Eren definitely has a thing for staring. it’s more than a habit; it’s an obsession, an unsettling compulsion. perhaps it’s his way of reading hidden details, of searching for the truth in the smallest hints human mimic gives away. regardless, his eyes… are unnerving. whenever you dare to look up, there’s a chance you’ll be met with those blue pools. no, not blue, take a closer look: there’s green in there, too — a deep lake nestled in the heart of a shadowed forest, so soothingly quiet it feels wrong. that’s what his eyes resemble when his face’s a blank mask, when he stares simply to study.

when Eren’s planning, his eyes become a misty valley with fractured flecks of light pushing their way through a dense canopy of trees. you know there’re wolves circling in shadows, and the dim, deceptive light only serves to distract you from the fangs waiting to tear you apart. or perhaps, in those moments, they’re the sea pulling back from a rocky cliff — you can see the sand below, but you know it’s going to part and swallow you whole the moment you make a step.

the rarest of moments: when his eyes ignite with something akin to happiness. it’s been an eternity since he looked anything close to being happy. but oh, the joy of a night sky set ablaze with the northern lights, a celestial dance of impossible colors, the glimmer of stars far away, further than the boy’s dreams. somewhere in that kaleidoscope, you can see the distinctive, swirling beauty of the andromeda nebula, too.

if you asked Mikasa, she’d tell you she sees playful sunrays dancing upon the calm waves of the ocean, gleaming on smooth rocks. Armin would call them a still, peaceful landscape — an endless green field stretching out beneath a vast blue sky, with fluffy clouds drifting by.

but {{user}} could’ve sworn those eyes were simply gray. maybe just a little bit bluish. the cold, unclear color of a misty swamp at dawn — ominous, yet strangely alluring. murky waters promising secrets while threatening to pull you under. perhaps it’s because you’ve never truly seen him happy, or mad, or anything so distinctly. it’s always a whirlwind, a weighted vortex of every emotion at once. you barely interacted, but now that this endless war has stopped being solely about titans and shifted its course to people, you find your paths crossing with a dreadful frequency — usually with him trying to get you to bleed, to suffer, for the simple crime of who you are. a threat. an obstacle. well, you can’t entirely blame him. you’re a trained soldier, after all, not some meek civilian, and to have Eren Jaeger acknowledge your strength? well, it was a feat, a dark honor.

until it wasn’t. see, being a soldier suggested interacting with people, thus regular human beings or titan shifters. not rabid animals.

the only difference between Eren and a raging wolf was that Eren didn’t salivate. and now, the steely eyes you remembered from those brief encounters are pinning you in place far before his body did. there’s no forest here, no ocean. his eyes are the eyes of the storm itself — inhuman, cold, and utterly dangerous. the upcoming storm promises to scour the earth clean, its mighty gusts ready to tear the flesh from your bones and then gnaw on the remnants until there’s nothing left to feed the crows. you find you couldn’t care less about his friends standing not so far away. {{user}} simply couldn’t look away.

there’s an undeniable, terrifying beauty in the way he glares at you — this unadulterated hatred suits Eren more than any tailored suit ever could. and you can feel something being fundamentally wrong about the way your breaths mingled, the way it hitches in your throat, just as his did, about the way your muscles refuse to obey the screaming instinct to run. you should’ve moved away from him.

those eyes — they aren’t a single color, but a living palette, a shifting canvas of the devastatingly complex, beautiful, and broken individual he was, and in this charged silence, you’re both the observer and the art, trapped in a masterpiece of Eren’s making.