CHAPTER 216: CHAPTER 216 - DO YOU HAVE FEELINGS

Eren cast a subtle gaze toward the kitchen window, his heart unwillingly hoping to catch a glimpse of that familiar tall figure. But the kitchen stood still—empty. No Varon slicing vegetables with those steady hands. No sound of pans or clinking metal. Nothing.

A hollow feeling settled in his chest. He rubbed his stomach absently. Damn it. Why did it have to feel this empty? He should be relieved that Varon wasn’t there—that he didn’t have to see those unreadable gray eyes again. But somehow, it only made him feel more restless.

His jaw clenched as he suddenly kicked a few pebbles by his feet, the small clatter doing nothing to calm his nerves. He glared at the ground, as if it were the reason his heart was twisting in all directions.

"Whoa," Nansich said, raising his eyebrows. "I think you’re hungry, not possessed." He grinned, walking up beside him. "Come on. If you don’t eat, you’ll end up chewing my arm next."

Eren snorted lightly at that, lips twitching despite himself. "It’s not that bad."

"It is," Nansich deadpanned. "You look like you’re about to cry and scream at the same time. That only happens to me when I smell burnt toast."

The shorter human grabbed his wrist and pulled him along before Eren could resist. "Come on, come on. If you faint from starvation, I’m not carrying your heavy ass."

---

Inside the house, the familiar scent of something warm and home-cooked lingered in the air. Eren blinked. The table had a tray laid out neatly with three dishes—still slightly steaming. Rice, sautéed greens, and what looked like grilled meat seasoned just the way he liked it.

His chest ached.

"He made that for you," Nansich muttered as he peeked under the lid. "Didn’t you say you skipped lunch? Guess he noticed."

Eren didn’t say anything. His fingers hovered over the chopsticks but didn’t pick them up.

"Hey," Nansich nudged him, more gently this time. "come on hangry bird. Eat up," he cheerfully served.

Hiss hand trembled slightly before he finally picked up the chopsticks and sat down. The first bite made his stomach lurch in relief. It wasn’t amazing. It was a little bland, honestly. But it was warm.

Eren started eating in a furious, almost desperate gust. Each bite was too salty, too bland, sometimes even raw in the center. It tasted like burnt effort and unspoken apologies. He chewed, lips trembling as he forced it down.

"That idiot made this for me..." he thought bitterly. "Then why the hell does it taste so bad?"

His chopsticks trembled as he picked up another bite. He hated it—how familiar the taste was. It wasn’t the food. It was everything else behind it. The years, the bond, the ache in his chest that refused to go away.

A single tear slipped from his eye and dropped silently into his bowl, vanishing into the mess of rice and meat. He stared down at it like it had just betrayed him. Then again, wasn’t everything betraying him these days?

His mind slipped, uninvited, into the past.

He was fourteen. Stupid, excited, and hopelessly naïve. He had defied his parents, left the comfort of their protected district, and joined the border forces under General Xing Yu. War had sounded like glory then.

But the reality was bone-deep exhaustion and blood-soaked uniforms. The Grayling pushed harder than anyone expected. Their weaponry was ruthless, their strategy merciless. He didn’t sleep for almost four days straight during that offensive. He remembered his head spinning, his vision tunneling—and then, black.

He should’ve died that night. One mistake. One drop in his guard. A Grayling claw had come right at his exposed neck.

But then warm arms wrapped around him, and he was thrown to the ground—not in violence, but in protection. Above him stood a man in sweat and blood, a new bloody gash running down the side of his face. Blood soaked his face red but when the man gazed down at him it was obvious how worried he was.

His body shielded Eren like a wall of iron.

It was Varon.

From that day on, Varon never left his side. In the trenches, they fought back to back. In stolen moments between skirmishes, Varon would cook whatever rations he could find—usually terrible. He would force Eren to sleep when the younger boy tried to stay up and train more. He even stitched up his wounds once with trembling hands.

Varon was the reason Eren was still breathing.

But even now, after all these years... the bastard still couldn’t cook properly.

Eren laughed—just once, a low breathless sound that cracked in the middle. Then he sniffled, bringing the bowl to his lips to hide the redness in his face.

"Idiot... fucking idiot," he whispered, voice breaking under the weight of it all.

He quickly wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and shoved another bite into his mouth. There was no use crying now. That scarred bastard might never understand what he meant to him. Might never even try to. But even if the food was terrible—

—it still tasted like home.

So he finished every last bite.

Eren trudged back into his room after lunch not saying a word to anyone. His footsteps were quiet, but his chest was loud with a thousand confused thoughts. The moment he shut the door behind him, it was like the world fell still.

By nightfall everyone silently headed off to their shared room to rest.

Nansich had already curled up on the floor, snoring lightly with a blanket messily draped over him. Li Wang, as usual, lay on the mat by the corner, fast asleep with his glasses askew. The room was dim, lit only by the dull orange glow from the cracked night lamp in the corner.

But Varon’s side of the bed—his side—remained empty.

Eren couldn’t stop staring at it.

He laid down, but every inch of the mattress felt too cold. He rolled over. And again. His eyes searched the ceiling like it held answers to a question he didn’t even know how to ask. Why did it feel like a piece of him had gone missing? Why was he looking for that man’s scent, that familiar breathing beside him, that warmth that used to be there?

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his breathing to even out, but his fingers clenched the sheets tightly.

Still no sign of Varon.

A boiling, restless frustration surged in him and before he could talk himself out of it, he threw the covers aside and sat up. His heartbeat pounded in his ears.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He needed to know why. Why Varon said those things. Why can’t have feelings for him.

Eren stormed out of the room barefoot, not even bothering to change. His thin shirt and shorts did little against the freezing cold as he stepped outside.

The moment the air hit him, it felt like knives on his skin. The night was deep and still, the wind biting as it rushed over him, chilling him to the bone. His breath turned to mist instantly. He shivered uncontrollably.

But he didn’t care.

He crossed his arms, hugging his own trembling form, eyes scanning the orchard, the fences, the dark tree line, the faint outlines of the stored Grayling ship in the distance.

"Where the hell are you..." he whispered into the cold. His heart thumped louder now, driven by something that wasn’t just anger or confusion anymore.

He just needed to find him. Even if the answer shattered him.

A quiet voice floated down from above, barely louder than the whisper of wind.

"Eren."

He turned, startled, heart skipping a beat.

There he was—Varon. Perched on the edge of the roof, knees drawn up loosely, arms resting over them. The faint moonlight traced the long scar down his face, that familiar line Eren had seen bloodied and bruised a thousand times before. His hair tousled in the breeze, but those eyes... they were still calm. Still unreadable. Just like always.

Eren’s breath hitched. That face. That voice. After driving himself crazy searching for him, seeing Varon so casually sitting there, watching him—it boiled something inside him.

Without hesitation, Eren leapt, feet pushing off the cold ground, catching the rainpipe to vault himself up. He landed beside Varon with a soft thud, crouching low as the wind bit into him again. His teeth chattered, but he ignored it. His eyes never left Varon.

"I was looking for you," Eren muttered.

"I know," Varon said simply.

They sat there for a long second. The roof tiles beneath them were cold. The night too quiet. Only the rustling orchard and their breathing filled the space.

Eren looked away first, eyes on the ground. "Why are you avoiding me?"

"I’m not."

"You are," he snapped back, voice sharper than he wanted. "You’ve been hiding all day."

Eren peered up at him. "Varon... Do you have feelings for me,"