There Is Freedom Here

Eren stared at his list of possible reasons for having shifting to this universe. Written in a sloppy cursive in the German language, it read:

- Unexpected Attack Titan power

- Higher power (knows about my plan, wants to stop me? Ymir?)

- Mistake among the cosmoses

- Hange's pill (was supposed to help me fall asleep)

- Result of Warhammer + Attack Titan merging together

- I don't fucking know

- FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

- Secret mission by warriors/marleyans

- Multiverse theory?????????? Somehow it fucked up and I'm here

- I died in my sleep and ended up here

- Reincarnation of some sort

- If I kill myself will I go back

The list, in short, wasn't impressive.

Objectively speaking, Eren was going fucking insane. The internet wasn't as much help as he'd thought it be, and even if any of the possibilities on the paper were true, he was utterly helpless. There was no way he could undo his reincarnation, fix the cosmos's mistake, or go back in time to prevent the warriors from doing this.

His best bet at getting back was taking Hange's pill or killing himself. He didn't exactly want to do the latter, so all he was left with was swallowing a pill that helped him fall asleep. Eren had a disturbing feeling pooling in his gut that a pill from the year 854 wasn't capable of shifting him to a different universe.

And if his intuition was correct, would he be able to kill himself with the possibility that it'd do nothing? It was different from him sacrificing his life (and 80% of the worlds) to achieve freedom for the Subject of Ymir and most importantly, his friends. He knew if he committed the genocide, it'd be for the better. There'd be purpose behind it. Him slitting his wrists, drowning, or throwing himself off those tall buildings scattered among this futuristic city could be in vain. He'd splatter against the cement like a fly, dead for absolutely no reason at all besides his determination to return to a world he didn't even enjoy living in.

Eren wasn't ready to accept his true sentiment about being stuck here. Actually, coming to terms with his feelings himself was harder than bawling his eyes out in a drunken daze, confessing he wanted to stay and had been lying to a woman who'd graced him with the most kindness he had accepted in the last nineteen years of his existence.

He couldn't give up so easily. He couldn't give up on his mission, his friends, the sacrifices already made to get him this far just because this life was nice. Eren had only gotten a small taste of what true happiness was and already reconsidered how sincerely he wanted to return to his universe. He felt disgusted with himself. Weak and pathetic. Eren thought he'd grown from the fifteen-year-old crybaby he was four years ago, but he hadn't at all. In fact, the Eren from four years ago would fight, fight, fight, just to get revenge and find some way to get back to his home.

Now, he was almost content with being stuck here.

Even if he had literally shifted to a different universe and realistically didn't have a way back, he couldn't choose to stop trying—to just give up. It would eat at him slowly. If he'd visit the ocean with you again, he would be attacked by the reminder of Armin and how he selfishly abandoned his friends for this life. Lying in bed with you would pull at the strings of his heart, knowing Mikasa loved him dearly back at home and was probably waiting for him.