxiety, getting taken advantage of, pure sadness NO happy in this chapter

an: I am alive. I am convinced I have some underlying chronic disease or illness going on with the way the past three weeks have gone, but I am alive. we are all going to close our eyes and read this chapter and then move on.

previous chapter

Eren’s tenth birthday is the first time he feels it.

He sits on the spiral staircase to watch the crowd roar on outside, well past the normal time he’d be asleep. He can feel the tiredness sitting in his eyes, the stuffy, starched suit his mom forced him to wear digging into his neck. There’s a mix of blue, green, and yellow confetti littered on the floor, a sticky grime to the usual pristine house his mom’s meticulousness affords - and he hates it.

From his vantage point, he can see every corner of the party, the expansive glass doors letting him catch every person laughing, enjoying, swinging to the beat of the music. Armin and Bertholdt are pouring salt into Historia and Annie’s drinks while they use the bathroom, Sasha and Jean are being way too aggressive with the pinata, and Mikasa’s braiding a little flower crown for a very smiley Marco.

His parents' friends, people whose movies he’s spent years watching when he grew up, studied when he was at the SHWA are on the right side of the lot, sparkling dresses getting ruined by the mud in the backyard and their expensive jewelry discarded on the tables.

And all Eren can do is watch. Whatever it is, the block in his chest, that’s stopping the breath from reaching his lungs - it’s gluing him down to the seat, making every part of his brain feel heavy and his arms feel loose.

If souls were real, his would be hundreds, thousands of miles away - detached from his real body.

He hears a loud pounding and turns his neck to find Ymir and Reiner poking the little aquarium to the left of the staircase. The fish he picked out with Zeke on his last birthday, the picture perfect day of quiet solitude, are frantically swimming around the tank.

He watches the two of them, their inquisitive eyes laughing as the fish duck around the tank after each respective smack. The lights flicker every time Ymir pounds her closed fist against the glass, the sound so loud that it smacks against the wall behind it.

And suddenly, the sound, that sound, is all too loud, so jarring that before he knows it there’s thick tears pouring out of his eyes and his voice is getting all tangled in his chest. He’s not sure how he got there, but suddenly he’s standing up, freed from the stairs, and yelling at the two of them.

“Stop smacking against the glass, Ymir! They don’t like that.”

Ymir looks over, a confused and almost bored look on her face. Reiner's eyes, he's so puzzled, only make his skin burn more. Reiner’s looking at him like there’s something wrong with him.

Is there something wrong with him?

“It’s just a fish, Eren. They don’t even care.” Ymir says, bending back over to focus her eyes on the glass.

“They do care! Every time you punch the glass they swim away because they’re scared.” Eren says, his chest heaving too hard, his mind not catching fast enough to stop it.

Reiner and Ymir shrug as they walk away, the two of them giving Eren pitchy awkward smiles as they each squeeze his shoulder once. And when they’re finally out of their vantage point, the tears are only hotter, faster, scalding hot as he stares at the fish in their little cave, instead of swimming freely in the tank.

The fish, long gone, are always what come back to Eren when the feeling returns.

When the sadness takes residence in his chest.

“Sorry…line?” Eren says, giving an awkward smile to the director as he turns his neck to the right.

The director, David Lance, rolls his eyes as he cuts filming on the scene, very aggressively calling for lunch. Eren feels his throat sink into his chest, the regret settling in regardless, as he watches him angrily storm off, the cast and the crew awkwardly shuffle behind him.

He should have spent longer memorizing his lines. Or at least reviewed them this morning. Eren shuffles his feet to the coffee cart as he starts apologizing to the cast and crew, who are all but kind to him about his performance. Truly, his only saving grace in the personal hell that he’s living in.

Deep down, Eren knew that whatever he worked on next, wod never compare to the work that he did on Attack on Titan. Getting to work with his biggest role models, all of the people he grew up with, the girl he was in love with right across the door from him - it was virtually impossible for anything to shape up.

He just didn’t realize it would be this fucking bleak on the other side.

The plot of Satellite Port is mediocre at best. Another cheesy astronaut movie, clearly trying to catapult off the success of the feature film that won best picture last year. A half-assed director - who can’t even fucking direct - and maybe the stupidest dialogue he’s ever seen in his life.

Eren’s a good actor. But even he can’t fix this.

And he’s had enough when he hears an irritated sigh behind him and turns around to find Gianna de Anola, his prissy co-star, glaring at him. An ice-cold supermodel, Gianna’s making her break onto the acting front, trying to fall in the footsteps of her world-famous triple threat mother.

“You know, maybe if you didn’t stay up jerking off, we’d actually be able to finish this movie on time.” she says, slouching down in her chair as her assistant brings her lunch to her side.

If Eren could, he’s strangle her assistant every time he walked over. And then her for good measure too.

“I wasn’t jerking off.” Eren mutters, grabbing his script from the table as he flips to the end of the pages. His lines are all highlighted and he can feel his frustration growing even deeper as he remembers he spent two hours doing this scene yesterday.

“You want to know something embarrassing, Eren?” Gianna says, twisting the straw in her soda can with her perfectly manicured fingers.

From the look on her face, Eren already knows. She’s going to say something that’s going to ruin his whole day.

“Please, Gianna. I’m dying of fucking curiosity over here.”

“You spend all your time watching your little pop-star girlfriend perform on her world tour. You wake up at the ass crack of dawn, sacrifice the movie you’re working on, probably text her good luck before every show of hers and I’ll give you twenty bucks she won’t even come to your premiere.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Eren drops his script on to his lap, his ears burning with irritation, at idiots like Gianna. The picture perfect image of nepotism.

Eren’s not trying to be hypocritical. He knows that his parents are famous actors, his brothers at the top of the industry, which sets him out to be a premier face in the industry. But Gianna is a whole different breed.

Because Eren’s trying. He- he has a reason for wanting to do this. There’s a difference between him and her.

There’s a part of him, deep down, that’s enthralled with the job he gets to do. That encourages, cherishes, deeply acknowledges that what he gets to do is a privilege.

Eren is making art. He gets to tell stories about people's lives and take every broken part of him and make it into something great. He can pour every negative, disgusting, boring, happy, ecstatic moment he’s ever had into a scene to make it something better.

Have someone watching his work at home feel seen, have their chest stir and their eyes water because someone out there feels the same thing he does. Make people feel nostalgic, excited, sad - to feel the feelings with him. To be with him from the beginning of the story till the end, to be excited about what he has to say and what he has to do.

Eren’s parents are famous. And by definition, so is he. But there’s a part of him, deep down, that wants to prove himself. Show that he has feelings, emotions, something to share with people that’s true, authentic - and not just because it was what he was meant to do.

And he knows that’s not the case here.

She’s a specific type. Part of the clear cut, mindless army of people with famous parents - living, thriving off what gets them attention next. It makes Eren sick, makes his stomach turn over in circles and circles until he’s churning with anger. So angry, so negative that it makes his skin itch like he’s covered in dirt.

He looks over at Gianna, a smirk pressed on her perfectly airbrushed face from the makeup team, and he can’t help but feel the burning in his chest sink lower and lower until it’s replaced with ice cold. A hollow wind, rustling through trees.

It’s because he knows Gianna is right. And that if an idiot like her can catch onto it, it won’t be fast until everyone else follows, until he’s the radio clown in the papers next week.

Because despite your best efforts, Eren knows deep down that she’s right.

You won’t be coming to his premiere. You’re above it.

Eren swirls the fizzy drink in his hand as he leans against the wall, eyes focused on every person and almost no one in the room at the same time. And he’s trying to push that feeling down, the block in his chest, as he tries to memorize all the faces here, everyone celebrating in front of him.

He’ll remember this moment as the sweetest one. When he can finally say goodbye to this godforsaken movie. He feels a smack on his shoulder and a sudden flash in his eyes, all his senses bombarded all of a sudden.

“TMZ! TMZ! TMZ!”

“Connie. Would it kill you to be quiet for maybe like five minutes?” Jean mutters, rolling his eyes as he shoves Connie to the side.

Eren finds Connie, Jean, Armin, and Marco in his periphery, the three of them smiling big at him. Connie and Jean have clearly already had too much to drink - from the way their ties are loosened against their necks and the pink tints on their cheeks.

And from the way they’re currently trying to wrestle each other at his wrap party.

“Do you ever think about that? Armin is literally like paparazzi with that fucking polaroid camera. He’s been a little bitch like that since he was fifteen.” Connie says, squishing Armin’s cheek, as Armin frantically tries to swat him off.

“Like you’re any better, Connie. You’ve been doing the same thing to Eren and Y/N since like the first day of filming.” Marco responds, taking the spot next to Eren, giving him a smile.

“See but. That was me helping a brother get it. I got so tired of seeing his little horny, wimpy eyes I just had to help him out.” Connie responds, snickering with Jean.

“Oh my god. Connie look, it’s that girl from Death Note.” Eren says, pointing in an ambiguous mention.

Connie’s so frazzled by the mere mention of her - and the alcohol in his system surely can’t help - that he’s dragging Jean to the other side of the room where Eren pointed, the two of them creating a mess of knocking things over as he leaves.

In another life, and probably in this one too, Eren thinks that Connie was raised in a barn.

Armin and Marco lean against the wall with Eren, the three of them staring across the room together now. After six months of pure torture - the most irritating director known to man, the biggest diva as his co-star, and the sweltering heat of Tampa, Florida - Eren’s finally been freed from the godforsaken Satellite Port movie.

The day he’s been looking forward to, since he started all this, is finally at his front door and he can’t be more than relieved. He gets to hear the ratings for the movie at the end of the party, celebrate with his friends, and finally see you after seven months.

And stick it to Gianna di Anola’s face that you still love him. Granted, she doesn’t know that you two are actually dating or that you even love each other - no one does besides your friends - but he can still have the satisfaction. Of imaging her stupid face pursed up in irritation at being wrong. That he has something she doesn’t.

“Can I say something you potentially might not like?” Armin says, tucking the polaroid he just took - the tops of Connie and Jean’s eyes and a very confused looking Eren in the back - into his coat as he leans back.

“Sure.” Eren responds.

“I really hate your co-star. She- she’s so annoying.” Armin responds, sighing.

Eren laughs as he pats Armin on the shoulder, amused that Armin thought something like that could offend him.

“Imagine working with her for six months.” Eren deadpans, eliciting laughs from both Armin and Marco.

The feeling - the overwhelming, all consuming wave of panic - is subsiding in his chest as Marco laughs at his side, the three of them nitpicking everyone in the room to pass the time. No one’s safe from the three of them - every stuck up friend of Gianna’s, the coattail hanging out of David’s outfit, and the godforsaken designer - they're not safe from the three of them

“David Lance has a stick up his ass and that’s what he used to write that dogshit script.” Eren says, his face hurting from smiling.

“And the best part? Gianna di Anola thinks the script is amazing because she can’t even read it.”

Armin, Marco, and Eren turn their heads to find Sukuna at their side, a devious smirk pressed onto his lips. They all laugh as Sukuna slides against the wall next to Eren, taking the glass from his hands, and downing the last of the liquid. He makes a weird face as he swallows, turning to Eren.

“Are you drinking apple cider?”

“I don’t like to drink.” Eren responds.

Sukuna gives him a polite nod before rolling his eyes, his glare focused toward the front door. Hyla Clarkson - the girl that Sukuna has publicly been feuding with for the past few months - just entered, pressing kisses to Gianna and her family.

All he knows is that if he tallied up every time Hyla and Sukuna argued and fought, she would win - by a longshot. Sukuna’s still blacklisted from getting hired by certain studios - a fact he only knows because he only ever took Satellite Port because Sukuna was supposed to be there with him. It was a rude surprise when he showed up and got left to fend for himself.

“So are you on again or off again?” Armin asks.

“On. But- I. I don’t know - they’ve got this way of sucking you in.” he responds.

“Wasn’t she dating that model last week? What’s his name again, something-” Marco starts.

“No. You know how tabloids are, they-they’re always on some shit.” Sukuna responds.

Eren puts a hand on Sukuna’s shoulder and squeezes, pushing even further.

“So did they photoshop that picture of them kissing or-?” Eren says, a teasing tone in his voice.

“She was just trying to piss me off, it-it’s all part of the chase. Plus, you should know of all people, Eren. You’re telling me everything that the tabloids write about Ricky and Y/N is true?”

Eren lets go, his throat dry at the mention of it. He can feel his knuckles turning white against the empty glass Sukuna handed back to him, Marco and Armin finishing off the conversation for him. Eren’s too busy seeing red to even pay attention, at the thought of Ricky James.

Eren's never met Ricky James. But he knows far too much. He’s read every Wikipedia page, scoured every tabloid, fan page, supporting comment, Reddit thread about him.

One of the worst parts of being famous? People can comment, theorize, and speculate about every aspect of your life. Even worse? That there’s a breadth of information to pit yourself against, to pinpoint all the perfections and none of the flaws for his self-imagined competition.

And Eren hates to think that way, to take the words of teenage girls and tabloid writers to heart, but there’s a small part of him that feels sick from the entire ordeal. Because everyone thinks Ricky James is better for you than him.

He’s a twenty year old singer-songwriter from a small town in New York, who's recently been breaking into the acting scene. Like you, he’s one of the few premiere actors who has pulled in the industry who doesn’t come from a famous family. And like you, he’s charming and mesmerizing - beloved by the people.

And ever since you both got cast in Little Women together - him as Laurie and you as Amy - and the press tours started all people can do is talk. And Eren, every self-preservationist thread of him gone - can only listen. Watch fans edit videos of you two being cute together for ten minutes, listen to podcasts where the two of you gush about each other's talents, see that Ricky was able to get time off in his schedule to go to your tour when Eren was stuck on Satellite Port.

It fills him with rage. And it makes him feel less than. And every time Eren tries to shut the voice in him down, to convince himself that it’s not true and that you’re still at your best, he comes out short. Granted, a personal affliction for negative thoughts is easier to shut out. To convince himself that he’s making it up. Seventy thousand people affirming his worst fears makes it harder.

“Wasn’t it their fault you got fired from the ensemble of Last Voyage? And Satellite Port?” Armin asks, remembering the tabloid blast from the past few months.

“Yeah, well not her but the people around her. Her dad especially - they have so much pull, it’s insane. And-and they play mind games and shit, I couldn’t even tell you the half of it. It’s-”

Right on cue, Hyla walks up to the four of them, a sickly sweet smile on her face. She’s wearing a long, willowing green gown and watches her stick her hand out for Sukuna. And Eren’s floored when he watches Sukuna purse his lip and give a polite excuse me as she whisks him away, leaving the three of them on the wall.

Armin gets pulled off the wall by Connie and Jean who have returned with Misa, who is apparently a really big fan of Armin’s. And by how pink Connie is, giggling like there’s no tomorrow, Eren knows it's better to stay away from him to avoid any chance of second hand embarrassment.

“I always miss this.” Marco says, a soft smile on his face.

“Connie being a dumbass?” Eren asks..

“I mean, not particularly that, but all of us being together. It feels weird to be so far away from everyone when we’re all doing things so different.” Marco responds.

Eren knows Marco far too well to be doing this.

“Quit trying to psychoanalyze me, Marco.” Eren asks, narrowing his eyes at him.

“That’s my job.”

Eren and Marco turn their necks to find Historia in a pale blue dress, a soft smile on her face. They both rush forward and immediately wrap their arms around her, both taking a second to press a kiss to her cheek.

“So what are we psychoanalyzing Eren about, Marco?” Historia asks, the two of them giving teasing smiles.

“Nothing. We’re not psychoanalyzing me about anything. I’m fine.”

“Y/N. Ricky James. Everyone being so far away, but her specifically.” Marco responds.

Historia pinches her mouth into a straight line, the look in her eyes making Eren feel like a scolded child. If it was a different person, Eren would feel pitied. By both of them. But he knows them both far too well to know they’re the few people in his arsenal who would fight for him.

“Ricky James. Huh? Seems like an asshole a little bit.” Historia states, swiping two ice cream cups off the tray. She hands the extra to Eren, leaning towards Marco as they share the other.

“You’re just saying that because you feel loyalty to me, Hisu. I’m sure he’s a nice guy and Y/N seems to like him.” Eren responds, his chest feeling like an anvil all of a sudden.

Historia frowns as she turns to his side, her eyebrows knit together in frustration.

“Yeah. I don’t like him because I feel loyalty to you, Eren. But I also don’t like him because he was friends with John.”

Marco and Eren both clear their throats and swallow hard at the mention, the regret sitting in Eren’s chest for even saying that in the first place. On instinct, Eren wraps his arm around Historia’s shoulder, Marco following suit as they both rest their heads against hers. She sighs at the touch, squeezing both of their shoulders in response.

Mentioning John is basically like saying the devils’ name for Historia. The music producer that she had been working with since she was seventeen and the one who all but pounced on her the second she turned eighteen. Eren thinks it’s disgusting that the same thing happened basicallly happened. Levi told him that he has forewarned him.

The two of them had made so many hit songs together, he’d basically helped Historia start her music career. When they got together that no one batted an eye. They were charming and celebrated - ignoring the fact that Historia was only nineteen and John was in his thirties. That Historia looked awkward and uncomfortable near him.

Everything came crashing down a year ago when Historia got dumped, for lack of a better word, on the side of the street and left to a swarm of paparazzi after an argument she had with him. Ymir and Sasha were the ones who got to her the fastest, ducking her into a car, and hiding her for the time being.

But in true Historia fashion, she was never one to be quiet. She wrote Dear John. Made art out of her pain, something Eren could only admire and love her for. Her effortless way of bouncing back, of jumping straight back into what hurt her for the sake of art was something only Eren could dream of possessing.

Something he envied when everything weighed so heavy on his mind.

“I’d kill him if he did anything like that to her.” Eren states.

“I’d help you.” Historia responds.

“Speaking of, I haven’t talked to her in a while. Is she taking breaks with the tour and movie and all?” Marco asks.

“She doesn’t take breaks. From the way she’s going, I don’t think she’ll stop till she gets what she wants. Which, you need that type of drive to do this. To get what she wants.”

Historia brings her hand up to Eren’s shoulder again, squeezing.

“Eren. When was the last time you talked to her?”

“It’s-it’s been a while with the time differences. When she’s not performing, she’s writing. And when she’s done writing, she’s practicing lines. There’s not really any time for that and I’m not going to be the one to pull her back when she’s in the zone and-”

“Eren. I’m sorry.” Historia says, her voice borderline pleading.

“It’s okay, it’s not a big deal-”

“Do you know how rare it is to have what you do? It’s insane that two people can even like each other at the same time but to be in love, so fully and unselfishly, you-you can’t let that get away from you.” Historia says, her eyes turning red and her voice getting louder as she goes on.

“Hisu. I-”

“We’re seeing her next week for the awards and your birthday. Just-just tell her, okay? I’ll kill you if you let something like this pass you by. Or I’ll haunt you from my grave if I’m dead.” Historia says.

“You sound like me.” Marco says, giving her a teasing smile.

“Shut up, Marco.” she responds.

Eren leans into their touch, their limbs all still tangled together, as he sighs into the air, trying to focus on the good. That they’re here with him, even if you can’t be. And that'll be you instead of them in a week.

It doesn’t work. The sadness still creeps in.

Eren closes out all the tabs of his laptop as he sees your picture flash against his screen, accompanied by his ringtone. He slides the video call open, the mere sight of you making his heart ache.

“Hi Eren.”

“Hi Y/N. Ready for your show?”

“Eh. Almost.”

Eren glares, narrowing his eyes at you as he waits for your laugh. You’re basically primed to perfection - your hair perfectly blown out, your sparkly silver dress pinned down, and your glittery makeup shining.

“Okay, okay. I’m ready, I just wanted to call you.”

Eren frowns, realizing that his shortcomings were so horrible, that they were enough to illicit a call from you when you were this busy.

“Because I’m a failure?”

“Eren. You’re not a failure. You-when have we ever cared what the Elms have said?”

The Elms officially released their gold standard review of Satellite Port last night. Eren wasn’t expecting much, knowing that this was far from his best work, but the review was scathing. And the articles that followed were even worse. He’d spent all morning reading them, his chest burning and his head becoming a solid rock weighing him down with every last word.

The worst thing that we see nowadays is a waste of talent. A true, self-actualized potential fall short. Our latest example? Attack on Titan star, Eren Jaeger. After garnering himself a total of three nominations the Institute last award season, it seems that the actor is on the come down. His work in Satellite Port was described as insanely mediocre, almost painful to watch knowing that this is the same boy who acted in the infamous Thank You scene - which garnered him his first Institute Award win. Eren is nominated for four awards at the Institute TV Awards next week - Best Actor in a Lead Role, Best Actor in a Drama Series, Best Scene, and Ensemble Cast - which will most likely be his last nominations ever with the work that he’s been putting out. We’ll see if Hange Zoe and Levi Ackerman can wrangle him in place for the last season of Attack on Titan and salvage his career.

“The things the Elms said about you and Armin back in the day were baseless. You- they just didn’t like you because of your parents. You’ve proved yourself over time and time again. I had all these things stacked up against me, there should have been no reason I failed and I did anyway.” Eren responds.

He watches you frown on the other side of the screen as you lean forward, your eyes washed over in concern. Eren immediately feels guilty for worrying you right before you’re about to perform, trying to save face as fast as possible.

“I’m just going to be upset about it today and I’ll be okay tomorrow, alright?” Eren asks.

“Just today, Eren. I’ll kill you otherwise, you little bitch.” you respond, giving him your best angry look.

Eren laughs at your profanities, which elicits a smile from you.

“You kiss your mom with that mouth, Y/N?”

“Mhm. And I kiss you with it too.”

“You’re so vulgar.”

“Wanna know something cool? Yesterday, when I was performing New Year’s Day at the start, the applause literally went on for n-”

“Nine minutes. And then they cheered your name for another ten after you walked off for your outfit change.” Eren responds, finishing your sentence.

“You watched?”

“Don’t be stupid. I watch you every time you perform. I like watching you - the faces you make when you’re singing your songs and smiling at people - it’s cute. Makes it easier when I miss you so much.”

He watches you sigh, your face contorting into a frown.

“I miss you too. I-I’m really excited to see you next week.”

“Me too.”

He watches you finish off your routine - as you clip on your earrings and fiddle with the ends of the hair as your team starts moving around you, pointing at their watches to indicate that you’re going to go on soon.

“Wanna know the stupidest thing about your tour, Y/N?”

“There’s stupid things on my tour?”

“Just the one.”

“Please enlighten me, wise one.”

“You sing New Year’s Day with a piano backtrack instead of playing the piano.”

“What’s the point of learning how to properly play the piano when you’ll always be there to do it for me?”

He feels his chest stirring at the words, even more when you blow him a kiss before hanging up to perform. His phone screen is left on your contact, the picture of the two of you making him smile.

He closes out all the tabs of the reviews, replacing them with the live stream of your show as he crawls back into his bed. And when he watches you wink at the camera right before you start singing New Year’s Day with your piano backtrack, he knows its for him.

“Ymir. This isn’t even half convincing.” Eren says, trying to swat her hands off his covered eyes.

“Shut the fuck up. You don’t even know what’s coming.” Ymir responds, pushing hard against his eyes as she swings him into the little foyer.

“It’s my birthday. Almost everyone we know is in town for the award show tomorrow. None of you guys have said happy birthday to me and now you’re inconspicuously leading me somewhere with my eyes covered. Oh, I’m dying of curiosity here, Ymir.”

“You’re no fun.” she responds, lifting her fingers off his eyes. He’s met with the sight of everyone popping confetti in his face at the same time, an excited amount of cheers filling up the air.

Mikasa and Armin reach him first, almost everyone wrangling them in his arms and smacking him on the back. Connie offers him his first legal shot as a twenty-one year old, which Levi confiscates in three seconds. Reiner rolls his eyes as he swings a sash around Eren’s neck, which elicits an insurmountable amount of laughter from everyone.

“Mother to be?” Eren asks, reading the sparkly cursive writing on the sash.

“They ran out of birthday sashes. And giving birth is basically adjacent to birthdays, so I figured it was the best one. It was either that or a quinceanera.” Reiner explains.

“A quinceanera is a real birthday dumbass.” Eren responds, shoving him to the side.

Everyone’s too overzealous and excited to hand him gifts because they’re immediately sitting him down, handing him packed boxes. Hange and Levi gift him an expensive watch, the pair of them pressing a kiss to his head, before retreating upstairs to their rooms, arms locked together and whispering in each other's ears as they go up.

Reiner and Bertholdt give him gag gifts first - which are just framed pictures of every time he’s flipped off paparazzi - before giving him his real gift, their annotated versions of the original Attack on Titan script.

Eren’s been a big fan of Reiner’s blocking notes since they were students together at the SHWA, because Reiner clearly has no conception of what the blocking notes are actually supposed to be. Instead of writing in his own staging spots and directions from the crew, he writes his own commentary on the script.

Eren flips to the marked page, the big reveal scene, and finds Reiner’s handwriting at the button.

Reiner: I’m the Armored and he’s the Colossal.

And underneath, Reiner’s inscription.

fuck.

He flips forward a few pages to find the Thank You Scene marked as well, his handwriting on the side.

Eren: I’ll wrap that scarf around you, as many times as you want.

And Bertholdt’s commentary.

yall fucking?

Eren snorts as he closes up the script, giving the two of them a smile, as Historia and Marco plant a gift in his lap next, skillfully packed in wrapping paper with his face on it.

“I’m not sure if I should ruin something so perfect. I just look so good here-”

“Eren. You’re a five on a good day.” Ymir responds, unbothered to look up from the game of soccer she was watching on the screen.

Eren frowns as he opens up the gift, a glass showcase filled with polaroids. The first is a framed picture, one of the first of the entire cast. Underneath, Historia’s handwriting is inscribed, loopy letters spelling out Long Live. Eren smiles as he sets it to the side, observing Marco's gift. A Maya Angelou poetry book.

Eren gives the group of them a smile as he scans his eyes around the room, noticing the only face missing. The only one he was looking forward to seeing. Marco grabs his hand and drags him up the staircase, as he whispers over his shoulder.

“She left a while ago to set up her gift for you. She should be in your room I think.”

Eren’s nearly sprinting up the staircase as he pushes open the door, a defeated sigh leaving his lips when he stumbles in. There’s a half wrapped gift on the bed next to you, where you’re face down and fast asleep. He can see that you’re still in your party clothes - the dress and birthday hat still stuck to your head - as you nearly drool onto his sheets.

“Nonsense, Eren. We’ll just wake her up, she was really excited to-”

“No.” Eren responds.

Marco swallows hard as he looks over at Eren, jaw half clenched and eyes narrowed down as he moves around him, shutting the door behind him. Eren carefully yanks the party hat and the shoes off your feet as he tucks you into the sheet properly, the tears burning his eyes.

He takes the halfpacked gift and note from the bed, shutting the light off, as he escapes into your room to open them. To take a second, to calm whatever burning, irritating sensation is ripping his chest right now.

The gift is a vinyl, the cover art is the same as the tattoos that you guys got together nearly two years ago. There’s a note inscribed on the front, your messy handwriting on the front.

Eren. Our music is the best music. Here’s to many more to come :D

He turns the vinyl over to find one song on each side - New Year’s Day on the front and Invisible String on the back. There’s a list of untitled listed underneath them, clearly meant to be future songs you and Eren write together.

And all Eren can feel is despair. The gross, disgusting feeling that sits in his chest and never goes away is going to drag you down too.

Isn’t it?

Nearly twenty four hours later and Eren’s standing on the other side of the red carpet, his palms sweaty and burning. He was supposed to walk out twenty minutes ago but his feet are glued to the foam, his throat dry.

It always comes at the worst times. His birthday party, when he saw Zeke at Christmas, when he met Ricky James at the cocktail hour and then Gianna right after.

Every little thing that’s been bothering Eren for the past day, the past few months is tumbling into this moment, where he’s staring at the red carpet and hearing the cameras flash behind the curtain but can’t summon his feet to move beyond them.

Eren’s embarrassed. He’s ashamed. He’s trying. He’s trying to swallow it, trying to move his feet, to get out there to stand next to you.

It’s humiliating.

He feels a tap on his shoulder to find Armin at his side, readjusting the collar against his neck as he gives him a smile.

“Hey.”

“Hi Min.”

“Can you do me a favor?”

Eren tilts his head to the side as Armin gives him a smile, before turning his face back towards the curtain.

“I hate walking on red carpets. But they’re easier when friends do them with me.” Armin responds.

Eren sighs, a third person now catching on to him, as he stares at his shoelaces, evenly knotted against his leather shoes.

Is he that obvious? It's like it's written on his forehead.

“So, Eren?”

“I-I don’t know if I can be a good friend right now, Armin. I think I should leave and-”

“You’re the only friend I need. Just come on, okay? No one’s going to talk about Satellite Port, especially if I’m with you. They’re just going to try and wrangle spoilers out of you for the next season.” Armin responds, holding his hand out.

Eren look down at his outstretched hand, blue eyes filled with such a vote of confidence that Eren agrees, stepping out into the flashing lights with Armin at his side, the two of them gaining a considerable amount of cheers as they walk out.

Eren walks down with Armin, snapping a few pictures, before stopping to talk to a few of the interviewers, letting Armin carry the bulk of the weight as his mind spins in thirty different directions. About where he’s standing, if he should leave, how he’s a fraud and everything in between.

Armin tugs him nearly all the way to the end as he pushes him into the auditorium, Eren’s chest heaving as he settles into his seat in between Hange and you, though your seat is still empty.

“Eren. You okay?”

Eren gives a halfhearted nod as Hange and Levi pinch their eyes in his direction, sharing a look, before leaning back in their chairs. Hange’s hand is squeezing his shoulder, which is all he tries to focus on as more people start piling in - cameras, lights, sounds getting brighter and brighter.

Eren feels a tap on his shoulder to find you at his side now, a big smile on your face.

“Oh my god. The interviewers out there were so fun.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I really liked them.”

He feels you pull for his hand, nestling it under the pleats of your dress, obscured from the public view, as you squeeze his hand three times. Eren tries to ignore the pounding, burning, twisting happening in his mind as he focuses on the announcer, giving his opening monologue. He’s clearly doing a bit of crowd work as he’s walking around, pointing and poking fun at the stars around him.

And Eren’s worst fear is self-actualized when he walks over to the two of you, his voice booming in his ears as the lights flash in his face. He can feel Hange’s grip on his shoulder tighten as he starts talking.

“Here we have an international pop-star, Y/N L/N. Originally a small town girl from Canada, her soft spoken love songs, phenomenal acting, and insane dance act have left no heart untouched.”

Eren looks over to find your cheeks pink, a big smile spread on your face. He can’t help but smile - thinking about you crying in your room after your first panels to be what you are now.

“And you. What’s your name again? It’s sweet they let fans sit with stars now.” the headliner asks him, eliciting a large amount of laughter from the crowd as he walks on.

Eren swallows hard, his eyes and throat burning as he sounds echoes in his ears.

It’s funny. It’s just a joke. It’s a joke because it’s funny that no one knows who he is. It’s funny because he’s no one compared to you and-

“I’ll be right back. I have to use the bathroom.” Eren says, standing up and walking out.

“Eren.”

He shakes your fingers off his wrist as he nearly springs out, loosening the tie around his throat and yanking the heavily starched collar around his neck. And it’s back. That sickening, sickening feeling in full flesh. The block in his chest, that’s stopping the breath from reaching his lungs - making his legs feel like lead, making every part of his brain feel heavy and his arms feel loose.

Eren reaches for the closest room, an open bar playing a video of the ceremonies as he settles onto the bench, head pressed against the concrete as he murmurs out for a glass of water.

Eren stays there - trying to feel the concrete cold against his forehead, his breath making his entire chest tremble, and his knuckles pressed white. He feels a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, and lifts his head expecting Hange.

Instead, he finds an older man - nearly in his fifties with gray hair smiling down at him.

“Eren. It’s nice to see you again.”

Eren lifts his head, trying to rack his fried brain from where he knows him.

“You know, Eren. We’ve been in the same room hundreds of times. Yet, we’ve barely talked for two minutes.”

“Ss-sorry. I don’t mean to-”

“You and I could be really helpful to each other.”

He slides over his card, the name gleaming back at him as the memory comes back. Years ago, at that panel, where he met him the first time. Scott Clarkson, the Stone Studios producer.

“If you want your reputation back, if you don’t want to be the butt of the joke anymore, if you want to be the one talked about next to her instead of Ricky James, you’d give the number a call. Instead of ripping it half on principle this time.”

Eren watches him slide off the bench, a smile pressed on his face, as he turns his face back to the screen, watching you accept the Best Actress in a Drama Series Role. He looks back down at the card, the silver shine reflecting on his face.

Eren tucks it into his pocket. And calls the next day.

It's the worst mistake he makes.

next part

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