CHAPTER 217: CHAPTER 217 - KISS YOU UNTIL...

Eren’s breath came fast, the cold air stinging his throat, but it wasn’t the chill that made his chest ache—it was Varon’s silence. His avoidance. The way he stiffened the moment the question left his lips.

"Do you have feelings for me... Varon?" he asked again, more softly this time, almost afraid of the answer.

But Varon didn’t answer.

Eren’s eyes narrowed. He leaned closer, watching his comrade, his... whatever Varon was to him now, intently. "Why aren’t you saying anything?" he whispered, the emotion in his voice barely restrained.

Varon finally looked at him, but the expression in his eyes wasn’t what Eren wanted to see. It was guilt. Not longing. Not tenderness. Guilt.

"I... I apologise for d-doing that, Eren," Varon said, voice unsteady. "I’ll make sure to not make you uncomfortable anymore."

Eren let out a sharp, humorless scoff, taking a step back, clenching his fists. His whole body trembled—not from cold, but from rage and something far worse. Hurt.

"What is the use in apologising, for Gia’s sake?!" he barked, stepping back toward him, his eyes blazing. "You kissed me. You did that! You—" he cut himself off, his voice cracking. "Just tell me. Do you have feelings for me or not?!"

Varon said nothing.

He gulped hard, jaw tight, eyes still fixed on the rooftop tiles like they held the answers to all the universe’s problems.

"Why aren’t you answering me, Varon?!" Eren shouted, grabbing the man by his shoulders, forcing him to look up. "Why?!"

Varon still didn’t meet his eyes.

And Eren... Eren felt something snap.

He didn’t care anymore.

Didn’t care that they were on a roof. Didn’t care that the night wind howled around them. Didn’t care that Varon was clearly running from something inside himself.

Because Eren was done running.

Without another word, he surged forward and grabbed Varon by the collar. And then—without hesitation—he crushed their lips together.

Varon froze.

His eyes widened in shock, every muscle in his body going rigid. Eren could feel the hesitation, the denial, the confusion—but under all of it, he felt the warmth. The warmth that had never left.

His hands gripped tighter.

It wasn’t a perfect kiss. It wasn’t gentle. It was angry and raw and messy and desperate.

But it was real.

Eren pulled back just barely, breathing hard, their foreheads touching. His eyes burned as he whispered against Varon’s lips, "Now you tell me you don’t feel anything."

Varon looked completely stunned—frozen in time. His usually cool, unreadable face was now flushed to the tips of his ears, a shade so deep he resembled a cherry tomato. His narrowed eyes were blown wide in disbelief, flickering rapidly between Eren’s gaze and his lips as if trying to register what had just happened.

Eren could hear it now—the thundering sound of Varon’s heart pounding in his chest, rapid and chaotic like it had no control of its own. It was so loud, so frantic, that Eren was sure it had to hurt.

But still... no answer.

Varon’s lips parted, but no words came. Not even a breath.

Eren’s expression hardened. His brows furrowed, jaw clenched in frustration. He didn’t want silence. He didn’t want avoidance. He wanted the truth—even if it hurt.

"Damn it..." he growled under his breath.

And then he grabbed Varon again—fisting the collar of his shirt—and pulled him in roughly for another kiss, more forceful than the last. It wasn’t out of affection now, not entirely. It was anger. It was pain. He bit down on Varon’s lower lip, hard enough to break the skin, and he tasted the faint metallic tang of blood on his tongue.

Varon gasped, eyes widening even more—but still didn’t push him away.

Panting, Eren pulled back, his eyes fierce, blazing with emotion as he glared at the soldier in front of him.

"I’ll keep doing that," he hissed, voice low and sharp, "until you answer me. Until you stop running."

He didn’t care how petty or reckless he sounded. He just couldn’t take the silence anymore. Not from Varon. Not when his own heart was pounding this damn loud.

Eren didn’t stop.

He had no idea how many times he kissed Varon—he’d lost count long ago. Once, twice, three times—each kiss growing more desperate, more raw, more real. He wasn’t trying to punish him anymore. Somewhere in between, the anger began to bleed out, leaving behind something softer, something vulnerable. Now, his lips moved with tenderness, parting and molding over Varon’s in a quiet plea.

He kissed him again—slowly this time—sucking gently on those stubborn, silent lips, tasting the heat that bloomed between them. Beneath his hands, he felt the tremor in Varon’s body. Felt the breath hitch. The hesitation break.

Then Eren dared more—boldly, he ran his tongue over Varon’s bottom lip, teasing it softly, coaxing.

That... that shattered whatever fragile restraint the man had left.

In an instant, Varon lunged forward like something inside him had snapped. He grabbed Eren’s shoulders, held him tight, and crashed their lips together in a way that stole all breath from Eren’s lungs. His kiss was nothing like before—it was wild, unrelenting, like he was starving, like he was afraid this might be the only chance he’d ever get.

Eren barely had time to think before his back hit the sloped roof, and Varon was everywhere—his breath, his hands, his warmth.

It was messy, it was intense, it was too much—and yet not enough. Varon kissed him like he was trying to say everything he had bottled up for years. All the longing, all the guilt, all the fear of wanting something he thought he could never have.

And in that kiss, Eren understood. Varon did have feelings for him.

He just didn’t know how to handle them.

Their bodies pressed close, lips locked in a desperate, searching rhythm. Each kiss grew deeper, more languid—no longer fueled by anger but by something far more tender and terrifying. Varon’s hands trembled as they moved, fingers brushing up under the hem of Eren’s shirt. The warmth of skin met his calloused palm, and he froze for just a breath before moving again—slowly, reverently.

Eren gasped softly into the kiss, his own fingers curling into the back of Varon’s shirt as though anchoring himself in the moment. Varon’s touch wasn’t rough or hurried—it was unsure, almost reverent, the way his fingers explored the planes of Eren’s back and the curve of his waist. His touch seemed to ask, am I allowed to want this?

And Eren’s response—his body pressing closer, his lips parting just slightly more—gave him the answer.

The wind whispered cold across the roof, but neither of them felt it. The world had narrowed to the warmth of hands gliding over skin, lips brushing, breathing mingling—quiet, heady, and unbearably close. Their chests rose and fell in sync, hearts pounding in chaotic rhythm, the space between them too small for hesitation anymore.

It was intimacy in its rawest form—unspoken, trembling, filled with years of closeness neither had ever dared to name until now.

And still, they stayed there, wrapped up in each other as the sky darkened, afraid that if they moved, the fragile reality between them might shatter.

Varon’s lips lingered against Eren’s for a long, quiet moment before they finally parted—reluctantly, breathlessly. Neither spoke. There was no need. The air between them was already heavy with everything unspoken, with years of camaraderie, hesitation, and the sudden, overwhelming shift that had occurred.

Eren looked into Varon’s eyes, and Varon into his, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Without a word, Varon gently brushed Eren’s disheveled hair back into place, his touch softer now, full of unspoken care.

They climbed down from the rooftop in silence. The world around them had grown still, only the chirps of night insects and the soft rustle of wind in the trees remained. Step by step, side by side, they returned to the house.

Inside, the warmth welcomed them. The quiet murmur of others sleeping behind closed doors, the faint hum of the generator, and the gentle creak of the wooden floor beneath their feet grounded them back in reality.

Without exchanging a glance, they entered their shared room. Varon quietly pulled the comforter aside while Eren settled down first, his body folding into the soft bedding with a kind of peace he hadn’t known in days. Varon followed a moment later, carefully lying beside him—not too close, not too far. Just enough.

A single breath passed.

Then another.

And in the quiet glow of the moon filtering through the window, they slept.

Peacefully, soundly—two comrades, no longer weighed down by unsaid things.

---

Eren stirred first in the quiet morning, the sunlight barely beginning to filter in through the curtain. His body felt heavy in the best way—warm, rested, safe. For a moment, he didn’t move, just lay there listening to the even, calm breathing beside him.

He turned his head slowly.

Varon was still asleep, lying on his side facing him, his features relaxed in a way Eren had rarely seen. The usually composed soldier had softened completely in his slumber. A few strands of his dark hair had fallen into his face. Eren watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest, his mind strangely quiet.

No racing thoughts, no lingering anger. Just a quiet hum of contentment.

It was strange.

He didn’t even remember falling asleep.

At some point in the night, they had both shifted closer. Eren’s knee was brushing Varon’s leg under the covers, and their hands had somehow ended up loosely curled near each other on the sheet. Not touching. But not far either.

Eren blinked slowly and turned onto his back, eyes on the wooden ceiling above. The events of the past few days—the battle, the confusion, the frustration, and last night—played through his mind like scenes from a film.

It wasn’t a fairytale resolution. They hadn’t fixed anything. But it had... shifted. Something between them had cracked, letting in the light. Or maybe it had always been there. Dormant. Hidden behind duty and silence.

He felt Varon move beside him, just a small shift. Then a low breath. Eren closed his eyes again, not ready to break the silence, not ready to meet the gaze that would come next.

Outside, the farm was waking. Distant voices, the clatter of someone in the kitchen—probably Nansich already hungry again—and the faint hum of the wind turbines rotating.

But in that room, for just a few more minutes, it was still just them.

Quiet. Warm.

And finally, at peace.