#enakopon

[writersplight]

A COMPARISON

AN: I feel I should include a content warning of some kind. There's nothing explicitly done wrong or said, but there is this hint at past bad sex experiences, and well as vague sex talk. ——— When Erwin talks, even if it’s directed at her, his words are chosen precisely. He could be talking to anyone really, and his words float through her like she’s air. It was never full conversations, just words floating from his mouth to her ears, with flat responses. There are hidden messages behind his words, and it takes learning how to decipher him to figure it out. Yet, they are forced and hollow. When Onyankopon talks, it's engaging. He’s fully listening to whatever she has to say, even if it’s nonsense, with questions and the perfect amount of eye contact. In return, she listens to all his facts about airplanes and zeppelins he has to offer. How can she not? His smile is so warm and inviting, she can’t help but sit down with a kettle of tea and hear him explain the mechanics of it all.

When Erwin would touch her, it would be quick, with specific purpose, and fleeting. Even when there were no meetings, no eyes on them except for the moon—completely devoid of life and love. It had to be initiated by him, whenever it was convenient for him. She’d be putty in his hands, though, soaking up every second. It was rare he had any semblance of “vulnerability” with her. Every touch was over way too soon, leaving her with an emptiness to deal with. She always pushed it down, making excuse after excuse for him. With Onyankopon, he listens. His touches are experimental, and he never does anything without asking. The first time they slept together, he reassured her that she wasn’t there for a quick, meaningless fuck. He just thought they should share a bed—he made some comment about how Ena mentioned cuddling earlier in the evening, but she refuses to acknowledge that as her full offer. That isn’t to mention the first time they had sex. She didn’t know the bedroom could be so. . . Satisfying. She was brought up on the idea that her life should be dedicated to pleasing a man in one way or another. The idea of actually living outside of that is a concept she only dreamt of when she ran away from home at the naive age of seventeen. Now, at almost thirty-nine years old, she’s faced with what she wants. And Ena’s never been so confused. At this point, her life is so much different than it was when she joined the Survey Corps at twenty-one. She had options beyond “kill the enemy and live another day”. Beyond “constantly prove how worthy you are”. Everything she wanted, and yet everything was so confusing. She kept expecting Onyankopon to snap and become impatient with her, or to up and leave altogether. But he didn’t. And he hasn’t. There’s no ultimatum with him. It’s always a fair and just compromise. At this point, laying awake at night, listening to him breathing, she realized how unfair it was to compare Erwin to Onyankopon. No one could compare to the openness he willingly shares with Ena. He’ll talk with her for hours about feelings and coping mechanisms, and if he does manage to step over a boundary, he sets time aside to fully hear her side, and to apologize. Rolling onto her side, Ena remembers the first time she initiated that she wanted to have sex with Onyankopon. She was really nervous “taking the lead”, but he was into it. He’s a hell of a listener, that’s for sure. It was a new territory for her, and he was always asking questions and for consent. There was a moment when she became hyper-aware of her surroundings, causing her to become still. That familiar stillness, the lifeless corpse of herself that was waiting for life to be pumped into it. She hated it. Suddenly, the pleasure was stimulating in all the wrong ways, and there was too much air in her lungs and not enough. “Is this—” “God, please stop!” His movements stopped immediately, concerned. She’s never shouted like that. She was never shaking like that. Or still. He pulls out, and gives her space. When Ena sits up, the room seems to turn with her in the middle. She didn’t know when Onyankopon left, or how the water got in her hands, or why she was crying so hard. She didn’t do anything wrong, but she held the guilt of every quiet woman in her bloodline. Onyankopon didn’t do anything wrong, but he did feel bad for not noticing sooner. Like most things in her life, her symptoms were quiet. They crept up on her, and she didn’t blame him. He put an arm under her, with permission, to help her sit up. He put a blanket around her. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” she whispers, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief that was handed to her. “Did I hurt you in any way?” “What? Of course not! You’re so good to me, and you know what you're doing, I just—” Ena pauses, and her eyes drop to her hands because telling Onyankopon about her previous relationship was always so hard. She always felt bad for wanting better, due to the circumstances she was faced with before on the island. She made sure to clarify Erwin never

intentionally hurt her, and meant his best. Even still, he would focus on his own pleasure, and believe that if he was feeling good, so was Ena. Not true, but she restated that he didn't know, and she couldn't help because she didn't know how to please herself. Onyankopon nodded along, sipping his own glass of water. He didn't villainize her past "boyfriend"—in quotes because they were together, but they weren't able to slap an official label on it. Even still, he had to wonder why she put up with him for so long. “I don’t know why,” she admits quietly, and he realized he asked that out loud. He began to apologize, but she assured him there was no need. After all, she was beginning to wonder about herself. “I used to say ‘because I love him’, right? But now that I have freedom right now. . . I’m sure it was a form of love, but it’s nothing like what we have. I just feel bad for constantly bringing him up, Onyankopon. He’s just the only frame of reference I have.” “And maybe an unintentional source of trauma?” he wondered, and Ena shrugged. She knew that was right, but it was a lot to admit. She didn’t want to admit that about her dead boyfriend. “It seems to me that he’s the reason you’re hesitant all the time. I don’t mind it, you're open to talking through your problems, but I’m concerned as to why he’s still got a death grip on your decisions. . . No pun intended, I promise!” He sees how her face twists up with this visible guilt. He puts a hand on her thigh. “I could be in the wrong, it’s okay to tell me that—” “I know, but I don’t think you’re wrong. But I don’t want to complain about the life I had in Paradis. It feels. . . Wrong,” she finally looks back at him. Even in a moment like this, he was so goddamn pretty. “You can still love someone even though they’ve traumatized you. It’s nuanced, Ena. For a situation as complicated as yours, there will always be nuance.” He explains. “Yeah?” she turns to face her lover with a nervous smile. “So you’re not upset with me that I yelled at you to stop?” “Of course not! I could never be mad at that. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.” She didn’t hold him in contempt, and told him that. She was just overstimulated in all the wrong ways. It happens sometimes. When he suggested relaxing for the rest of the night, she agreed. It started with a shower, where Onyankopon cleaned her hair so nicely. She used her lavender soap that he buys for her to wash his body, loving the idea that he’ll smell like her when he’s out and about in the morning getting groceries. Then he brewed some fancy tea blend bought from Levi’s shop, and they read some book Armin Arlert published, with in depth illustrations and diagrams by Jean Kirschtein. They go on explorations of other countries, studying various plant life and bugs. Weird, considering the ocean is bigger and far more interesting, but it was a good read nonetheless. And Ena totally didn’t slip and nearly cracked her head open when she stepped out of the shower. Nope. Onyankopon catching her and holding her close was merely him showing affection, and not caused by her slipping. It totally was, she’s just embarrassed. Months later, now, she rolls over to face him. He’s so sweet and patient with her. Not to say she isn’t patient with him, it’s just the first time that it isn’t stressful. Ena almost feels like she doesn’t deserve him. He understands her in a way that she’s never known—not to mention he can cook, clean, and understands that sometimes people just want alone time. Oh, and he loves taste-testing her experimental meals. As well as taking her flying on whatever complicatedly named airship he loves. And the way they pick each other’s brains. . . It’s sort of unfair to compare Erwin Smith to her current boyfriend. She can’t help it, she was raised in a society where comparing one another was supposed to be inspiration. Ena never felt inspired by having her hair, her eyes, her nose, her body, or her strength compared to someone else. It felt like an insult above all else. She knew, however, that Erwin liked

that challenge of trying to “best” someone, and that probably hasn’t changed since he died. Ena was okay with that.