#her anyway and it’s easy to forget that she doesn’t matter in their minds

[tariah23]

🗿

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 6 all chapters

TRIGGER WARNINGS - I'm so bad at these, feels kinda redundant in a yandere fic, BUT this chapter mentions violence against women, NOT between u & john.

-It's not two days later that a teenage girl goes missing. The town rises up in a tizzy. Everyone volunteers in search parties in the woods. But deep down, you know they should be looking for a beat-up Dodge van. You tell the police, and they take it down, though you doubt they're taking you seriously. The tip lines always go crazy when something like this happens. They’ll have mountains of information to comb through.

The very next day she appears at the police station, bruised, traumatized, but miraculously alive. A burned-out Dodge van is found later in the woods on the other side of town. The girl can't remember much about how she got free, just that someone saved her. She didn't get a good look at him. It all happened so fast.

The next day, Mr. Wick comes into the coffee house with a nasty scrape on his cheek. His eyes have a hard glint to them, sharp as obsidian. 

Somehow, you just know. 

On your break you slowly lower yourself into the seat across from him. 

He doesn't look up at you. 

“What happened to your face?” you ask quietly. 

“Tree branch.”

He's probably telling the truth, but you know there's more to it. You're not sure what you want to ask. You don't want to out him. You wouldn’t have evidence even if you did. You're glad someone was able to find that poor girl, and whatever happened to those men...good riddance.

You realize you are just sitting there staring at him with your lips parted when finally he lifts his eyes to you. 

You feel utterly pinned by his piercing gaze, and your question about the van and what happened to the guys in it dies on your lips. Even you know it would be stupid to mention it, here. Somehow, you’re still brave enough to ask a different question burning in your mind.

“Before you retired... were you a cop?” 

He snorts a little at that. 

“Hardly.” 

You nod, mostly to yourself. With a house like the one he lives in? Of course he wasn’t.

“Ok.”

You realize, you don’t really want to think on it too hard. It doesn’t matter, anyway.

You stand to go, but he touches your hand, ever so lightly. Still, it’s enough to make you freeze in your tracks. If you had any sense, it would be out of fear.

When it comes to Mr. Wick though, you’re afraid you have no sense.

 “Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we good?”

“Yes.”

You answer emphatically and you mean what you say. You listen to the news and probably to too many true crime podcasts, but it’s still easy to forget sometimes in your little town that the world's a big bad place. You're glad there's someone who can balance it out a little bit in the right direction, even if that someone has to go a little bit outside the law. You squeeze his hand, and it seems like that's enough assurance for him.

He goes back to his book, and you go back to work.

Later, you bring him a pastry, the coffee cake you’ve noticed he likes on occasion.

“What’s this for?”

You don’t know why you find the suspicion in his tone endearing.

“For taking care of us,” you answer. It’s hard not to fancy Clear Forks has gained its very own avenging angel in black. Whether he came from Up Above or Down Below doesn’t matter to that girl, and you find, it doesn’t matter to you.

[busylickingsatansballs]

Climb inside of me.

Nell Jackson x reader

Summary: Nell left you, will you give her a chance to make explain herself.

Notes: it only took me an hour, it's based off of a poem.

Inspired by the song Again - Noah Cyrus and XXXTENTACION

It hurt in a way you’d never felt before when she left, like grieving a missing limb. And then she’d died that pain was multiplied to the point of suffocation.

Then one night at the Talbot you saw her swan in the same way she left and your head started to spin.

She was back. And real, not something you’d made up to ease the grief.

You jump up and head for the front door heart pounding in your ears. Disappearing without so much as a back glance.

It killed her. So she’d asked Roxy to talk to you being too much of a coward to do it herself.

Roxy raced down the next day practically begging you to go see her. No doubt Nell had asked her to but you’d refused to let yourself even be entertained by the idea.

“she wants to see you ya know”  your head was already shaking side to side before she’d finished.

“She made her choice, she can just deal with it Roxy.” You had a very that was that tone as you fixed your hair, hands smoothing over your dress.

So Roxy didn’t waste her breath asking twice.

Fingers twist the material at your side, something you only did when nervous.

She’d frozen a second, hesitated like she wanted to say more but didn’t.

Knowing you were putting on a front deep down you wanted to see her, she relayed the message anyway.

The deflated look in Nell’s eyes when you refused to see her, broke her heart.

Muttering a sorry as she patted Nell in passing.

Nell couldn’t sleep that night. No matter how much she tossed and turned, fingers twisting in the sheets the gnawing, absence never settled.

Your face wouldn’t leave her mind.

You were best friends why couldn’t you forgive her?

Or at least you used to be before she ruined everything. There was no expectation of easiness but time had made her forgetful of your stubborn nature.

She’d get you back even if it killed her.

 You’d grown up together, she wasn’t going to be stupid enough to let you go twice.

You the educated daughter of a wealthy doctor and Nell the uneducated daughter of a tavern owner.

She had no idea what you even saw in her sometimes but my god did she want to be seen by you.

You’d even slept in the same bed growing up, all snuggled up close under fading candle light fingers tight around your waist and Nell tried to pretend that it didn’t mean anything.

The delicate way you brushed your fingers over her features, faces just inches apart leaning close as you whispered to avoid waking anyone.

You consumed her. Lit the spark in her chest, she burned for you.  

That burn bled into your everyday lives, she could barely contain herself when the local men tried their luck. It was met with a polite decline from yourself or Nell threatening to beat the infatuation out of any boy who mustered up the courage to try.

Nell sometimes caught herself wishing she was a boy it would make everything so easy.

She’d make a good husband. Nobody would ever hurt you, make you cry or take advantage of your kindness again.

She’d always known she wasn’t like most girls and you only made it more obvious.

The thoughts started to scare her becoming more intense as you aged. So she’d done the only thing she could and married Jackson leaving as soon as possible. He was a good man, had understood her situation. Understood he was her way out.

Understood she would never be a normal wife.

You’d been heartbroken, friends your whole lives and not even a goodbye.

One day she was there and the next gone like a ghost.

Nell Jackson had broken your heart.

Eyes darting back and forth between your notes ignoring the burn in your eyes,

Thumbs rub them blurry but Nell’s face doesn’t leave your mind.

Your stomach twists with excitement as you finish writing a possible cure for a disease you’d been working on.

She seemed to be a lot of places you were lately.

You grown suspicious, suspecting Roxy of foul play sometimes but lacked the proper evidence to accuse.

You always found an excuse to leave. She didn’t need us, didn’t need you.

You’d avoided Nell for weeks, Roxy thought it was silly you opting to drink at home throwing yourself into your work.

Couldn’t you see that they needed you? Nell needed you?

You’d see the girls in passing but not as before, it was hard and you missed them but you all needed the space you’d convince yourself to ease the guilt.

You leaned back in your office chair stretching tired limbs throwing the book to the growing pile as you enjoy the silence.

It would be dark in a few hours so you wanted to enjoy the last few hours of sunlight in peace.

You’d earned a rest. Earned a break from your inner torment even if just for a moment.

Being the towns doctors daughter, people came to you all hours for help.

 You didn’t mind of course.

You were a sweetheart and the town loved you for it, beautiful, clever and exceptionally wealthy you had it all.

Well except a husband. But who wanted one of those?

Men were loud, rough and selfish. None of which appealed to you, women were soft, warm and smelled good.

Life would be so much easier if you could marry each other.

You often caught yourself wondering what it would be like curling up next to someone soft and warm..

A shake of your head puts a stop to that train of thought.

Those thoughts were for later, when it was dark and you could pretend your hand  was possessed, working of it’s own volition under your night gown. The thoughts that clouded your mind were put there by the devil himself to torment you.

You caved every time.

Especially these last few weeks you’d find Nell’s face creeping in more.

Which only made it harder to look at her.

You’d had proposals from all sorts of men looking to marry into your family, the ones looking for love. The ones who wanted money, the ones who wanted to use your brilliance for their own selfish reasons.

You turned them all down.

 One of the few lucky enough to have parents that didn’t care much about marriage marrying for love themselves.

The knock on your door startles, bringing you back to reality. You aren’t expecting anybody but then again you suppose you never were.

You look though the peephole, squinting till Nell’s features came into focus.

You swing the door open with more force than needed, Nell blinks in surprise.

“what do you want?” you know you sound rude, you try not to care.

 Hurt flashes over her features but it’s so fleeting you could have imagined it.

“well a hello wouldn’t go a miss”  irritation brews in your chest but it’s overshadowed with the ache of missing her.

You wanted to cry, bury your head in her neck and never let go.

“if I wanted to say hello I’d have called.” You quip cheeks hot.

You turn before she can see heading back the way you came with Nell at your heels.

You think you hear her close the door behind you.

You hope she has, it was hardly the safest village.

It doesn’t take long before your back in your office sitting back at your work station.

“figured I’d save you the trouble”  she stops awkwardly in the middle of the room taking it all in.

The overwhelming rows of books, ingredients. Scribbled notes scattering the table, Nell doesn’t think she’s ever seen so many books in her life.

“that why you’re here, to say hello?” your words come out thin and pinched, you find yourself silently cringing at your own voice.

If Nell notices she doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah well, I missed ya”  her fingers tap against a jar as she stares at the contents.

Your eyes watch Nell’s frame, she moves slow eyes scanning the various bottles and jars filled with all sorts.

“your the one who left” you huff.

“didn’t feel I ‘ad a choice” she’s looking at you now eyes gazing into your own.

“a goodbye would have been nice” you mutter.

“m sorry”

 Nell continues to study your shelves and the silence stretches on.

Too long.

“don’t touch that” your across the room in seconds hand gripping her wrist tightly, alarm in your tone.

Nell jars slightly, looking at your grip on her wrist.

“It’s a paralytic.” You offer, her blank stare let’s you know she doesn’t understand so you carry on.

“you’ll be unable to move, paralysing your body and lungs eventually until you suffocate and die.”

“Cheery” Nell lowers her eyes and you realise with great embarrassment you still haven’t let go of her wrist.

Dropping her wrist you put away the deadly concoctions in sight as a precaution.

“Sorry, I just didn’t want you to die.” You offer lamely.

Nell’s heart sores at your words, you still cared. “I wouldn’t worry about that, I’m magic.” her joke confuses you tone awkward.

Nell knows she sounds lame but she doesn’t know what else to offer.

You meet her gaze properly, her eyes are so pretty.

“did I do something wrong?” Nell’s mind goes blank, how could you ever do anything wrong?

“Course not, why would you think that?” you grip your skirt fingers tightening and untightening. Twisting and pulling until you can’t anymore.

Nell’s grip tightens around your hand gently pulling the offending hand from your already creased skirt.

“because you never said goodbye.” and it sounds like the most childish thing in the world to be upset about.

But you are.

She pulls you in, slowly guiding you until your eye level with her chin.

You daren’t let your eyes stray further. Her hand moves to hold your own squeezing gently.

 “I didn’t want to hurt ya, I had to leave. Had to leave before I did something stupid,” and of course it makes no sense.

“Stupid? I don’t understand” you pull gently, Nell doesn’t let go.

Pushing your wrists down until she’s forced to let go you take a step back.

“Stop talking in riddles and just be honest with me.”

Her brain freezes and she finds her mouth opening and closing without a sound coming out.

And so she does the only thing that she can, she kisses you.

Her lips are soft, warm. Unskilled they work against yours urgently.

Heat shoots down your spine coiling tight in your lower belly as she pushes you gently into the bookshelf behind.

You think you hear something fall but you don’t care. She’s so soft, eager and my god does she smell good.

Gasping for air you reluctantly pull back, releasing a shaky breath foreheads pressed together.  

You think you hear here apologising but it doesn’t register.

How on earth could she be sorry for that?

“I shouldn’t have done that” it’s not an apology but close enough.

“why not?” Nell doesn’t have an answer, you didn’t seem upset which was a win. 

She steps back and you panic.

Nell doesn’t miss it, moving closer to soothe you. “hey I ain’t goin nowhere” relaxing, you nod and step closer.

“it’s going to be dark soon, you should stay.”

Nodding wordlessly, Nell finds herself hypnotised as you lead her upstairs.

Finding herself in your bedroom watching you undress for bed, Nell can’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world perching on the end of your bed.

You blush turning to find her gaze already on you.

“you sleeping like that?” you gesture towards her outfit. Trousers, boots, hat and a gentleman’s coat.

Pulling off her boots and coat, she hangs her hat over your bedpost, you blow out the candle.

Pushing herself up the bed as you crawled to meet her.

Snuggling up you press your head against her chest as you both get comfortable.

Whatever happened, you had each other. You were home.

[strixcattus]

Chapter IV: Violence/Passion

He's going to die here.

History

The cabin comes into view blurrily, almost like they’re just waking up. They didn’t doze off in the cabin, did they? That wouldn’t make a very good first impression on the Princess.

Though, this cabin doesn’t look like that first one. Its walls are formed from pale, rough stone, with openings in the sides to serve as windows. The doors are more of the same, cutting quite an impressive figure. Instead of a plain wooden table, there’s a metal altar holding the blade, and a couple loose planks lie askew on the floor. The cabin normally wouldn’t look like this on the first go-around, would it?

So why doesn’t Smitten remember what they did last time?

It’s probably not all that important. Even if he doesn’t remember, surely someone must. He’ll just have to go along.

“Well, boys?” he asks. “Shall we go and see what form our beloved has taken this time?”

No one says anything. That’s rude of them.

No one does anything, either. That’s a bit far for a prank.

“Very funny of you,” he says, listening for any sign that someone else is here. “Yes, you’ve got me this time, good joke, now let’s be off to fulfill our… destiny…”

It’s completely silent. There’s no one else here.

His shoulders drop, and he turns around to face the door to the outside. His body obeys, allowing him to see that the cabin is entirely empty, except for him.

That probably isn’t good.

Maybe something happened to the others. Maybe they’re somewhere outside. Maybe they’ve been tossed about to different cabins like this one.

If they are, he’s sure it’ll all work out. They’re resourceful people. Everything’s going to be fine.

Still, he should try to find them. He’ll just pop down to the basement, free the Princess from her imprisonment, and then the two of them can meet up with everyone else who’s also made their way out. It’ll be easy.

He leaves the blade on its altar. Wouldn’t want to give the Princess the wrong impression, if she has as little memory as he does.

The doors are heavy, resisting his attempts to wrench them open no matter how much he strains. Eventually, one of them folds and scrapes slowly across the floor, and the other follows a little more easily. The stairs beyond are cramped, stone walls pressing in on him, but they don’t look as though they’ll pose any obstacle. If those doors were to decide to close again, though, he might be in trouble.

Oh well. He’s sure the Princess will be more than capable of getting the two of them out, if the doors even do shut on them. The Narrator, conniving scoundrel that he is, is blissfully absent, and he was always the one that tried to meddle.

“Is that a challenger?” the Princess calls from the basement. Her voice echoes off the stone walls. “Finally. I haven’t had a good fight in far too long.”

A fight? Why would she want to fight him? They have the same goal!

Maybe she just got the wrong impression in some time he doesn’t remember. He should say something to put her mind at ease. “Fear not, Princess!” he cries. “I have no ill intentions towards you!”

She laughs. “Is that so? Why don’t you come down so we can meet face-to-face, then?”

This is progress! Probably. She does sound like she’s willing to talk. And he was planning to finish climbing down the stairs anyway.

The basement is less like a room and more like a cave, not much wider than the stairs. The Princess stands at one end, taking up most of the wall, chain in place on her wrist.

A pair of horns rise from her forehead, framing a set of spikes that look almost like the crown she usually has. The skirt of her dress is translucent, with a slit in the side, and a long tail curls around her. Her feet look more like hooves.

She’s beautiful.

Her eyes narrow onto his hands. “No little knife, huh? Did you forget to bring it with you?”

Is she talking about the blade? She must be convinced there’s no way out unless she’s cut free from her chains. “Fret not, fair maiden. We won’t need the blade for this.”

“Is that so?” The Princess grins. “Good.”

Smitten steps closer, reaching for the shackle on her arm. This is going well. He’ll slip her hand from the chains with no problem at all, and they’ll leave the cabin and go see what else is out there… as long as that mirror doesn’t show up again.

It won’t. It can’t. He won’t stand for it.

He should probably ask her name once they’re out, too. But one thing at a time. He’ll slip her hand from the chains…

His back lands on the hard stone floor, sending shockwaves through his bones.

The events leading up to the landing piece themselves together backwards. He landed on the floor because he fell. Why? Because the Princess pushed him. No, pushed isn’t the right word—she grabbed his arm and threw him to the floor. Why? Heck if he knows. All he did was reach for the chain.

He looks back up at the Princess, vision swimming back into place. She’s frowning at him. Why is she frowning at him? She ought to know he has no intention of hurting her, right?

“Are you really going to give up this quickly?” she asks.

His brain hasn’t finished pulling itself back together, so all he can say is, “What?” And, if he were being honest, that’s probably what he would say if he were in peak condition.

“You hit the ground once and you’re down for the count?” The Princess leans over him. “Did you just come down here to toy with me or what?”

Toy with… her? But he had no such intentions… right? “I can assure you, my intentions have never been anything but pure.” He pulls himself to his feet as his vision finally snaps back into one piece. “If you’ll allow me to remove that shackle, the two of us can go at once.”

The Princess looks down at the chain. “What, worried it’ll slow me down? You must be confident.” Before Smitten can figure out what she means by that, she begins to strain against the chain, metal groaning before it finally snaps. She’s free! This is great! “You’d better live up to the figure you’re making yourself out to be.”

“Oh, I would never dare mislead y—” Smitten begins, cut off by a fist landing on his shoulder and throwing him across the room. His flight is cut short by the wall of the basement, head directly striking the stone. Some imperceptible noise echoes in his ears.

Didn’t he just say she could trust him? Why doesn’t she trust him?

The world is slowly beginning to decide it would rather not remain in one place. Smitten wobbles on his feet as he takes a few steps towards the Princess, nearly having to lean on one wall for support. “Why would you… do that… my love…” he wheezes, lungs refusing to cooperate with him.

“What do you mean, why would I do that?” The Princess stares at him, her arms folded. “Why wouldn’t I do that? You did come down here for a fight, didn’t you? Or are you less honest than you claim to be?”

A… fight? He never said anything about a fight or that sounded like it was about a fight or fight-related or anything of the sort… right?

“I’m afraid I… don’t have any idea… what you’re talking about.” He slumps against one wall, legs unwilling to do their job on their own. “All I want is… to set you free.”

“And what if I don’t want to be free?” The Princess takes a step towards him—he thinks. It’s all a little blurry. “What if I want something else?” Another. Probably. “What if what I want is for you to fetch your little knife and fight me?” She’s either right in front of him or still by the back wall. It’s still unclear.

Smitten wobbles backwards. He can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not. “Th—that can’t be right. Freeing Princesses is always the right thing to do.”

The Princess grits her teeth. “You are impossible! Why don’t you start thinking for once so that I don’t have to!” She reaches out with her hand, faster than Smitten can see—not that that necessarily means it’s fast, with the way he is right now—and grabs his throat. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to kill you, right now, so you can come back with a half-decent head on your shoulders. And when you do, you’re going to take your little knife, and you’re going to march right down to this basement and fight me.”

The pressure on Smitten’s neck tightens. He’s going to die. He should probably say something nice before he dies. A nice little pre-death one-liner while he’s still pre-death. A nice little… that shouldn’t be too hard…

His meandering is cut off with a pop, or maybe it’s a snap, or maybe it’s more of a squelch or even a crunch. It’s still a little hard to tell what’s going on around him, and more so to put words to it.

But words don’t matter in some cases. No matter what combination of letters accurately capture whatever sound he hears, soon after everything goes dark, and he dies.

He shoots to his feet before he can take stock of the cabin he’s in. That part comes after. The walls are made from a pale, rough stone, with open holes for windows, and the doors to the basement are heavy and carved from the same material. The blade lies on a metal altar—

This is the same cabin.

The Princess’s final words to him dance just out of his grasp. He certainly wasn’t doing all right in the head by the time she killed him, was he? At least that’s over and he can approach her with a clear mind.

It must have been important, though, whatever she said. “I’m going to… you can come back… and when you do… right down to this basement.” There must have been something in between all that…

Oh! Of course! She must have seen how badly he was doing and killed him knowing he’d come back in one piece and be able to hold a proper conversation with her. How thoughtful of her!

He strides over to the doors with a bounce in his step. This time, he knows to brace himself in order to wrench them open.

The Princess is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded. Her face falls when she sees him. Why would she…?

“I thought I told you to bring your knife this time around,” she says. “Do you just not have it or what?”

Is she forgetting something? Is he forgetting something? “You must be mistaken. We don’t need to cut you free. If you’ll just allow me to—”

She growls. “Did everything that happened last time breeze through your empty head? If I wanted to be free, I would be.” She pulls against the chain, metal snapping and falling to the floor in pieces, leaving only the shackle around her wrist. “Now go and get that knife so we can fight.”

The memories that abandoned ship the moment Smitten hit his head start to drift back. “Going to… take… knife… right down to this basement… fight me.”

But that doesn’t make any sense. “Why would you want me to fight you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She narrows her eyes. “Why don’t you? It’s fun. And it feels right.”

Smitten laughs a little as he backs away. “I don’t know if I’d exactly describe it that way, though I suppose… if it would make you happy…” There’s something wrong with this Princess. Not that there could possibly be anything wrong with any Princess—they’re all perfect in their own way���but this one has something wrong with her.

He does a little hop back to the base of the stairs. The Princess continues to watch him. “I’ll, ah, be going to fetch that blade now,” he says. “I shall return posthaste.”

Then he turns and bolts up the stairs, not stopping to catch his breath until he’s well and fully in the upper part of the cabin.

She wants to fight him. But that’s not… that’s not how this works, right? She’s supposed to want to be free. Sure, there were a couple Princesses that had other intentions, but that was only after they’d been wronged and were out to take righteous revenge!

…Did something happen to her in the time Smitten hasn’t been allowed to see? Is she trying to take out her anger on him? But that doesn’t sound quite right.

She wants to fight him. Not to kill him, presumably. Just to fight him a little. She doesn’t look angry—at least she didn’t, not before they properly got to talking. Maybe a little spar could be fun, if it’ll make her happy. She said it would be, so he’ll believe her.

“I hope you aren’t trying to run away,” the Princess calls from below. “What’s taking so long?”

Smitten jumps and scoops the blade from the altar. “Don’t worry, fair maiden! I’m merely steeling my nerves for our battle.” He may as well play it up. If a fight’s what she wants, he’ll do his level best to make it as dramatic as possible.

He steps down the stairs, taking in deep breaths to steady himself. He can’t let the Princess down.

She is waiting for him in the basement, and her face breaks into a grin when he comes into view. “Finally. Let’s get started, shall we?”

“We shall.” Smitten raises the blade, pointing it at the Princess. “En garde!”

The Princess doesn’t waste any time in launching herself across the room, fist narrowly missing Smitten’s face. He ducks past her—she’s tall—and whirls around, catching her arm with the blade as she aims another punch. A few drops of blood fly away from the nick and splatter on the floor.

He didn’t mean to do that.

She seems to take notice, stepping back instead of continuing her attack and glancing at the cut in her arm. It’s shallow, at least so he hopes, but a drop of blood still traces down her wrist as he watches.

“I’m sorry—” he stammers. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No. You didn’t. That’s your problem.” The Princess wipes at her cut with one thumb. “All this and you still don’t get what this is about.” She thrusts her arms out to the sides. “I died and I’m still fine. I killed you and you’re still fine. There are no consequences for us here. We can kill each other all we want, and nothing is going to happen.”

No. No, he was right. This one does have something wrong with her, no matter how he wishes he could look past it.

His hand trembles just enough for the blade to slip from it and clatter on the floor. “But I don’t want to kill you,” he says meekly.

“Don’t think of it as killing me.” The Princess takes a couple steps forward, and Smitten scrambles a couple steps back. Their dance as such is cut short by Smitten hitting the back wall of the basement, allowing the Princess to catch up to him and pick up the blade. “It’s not like I’ll stay dead. Now get up.” She tosses the blade at his feet. It lodges, tip-first, in the stone floor.

He’s going to die here a second time. He’s going to die because he couldn’t bring himself to give the Princess what she wanted. That’s not right. He’s supposed to give the Princess what she wants, but what she wants is supposed to be freedom, and—

The Princess’s fist smashes into the wall where Smitten’s head would have been if he hadn’t thrown himself the rest of the way to the ground. As it is, some of his feathers float lazily through the air as a reminder of what might happen to the rest of him if he can’t keep this up.

He tugs the blade out of the ground as the Princess turns for another strike, and stands to face her. He’s going to die again. She’s going to kill him, and he’s going to deserve it. He’s supposed to be giving her what she wants, because she’s always right, but…

The Princess is always right. If she thinks they can’t die, if she thinks that him trying to kill her is fun, well, she probably knows better than him.

He lashes out with the blade, carving a stripe up the Princess’s arm. She swings at him, fist colliding with his shoulder. Something that probably isn’t supposed to go pop goes pop. He strikes back, this time burying his blade in the Princess’s chest, somewhere in the vicinity of her heart.

The Princess steps back, laughing, the sound wetter than it should be. She grasps the handle of the blade and tosses it back.

Smitten catches it. Then he drops it again as his injured arm decides it’s had enough of its current working conditions and falls limp. The Princess pretends not to notice as he reaches down to pick it back up.

“See? Isn’t this so much more fun than talking?” the Princess asks once they’re face-to-face again.

“I suppose,” Smitten says, unable to get another word out as the Princess launches herself towards him.

He lashes out with the blade again and again, barely deflecting each of her attacks with stripes of red carved across her arms. The Princess’s fists connect as often as not—there’s a crunch as she lands a blow on his ribcage, then a snap as his already-injured arm is well and fully put out of commission, then a squelch that was probably some crucial organ.

He’s going to die here. That’s fine. The Princess said it would be fine.

She steps back as though meaning for her next punch to be her last. “Are you sure you’re really trying to kill me?” she taunts. “You’re not just trying to postpone your own death?”

Smitten tries to answer, to say, No, of course not, I would never dare to imagine going against your wishes, but something is very, very broken in the parts of him in charge of speaking, and all he manages to do is inhale blood.

The Princess seems to notice. “I’d say you’ve only got a few seconds left this time around. Why don’t you make them count?” She holds out her arms. “Go on. Stab me—unless your heart isn’t in it.”

My heart… is always… in everything. Smitten raises the blade with his remaining arm, steadying it as much as he can. I hope this makes you happy. He brings it down with as much force as he can muster, right over her heart.

Then he falls, and none of his limbs opt to catch him.

The Princess continues to stand over him, unfazed even by the blade in her heart. Assuming it even made it to her heart.

Her sitting down beside him is the last thing he sees as his vision fades to a sort of reddish black. “Were you even trying to kill me?” she asks, followed by, “No. You were.” There’s a sound like she’s leaning back against the basement wall. “You’re no good at this. Even if you come back with the passion you had at the end, you still won’t be able to kill me.”

He says nothing, of course. He’s not sure he can even fully understand what she’s saying.

“You’re not meant to be here,” she continues. “If you were meant to be here, you’d be meant to fight me. And you’re obviously not meant to fight anyone.” Her hand lands on his neck, fingers pressing into his feathers as though searching for something. A pulse? Does he still have one of those? “Is there someone else out there who’s meant to be here? Is that what this is?”

If she keeps talking after that, Smitten doesn’t hear any of it. Everything goes dark—darker than it already is—and he dies.

He shoots to his feet before he can take stock of the cabin he’s in. Every piece of it lines up with how it looked the last time, anyway—same pale stone walls, same heavy double doors, same blade on the same metal altar. He grabs the blade without even thinking.

He needs to go back downstairs and apologize. He failed to live up to her wishes. Should he try to make it up to her? Give her the fight she deserves? He did make a promise to her. Or maybe he just thought it. Or thought he thought it. The latter half of the last go-around is a bit fuzzy again.

By the time he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he’s made up his mind. He raises the blade and charges towards the Princess—

—And she catches it before he can close the distance, tip of the blade sinking into the palm of her hand. She twists her wrist, and Smitten’s grip breaks before the blade can wrench free.

“Does your brain just stop working after you’ve been beat up enough?” she asks, tugging the blade out of her hand. There’s a visible hole in the back of it where the tip broke through the other side. “I told you, we’re done here. I’m going to find someone whose heart is actually in this.”

Smitten sputters, still in the process of grasping that the blade is no longer in his hand. “My heart is in this! It would be impossible for me to not put my entire heart into anything I endeavor to accomplish!”

“So I didn’t just disarm you before you could land a hit on me?” The Princess glances at the hole in her hand before tugging on the chains once more. They splinter just as easily this time as they did the previous two. “You’re not cut out for this, loverboy. Stick to writing poetry or whatever it is you’re supposed to do.”

“I can fight!” Smitten follows close behind the Princess as she strides up the stairs. She ducks a little to avoid hitting her horns on the doorway. “If you’ll allow me another chance, I can assure you I will not let you down a third time.”

The Princess glances over her shoulder. “You don’t actually want that.”

“I do! If a fight is what you want, I will gladly—”

She tosses the blade to him, and he fumbles the blood-slicked point of it, barely managing to keep his grip. “You’re just saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear. And it is. Just not from someone who’s lying.”

Smitten extracts his hands from the blade, looking around in vain for something to wipe his hands on that isn’t his own cape. He settles for smearing the excess blood across the cabin wall. “I would never lie to you.”

“Oh?” the Princess asks, eyes glinting. “If you’re so honest, then tell me: Was it fun?”

Of course it was fun. The Princess said it was, and it clearly was for her, and anything that makes the Princess happy is good enough for him. Right?

“I’ve… had more enjoyable experiences,” he finally admits.

She nods and turns her attention to wrenching the outer door open. It’s not as heavy-seeming as the ones to the basement, but maybe that’s just because she’s so much larger than him. It’s not as though he ever tried to open it himself. “There’s more of you, right?” she asks.

“Yes. Several.”

“Then there’s someone out there who doesn’t have to lie when he says he gets it.” The Princess steps back from the door. “Let’s go find him already.”

Smitten nods. “Certainly. Say, before we leave, you wouldn’t happen to have a name?”

She looks over her shoulder. “Adversary. You?”

“Smitten. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

The Adversary scoffs. “Suits you. Come on.”

They don’t get more than a step into the outside world before freezing again.

Everything is… meat. The cabin sits atop a hill of smooth skin that collapses into fleshy lumps of meat at its base, and the path, instead of packed dirt or smooth stones, looks more like the bones of a spine. In place of trees, clawed fingers reach from the ground, meat bared to the world and webs of translucent meat strung between their knobby bones. Smitten can’t resist glancing at his own hands and noting the similarity.

“So. Meat,” the Adversary begins. “Not normal.”

“No,” Smitten agrees. “Meat is most certainly not normal.”

The Adversary takes a few steps forward, hooves sinking into the meat with an array of smushes and slushes and squishes and sounds that can scarcely be put into writing. Smitten follows suit.

He can feel the meat between his toes. Also sticking to the bottoms of his feet, and wrapping above his feet. It’s very squishy.

There’s little reprieve from the meat. If he tries to pull his attention away from the sensations beneath his feet, there’s the sound to worry about. If he ignores the sound, there’s the smell of blood filling the air. And that’s to say nothing of the sight—the only place he can look without finding meat is the back of the Adversary’s head.

At least his focus on her means he notices when she suddenly stops walking, and he’s saved the embarrassment of crashing into her. He still almost does, losing his footing on the meat for a second before she catches him.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

She points across the meat. “That’s another one of you, right?”

Smitten follows her arm to the horizon. She’s right. Between a pair of meat hands is a figure wearing a long, black cloak, veil hiding his face at this distance. Next to him is a smaller figure, with a dress and a tail flicking behind her.

He can’t be sure about the second figure, but he certainly recognizes the first.

The two figures pause, clearly having noticed them at the same time. The shorter one turns to the taller as though saying something, but Smitten has no intention of giving them enough time for him to be the one to approach.

He strides across the meat, for once able to ignore every sensory detail of the stuff, and soon comes face-to-face with the worst one of the bunch.

Cold tilts his head to one side. “Oh. You’ve escaped. Good job.”

Leading with sarcasm, is he? Smitten has no intention of allowing him to have his way. He grips the front of Cold’s cloak and shoves him against the nearest meat hand. “I’m more surprised you didn’t leave your Princess rotting in the basement,” he growls. “Are you just toying with her? Does she know what sort of monster you really are?”

The Princess that was with Cold glances between him and Smitten, brow furrowed as though trying to figure out what to say.

“Ha! And here I thought you weren’t a fighter.” The Adversary seems to have no such issues. “Looks like there’s one person you’re supposed to fight.” She steps up behind him with a squelsh—she’s so tall she doesn’t have to strain to get a good look at Cold’s face. “Don’t know if it’s the same way for him, though.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Cold levels his gaze with Smitten’s, still not bothering to struggle against him. “If he actually followed through on his promises, I might be interested in seeing them play out.”

Smitten tightens his grip. “I am no liar. You would do well to mark what I say—I will drag you into the depths of my misery and leave you there to drown.”

“Been there. Done that.”

The other Princess seems to have finally snapped. “Would one of you shut up and explain what you’re talking about?”

Cold shrugs. “It’s not that interesting.”

“Not that interesting?” Smitten shoves him further into the meat with a wet smeesh. “You murdered my true love in cold blood. And so I took my revenge.”

“Was that really intended to be revenge? I thought it was just an attempt at reuniting with your ‘true love.’ Did you think I would mind being stabbed?”

Has he no limit to his insults? “Perhaps I hoped it would snap you into something capable of sympathy.”

The Princess sighs. “We get it. His brain is broken. Can you cut it out now so we can go somewhere with less meat?”

Fine. In the interest of the Princess being allowed to go somewhere with less meat, Smitten releases his grip on Cold’s cloak. Cold remains suspended on the meat hand for a moment, making no move to extract himself, before he peels off its surface with a long, drawn out squueeemch and lands on his knees with a pair of squishes.

“Sticky,” he observes, then stands (with a pair of ssspops) and turns back to the meat hand. “I wonder—”

“Nope! Not going through this again!” The other Princess grabs Cold by the arms and yanks him away from the meat hand. “Let’s go! We’re leaving!”

The Princess leads the procession, dragging Cold behind her despite his weak protests (“One couldn’t kill me, could it?”). Smitten follows close behind.

“If I may, could you tell me your name?” he asks the Princess. “My own is Smitten, and this—” he indicates the Adversary, who is currently trailing at the back of the pack— “is the Adversary.”

“We’re doing names now?” The Princess wrinkles her nose. “Witch is fine.”

Is she… surprised he’s asking for her name? No, of course she is. Of course Cold would never extend such a courtesy. “I’m guessing he hasn’t bothered to make a proper introduction? Allow me to correct such a grave error. This is—”

“I’m Cold,” says Cold.

The Witch turns to stare at him. “Really? In that cloak?”

“He means it as his name,” Smitten explains. “Though I’m not surprised he didn’t bother to adequately clarify.”

Before any arguments can start up again, the Adversary cuts in. “Do you two know where we’re going?”

The Witch shrugs. “Not really. We were following a river, but then it started to look like blood and he—” she jerks her thumb in Cold’s direction— “started asking me how I thought it’d taste, so I dragged him away from it. Now we’re just heading anywhere that isn’t made of meat. Unless you have a better idea?”

“No. Anywhere that isn’t meat is fine. Besides, now we know there really are other people out there.” Smitten hazards a glance back to see that the Adversary’s face has split into a sharp-toothed grin. “Which means there’s someone out there I can fight.”

The Witch whirls around so sharply Smitten fears she may have given herself whiplash. “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Smitten tunes out the remainder of the discussion. He’s already heard it all. He doesn’t need a second reminder.

[eyelessfog]

“You love me,” says a voice Joel doesn’t remember.

He’s alone in this dream, lying down on a cloud and staring up at a bright blue sky. His cloud is the only one he can see, though that may not say much, as he doesn’t think he can manage to sit up and look around.

“I do,” he says aloud. It’s the truth, even if he doesn’t know who he’s talking to. The statement feels right. That’s what matters.

Something brushes against his cheek, and he flinches. He can’t see it, and he doesn’t like things he can’t see, but it’s soft and sweet and gentle with him in a way he doesn’t remember.

“You love me,” the voice says again. “You love me. Why can’t you remember me?”

“I don’t know,” Joel says. He reaches a hand up to press against the face of the voice. He can’t see it, but he can feel the smooth skin under the palm of his hand, cool in a way that humans aren’t, lines and divots along the cheek that remind him of scales.

He has a ring on his finger, he notices.

It’s silver and thin, carved with intricate swirls that remind him almost of waves and whirlpools. He turns his hand to stare at it, and then pauses as his hand is grabbed. The sky itself has taken form, and holds him kindly. A golden ring, less intricate, sits upon its finger.

She, whoever she is, is formless. He can see something like her outline, but he can only focus on certain things at a time, like her hands, or her hair, or the familiar smile that plays on her lips. He can’t remember anything about her, if he tries to think about it, but she is so there, and he’s quite sure he loves her.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her. “I can’t remember you. I’m sorry.”

She smiles, and her teeth are sharp, but she’s so kind anyway, and those teeth will never harm his skin.

“We were never meant to remember, Joel.” She kneels just beside him, and leans against his side. “I was never going to. You know how easy it is for me to forget.” She presses a kiss to his lips, and it tastes like seasalt. “I could never hate you for forgetting me.”

Joel feels something in his chest break. “You forgot me?” He asks. He can hear the crack in his voice, but the idea of her having forgotten - the idea that they might find each other and neither of then would know - it terrifies him.

“Oh, Joel,” she says. She has been a little smaller than him for the duration of their conversation, and it’s so strange to him, who has been at least double the height of nearly everyone he knows for a long, long time.

But then she grows.

She is double his height now, and he breathes in a shaky gasp, because this is how it’s supposed to be. She holds his face in steady hands, and presses a kiss to his forehead, then pulls him up to rest against her.

He’s crying. He can’t see her, but he can feel her, and he’s clenching at the fabric of her dress in fists. She brushes through his hair, and he shudders.

“I should remember you. I have to. I love you.”

“You love me,” she agrees. “That’s what matters. You’ve forgotten me, and you haven’t seen me in all this time, and you love me still. Don’t you think that counts for something?” She squeezes him closer.

“I’m sorry,” Joel says again. And then again, and again, and again, shutting his eyes tight, and continuing on, apologizing over and over.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

And something feels different. Another apology sits heavy on his tongue, but he opens his eyes to the ceiling of his bedroom, and he stays silent.

The dream is fading from his memory. But he remembers the sky, and a cloud under his back, and he remembers an apology on his lips. Another phrase waits at the back of his mind, but he doesn’t know what it is.

That’s alright. He’s used to not remembering things.

(Something whispers to him “I love you.”)

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. / chapter five.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F!Reader (Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin)

Word Count: 5K

Summary: Day 120 - Also known as the day you finally confront Captain Levi after your dreams begin to connect some dots.

Warnings: Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Eventual Romance, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Flashbacks, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Nonbinary Hange Zoe

( Read on AO3 )

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER FIVE.

“Thanks.”

The boy with raven hair speaks the syllable like his voice forgets its function, hoarse and small. In his hands is a small, precious piece of bread. His chin lowers to take a bird-sized bite, chewing slowly to savor the taste.

Looking down, you find that your hands are occupied by a half of a loaf, too — perhaps even the other half of the one the boy has.

You bring the food to your mouth, careful not to bite down too hard.

“Can I… sit?” you ask the boy as he continues to feed.

He nods once, so you nestle into the empty spot beside him.

Rather than floating in the dream's usual nothingness, the bench sits hidden in a closed-off dark room, lit only by lanterns and torches lining its walls. Shouts sound in the distance, but the noises are not scared. They’re… laughing. Howling, even, at jokes and drinking songs.

You can't hear the lyrics no matter how hard you listen.

For what feels like hours you sit beside this strange, quiet boy, happy not to be alone.

However a man shouts louder than the rest, belligerent and shitfaced, catching your attention. The boy never once looks up. You see a hat adorned on his head where long, unkempt hair flies out from the bottom of the hat like wires.

“Is… that your dad?”

You don’t know why you ask.

The boy ignores you for a length of time, picking apart what little is left of the roll.

“Is that your mom?” he croaks in return.

You’re scared to look at him, but you do anyway. Instead of a gnarled face of a woman like before, it’s finally his face: you're met with silver gray eyes, sunken to their sockets and tired, as he stares curiously at you. His right eye is blackened, cheek subsequently swollen, but he doesn’t seem to be in any immediate pain.

“No,” you answer, the syllable shaken. “I call her Mother, but… she found me.”

He doesn’t react — only chews, like every bite may be his last, and swallows. His tongue darts out to lick the crumbs from his busted lip.

You want to ask.

It’s been so many times, you’ve never gotten this far, and you want to finally ask.

“Do you have a na—”

“Levi!”

Bolting right out of bed with a choked gasp, your hand instinctively reaches for your throat. 

Did you just say Levi’s name out loud, or was that in your dream?

It sure feels like it came from your mouth. Pressing a timid hand to your sweat-slicked face, you find your breath and attempt to quell your gasps in the pale light of the moon. You look to your left to see the curtain billowing in the midnight wind.

A dream.

The same fucking dream, over and over.

“What the hell was that?” you ask the air, and no reply comes beyond someone grumbling for you to shut the hell up.

The barracks — you’re still sleeping in the cadet barracks.

Training with the hopefuls ought to be tougher than it is, but you imagine it’s easy because you lived the war they strive to experience: ODM gear training is a breeze. Strategy classes bring a certain feel of home. You’re able to debate military advancements with the book-drawn knowledge to back it up. Running — so much goddamn running — but your training in Trost paid off.

Commander Erwin’s theory — your theory — is proving right.

The cadet training is helpful, because you now see a puzzle piece perfectly clear in your mind’s eye: that sad child’s face, the one you’ve been chasing for the last four months. If given a pen and paper, then you could draw the damn look of it on command.

Slipping out of bed to relax in the night air, you pull your tan cadet jacket over your shoulders, settle into your knee-high boots, and leave your exhausted bunkmates to dream.

(Yeah — that’s one thing you didn’t anticipate: wearing the swords like you didn’t already earn your Wings of Freedom stripes.)

You could seek out the Scouts. If the rumors are true, then Hange should be arriving today or tomorrow with the rest of them to see how you’re doing.

According to Commandant Shadis, there’s no real need to waste anymore time. You’re battle ready, even if your brain isn’t following up with the finite details. Those, he argues, could come later or not at all. At the end of the day, skill is what matters.

Whether they accept you back to the Scouts is another story entirely, yet having Commander Erwin on your side with the help of Section Commander Hange increases your chances exponentially.

Despite the nerves in your belly, you are excited to go beyond the Walls. To see what you must’ve witnessed time and time again in your military career.

Maybe, in a belatedly morbid fashion, you always wished you could one day relive what it would be like to see it for the first time all over again.

The wind at midnight is freezing in comparison to the blazing morning sun. You hug your arms closer to your sides, reliant on body warmth to push you forward in the stroll to clear your head.

Then two Military police officers enter your peripheral.

Realizing you have no jurisdiction after curfew, you search your surroundings for cover. Abruptly you spot a ration barrel and drop to a crouch, hoping they didn’t see you aimlessly walking around.

You stay low, fingertips pressed to the oak barrel, and wait.

Their mumbles turn into coherent sentences with each nearing step. You don't mean to overhear, but their conversation freezes you in your tracks.

“Did you hear about the extra addition to the cadets?” the one with red hair grunts.

The blonde shakes his head. “What about an extra what now?”

“The cadet that’s not really a cadet.”

Oh? Your hands press further into the barrel.

“Not ringin’ any bells.”

“Remember the chick they called Lieutenant? Served under Erwin.”

“Oh… yeah, now that you say Lieutenant, I kinda do,” the blonde answers, slow to start.

“Well, they’ve managed to wake up that dead sewer rat and thought it would be beneficial to send her to train with the cadets. Word is they’re trying to prep her back to the Scouts.”

The blonde huffs. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope.” The ‘p’ is popped. “Heard the news from Raoul.”

“Wasn’t she in really bad shape? Like… memory screw-y type of bad?”

“Yeah. A coma,” the redhead confirms. “They won’t tell anyone anything beyond hitting her head, but I saw they’re training her here for a few weeks to see what she remembers.”

“Damn, talk about wasting resources.” Your blood runs cold. “That’s about how rodents work, though. That bastard Captain Levi opened up the cellar for the nasty Underground folk.”

Wait.

Captain Levi?

“Can’t believe that shit ever flew with the Scouts in the first place. I don’t know what Erwin was thinking, bringing an Underground brat in.”

Captain Levi was from the Underground, too?

“I thought we got rid of the start of the infestation when they said she died. But you can’t kill that Captain kid. He’s got more lives than a street cat.”

Raven hair.

“Nope — and she’s just as bad,” the blonde laments. “Pretty sure they worked together way before the Scouts, too, if you believe the rumors.”

“No shit?”

“Yeah. Rats stick together. Erwin has a fetish for waywards he can kill under his thumb.”

Sunken gray eyes.

“So we got thugs on the frontlines. Wonderful,” the redhead grunts. “Guess that’s better than the people behind the Walls. Get rid of them first.”

You feel like you’re going to be sick.

Bracing the barrel as they begin to move their post to another section of the training camp, you place your right hand over your mouth.

There’s no way.

Trembling in your crouched space, you replay the conversation over and over in your head like it’ll piece together and make sense. You study the patch of grass under your brown boot, waiting for a rogue tendril to crawl from the earth and drag you back underground.

(Where you belong, according to them.)

Yet you raise your chin to find you’re not alone behind the food barrels:

The little boy in the dream, his messy mop of black hair, stares back at you with a confused expression etched across his malnourished features. His lips part, mouthing an answer to a question you’ve asked him night after night after night.

Do you have a name?

Then he lifts his hand, offering his half of the bread loaf.

When you blink, he vanishes into thin air, leaving you sweating with the very real gravity of the situation sitting heavy at the back of your tongue.

You have to find him.

Tomorrow, you have to find Captain Levi.

.

.

.

.

“They said she’s doing well.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because if I speak any louder, I might scream,” Hange confesses in a rushed hiss, fidgeting with their fingers at the mess hall table. “And if I scream, then I’ll be alerting every cadet within a five-meter radius that we’re here.”

“Pretty sure most of the cadets are already aware, Hange.”

“Do you think she’s remembering more conversations?” they ask, flipping the subject he can’t escape from. “Or maybe a past mission?”

Levi couldn’t roll his eyes any harder.

The second the report came back from your temporary superiors is the second this Special Operations squad lost their fucking minds.

Petra hasn’t stopped babbling about how much she missed having you around after dropping you off to the training camp three weeks ago. Hange isn’t much better, but he can tune out their incessant babbling easier than most. Gunther, Oluo, Eld — they all want to know if they’re bringing you home.

Home — like what’s out here beyond the Wall Rose is any home at all.

By sticking you in the pool of cadet shit-stains looking to claw their way into the interior, Erwin inadvertently slashed the hopes and dreams of the 104th. Adding you to their mix only puts them at a grave disadvantage: if they make you stay the entire time, then you’d walk away with top marks from experience alone.

In a way, putting a memory-riddled veteran in disguise as a cadet is fucking hilarious.

“She isn’t a dog ready for tricks, Hange.” Levi brings the lip of his tea cup to his lips. “And her mind’s the only thing fucked, not her muscle memory.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t even go through cadet training when she first came to us. How much muscle memory could there be?”

“Environmental experiences trump cadet bullshit.”

“I suppose so.” Pursing their lips, Hange waves their spoon around aimlessly. “Acing her ODM gear aptitude test makes the most sense. Hand-to-hand combat, another surefire win. Still…”

Levi narrows his eyes. “Still?”

“I wonder how long it should take for her memory to return. Fully, I mean.”

Confliction makes his mouth itch.

On one hand, he’s hopeful that you never do. An honorable discharge from the Scout Regiment may not hold the same weight as a retired MP, but it’s a safer life behind the walls than whatever the fuck they lead as a unit now.

On the other hand, he can’t forget that this is your choice. 

Even in the aftermath of a horrific accident where you’ve lost everything, you’re still choosing to see if you can one day serve and re-join the Scouts.

Clearly Erwin would allow it. Resources wouldn’t be wasted on a half-assed effort.

But can he afford seeing that blank expression pointed in his direction for the rest of his goddamn living days?

It was hard enough to have a basic conversation with you. Factor in the idea that, somewhere in the not-so-distant future, he may work alongside you outside of these Walls again?

He ought to sabotage your training.

He ought to go back to his old ways and lie, cheat, steal, to ensure your failure.

He ought to do something — anything but the one thing everyone expects him to do.

Erwin Smith is playing a game of 4-D chess and Levi cannot see the board or where his next piece may be headed.

It’s infuriating.

“Is he still going to reinstate her even if she’s still fucked in the head?” Levi asks, maintaining a monotone distance from the subject.

Hange pushes some food around with their spoon. “Hard to tell. I don’t think they would waste the resources if they thought it wasn’t a potential win for us.”

Of course Hange iterates exactly what he’s thinking — they’re opposites on humanity’s spectrum yet somehow always on the same wavelength.

“What about you?”

That question, however, is one he doesn’t expect. Levi uncrosses his legs. 

“What about me?”

“Are you okay with her getting added back to Levi Squad if she passes?”

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

(But would he want you reassigned where he can’t follow? Also absolutely fucking not.)

“Let’s see how she’s faring first,” he decides, eyes trailing the entrance of a taller person as Hange stands from the table. He’s about to ask, but then he sees it: Moblit rushes in from the left with several papers rolled into his hands, looking positively frantic and exhausted.

Never a dull moment in Hange Zoe’s life.

“Quitting on me?” Levi teases against the flat of his voice, and Hange’s lips purse.

“Oh, stop it. Like you weren’t about to shut my twenty questions down.” They stick out their tongue as they dismount the bench. “Party pooper.”

“That’s the closest to a shit joke as I’m ever going to get from you.”

A loud ha! escapes their lips while they walk to the door, hounded by Moblit’s anxious babbling until — nothing.

Silence.

The disappearance of Hange, the lack of Erwin, just leaves Levi to sit menacingly in the corner on his own. At other occupied tables, the overspill of injured and traumatized cadets eat their portioned meal for the morning. 

A quiet place away from the noise of the other recruits thriving at the idea of war.

If he squints hard enough, a woman hunched over the table could be you — bruised to oblivion from the collarbone-up, with shaken hands rattling the ceramic plate below.

It causes his own fist resting on the table’s surface to tighten.

Maybe he should — talk to you, tell you, about everything.

Maybe if you learned just how bad it gets out there, then you’ll change your mind.

(There’s still time.)

.

.

.

.

You take off the minute you’re excused from the morning duties to investigate the grounds.

They have to be here somewhere.

Granted, you’re not sure if your current cadet status will get you anywhere in this camp. Revoked and stripped of the Scout title may bring setbacks when it comes to this — remembering, seeking answers — but you’re hopeful there’s a loophole nestled between your alleged seniority and talent.

When you turn a right corner, you see it: The glasses. The messy ponytail. The green cloak.

You yelp the name when excitement takes hold of your throat:

“Hange!"

Because you’re happy to see them walking by the barracks with Moblit in tow. Anxiety buzzes under your skin as they stop in their tracks and turn on their heel.

Instantly beaming at the sight of you, Hange yells into the crisp morning air and waves their hands wildly above their head. 

You take off on a jog to meet them faster.

“James! Look at you! All dressed up— Huh.” Their excitement washes away at the sight of the double-sword badges on your jacket. “Funny, that’s the wrong emblem.”

You drop your chin as they poke an unimpressed finger to the side of your arm, as if a sticker will peel off and reveal the Wings of Freedom instead. The badge stays put.

“They thought it would be too much of a distraction to give me my Scout jacket,” you explain, hurried, before waving to the man behind her. “Hey, Moblit.”

He blanches to a translucent pale, jaw slacked.

Hange squeals in their throat.

It takes a second to realize what you’ve said.

Up until today, you had never met Moblit.

“Oh. My. God!” Hange says from a whisper to a shriek. “Did you hear that? Moblit, you’re the first person she’s greeted by name!”

“Whoa,” he murmurs under his breath, still flushed from shock. “I, uh… Hey, James.”

“This is amazing!” Hange growls, sucking in a sharp breath as both of their hands clamp down on your sore arms. “Of course, when Erwin suggested the hypothesis that maybe training would kickstart things, I didn’t think it would work that well! What else are you remembering? Tellmetellmetellme.”

As much as you would like to fill them in, you know there’s someone else you need to see first.

“Levi.”

You exhale his name like a prayer, and Hange’s expression shifts to one of awe. 

“Oh?”

“No, not like that. I’m— Have you seen the Captain? I need to speak with him. It’s urgent.”

“I—” The syllable gets trapped in Hange’s throat before a finger raises, pointing to the east. “...he was just at the mess hall. He was supposed to visit the stables after breakfast.”

“Thank you,” you deflate, shrugging out of their grasp. “We’ll catch up later, right? I’ll see you in a bit.”

They don’t try to stop you when you disengage.

I have to talk to the Captain.

Because if he continues to avoid you, then there is a chance the outline of this puzzle will never be completed.

.

.

.

.

Just as Hange suggested, you see it: the smaller framed man in the middle of the horse stables just east of the training camp.

Captain Levi wears the emerald cloak over his shoulders, arm raised to give attention to a horse as dark as midnight. It licks at the palm of his hand generously, and the captain doesn’t pull away until its tongue pokes out a third time.

You stand still at the mouth of the empty stables, watching.

Observing.

Because if you’re going to implode the only chance you might have to get this right, then it has to be done with the utmost certainty that what you’re about to say is true.

And despite how your certainty has yet to reach beyond ninety percent, the clues are littered all over him:

The jet-black hair curved in a fresh, precise undercut. The way his eyes always look like he’s tired even after a long night’s rest. The skinniness to his frame that harnesses such ungodly strength. The curve of his nose at his profile.

His image morphs, changes, from glorious emerald to tattered tan shirts hanging off of his torso. Wild and unkempt hair. Same nose, but smaller. Shorter.

Your brain short-circuits at the images colliding.

“It was you.”

The whispered words tumble faster than you can stop them. 

They curl and float through the air until they reach the shorter man in the middle of the stables in an unfortunate echo, and the world seems so much smaller than it was a moment ago.

He turns.

His stare is bone chilling.

At the sight of you Levi stops brushing the mane of his horse, arm still raised in the air. Carefully he lowers his hand to set the wooden brush on a stool, eyes narrowed to slits.

“Hello to you, too.”

“Captain.” You take a step towards him. “Sir, I have something urgent to ask you.”

He looks like he considers for a moment before his attention lulls back to the horse he had been originally tending to. “Aren't you supposed to be busy running drills?”

“I should be. I am.” You take another step. “But—”

“So then why are you—”

“I saw you!” you blurt, loud and certain.

You realize you may sound a breath short of delusional by the way he rips his attention from the horse to stare at you like you’ve lost your mind. Where he usually appears rigid, expressionless, his eyes gleam with palpable confusion.

Levi snorts. “That was a weirdly-worded question.”

“It was you,” you press on, losing your breath, “before all of this.”

Your stare is hopeful. He is devoid of such.

You dare another step forward, hands out to your sides.

“I’ve been seeing things,” you say.

“Sounds like a condition for a doctor, not me,” he flatly replies.

“Memories,” you clarify, fidgeting with your fingers in a failed attempt to soothe your own nerves. “Of this specific place and the people in it. They’re from the Underground City. I must have been… I don’t know, young? Maybe really young, which would make sense since — but…”

The whites of his eyes grow, if only a fraction.

You try to explain faster.

“Everything is in pieces, right? I told you that last time we spoke. Nothing’s really fit together, not really, but whenever I dream about where I came from, I’m always seeing this young boy. He’s got this black messy hair. His clothes hang right off of him — he’s so small, and he sits with me on this bench eating food I offer him.”

Fuck, is he really going to make you spell it out? 

“And I think it might be—”

Wide-eyed confusion twists to an apprehensive sneer. 

“How could you be so sure it was me?”

Your shoulders slump.

“Because he looks exactly like you. Maybe with a skinnier body and a smaller face, but I’m seeing it now. The hair, the— the gray eyes—”

Finally he bites, voice low. “Because small kids with gray eyes are so fucking rare.”

“Don’t act like it doesn’t make sense!” you bark. “Everyone says I should remember you — because you know me better than anyone in the Scouts. And I’m not insane, because the person I keep dreaming about isn’t just a kid, it isn’t just some subconscious shit—”

His teeth clench together. “Careful.”

“And I heard it,” you continue, ignoring his warning. “Last night, I overheard two Military Policemen talking about how Erwin Smith allowed two rats from the sewers to join the Scout Regiment. Captain Levi, who came from the Underground, and a Lieutenant, who lost her memory.” Your eyes narrow. “I may not have my shit screwed on right, Captain, but it doesn’t take many brain cells to put two and two together.”

At the evidence, Levi says nothing. 

All that keeps the silence away in the barn are the rustling legs and raspberry breaths of horses. 

Your shoulders deflate at his unwavering, piercing gaze.

“You know me,” you finish, voice catching on emotion, “but you won’t help me. Why?”

Levi falters for a second, and you recognize the emotion that flickers over his face this time:

Doubt.

He doesn’t mouth off, which is one good thing about this uncomfortable encounter.

In your gut you can feel that this isn’t an unfounded discovery, but Levi isn’t willing to—

“Because you finally have an out.”

It’s the first real thing Levi Ackerman has said to you in four months.

Defeat settles into your tired bones when he disengages and turns his chin back to his horse. In the glow of the morning light from the open windows, he looks hunched — and, if you didn’t know any better, just as defeated as you — like so little was too much to divulge.

“Did we join the Scouts together?” you murmur, softening with hope.

Levi sets his jaw, and when you think the attempt has failed, he speaks:

“No. I joined without you.”

There.

Your eyesight becomes glossy with overwhelming emotion.

You’re not crazy.

(You were always right.)

“When?” you urge under your breath, nearing without realizing. 

He stays put. “Years ago.”

“And when did—”

“Two months after.”

Where you can’t stop watching him, Levi refuses to look anywhere but ahead.

“So I knew you?”

“Yes.”

“Since we joined the Scouts?”

“Yes.”

“And before that?”

In your mind’s eye is a sullen face, exhausted from an eternal night.

He sighs through his nose. “You’re not listening to what I’m saying, James.”

By the time he turns his head, you’re only three steps away.

Hearing the sound of your name on his lips — not icy, not angry, not anything beyond what it is — takes you off guard. 

“Do yourself a favor — continue training with the cadets. Chances are you’ll get Top 10, easy. Top 10 means you can choose where you serve. Most of the brats pick the Interior.”

Your brows fly high. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Interior is a cushy gig. They’re offered real bedrooms, routine meals—”

“Captain—”

“—and the most danger they get into is wiping the King’s ass,” Levi continues, shifting his left boot closer to you. “I heard he’s got one hell of a shit schedule.”

You both stare, eye to eye, as his words of advice settle into the dirt between you. 

“...so you want me to cheat my way into the interior,” you eventually recap, quiet and disgusted, “and forget the Scouts?”

“Forget all of it,” Levi confirms, dead serious.

This isn’t what you were expecting if – and when – you finally spoke to the captain. For someone who is allegedly important to you, Levi sure has a funny way of showing it. Pawning you off to whatever gets you furthest from whatever lies beyond the Walls is a swift punch to the gut. Maybe you barely know you, but you do know one thing: hiding away in the Interior was never an option.

Forget all of it.

“I’m not doing that.” A humorless laugh exits your mouth. “You know I’m not going to do that.”

“I know,” he resigns, monotone. “Worth a try, though, to get through your thick head.”

“You’re an asshole.”

You’re not sure what compels you to snap, but it’s biting. Venomous.

You near him like a predator challenging another in its rank, chin ducked. Levi steps in a half-circle in a subconscious dance.

“You are. I have been asking you, begging you, going so far as to corner you so you can maybe help me out, and all you’re willing to do is run. Every damn time you see me, you turn like a coward and go the opposite direction. I can even see it right now: you’re hoping Hange or Moblit walk in so you have an excuse to defer me to them.”

You sneer, teeth grit.

“Humanity’s Strongest, my ass.”

It’s about the worst ramble you could’ve offered him. With each passing accusation, Levi’s expression grows darker until it’s unreadable. Yet you keep going, choosing violent words over soft pleads.

The latter never worked, so the former just might.

Then something peculiar happens:

Levi’s voice upticks, melodic in what you can only describe as quiet awe.

“You finally sound a little more like you.”

You watch with lips parted. Levi nods to himself, as if certain his assessment is right, before his arms cross under the emerald cloak decorating his shoulders.

“You’re right: I have been avoiding you,” he finally admits steadily. “I couldn’t stand the wide-eyed and bushy-tailed act. It doesn’t wear well on you.”

All the blood drains from your body.

“Commander Erwin’s set on making you a Scout again. Only a moron would think he hasn’t thought this through, which leads me to a shitty predicament.” He pauses. “Lieutenant or not, you were a part of my squad. Am I so much of an asshole that you no longer want to be a part of it?”

You open your mouth, but no words exit.

He stares directly at you, this time with meaning.

“I won’t feed you our memories. I won’t let you speculate where I fit with the hope that I put the pieces together for you. If you want my help, then we start with a blank slate.”

“A blank slate?” you numbly respond.

“A blank slate,” he repeats.

“As if we don’t know each other at all?”

“Besides knowing what I looked like as a kid, do you?” Levi asks then clarifies. “Know me.”

Looking over his face, you want to say yes. You want to say the truth — that you might have known him your whole life — but you can’t.

Might have isn’t as strong as do.

“And if I eventually remember, even if it’s not every little detail, then will you keep shutting me out?” you question, softening your face when an emotion flickers over his. “Don’t shut me out.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it—”

“I swear it.”

He interrupts before you can finish.

As much as you're afraid to believe it, his statement of conviction is sincere — three words rushed, hissed, with a weight pressing against your wildly-beating heart.

“Okay,” you murmur back. “I trust you.”

Just like that; no more fighting, no more lying, no more doubt. 

His hair flops with the tilt of his chin as he's caught between calling a bluff that isn’t there and the undying truth — three words solemn, slow, with a weight pressing against his heavy-burdened shoulders.

He disputes nothing.

In an attempt to start on the right foot, you hold your hand out timidly between you. Your fingers flex.

Levi’s eyes take a beat to leave yours and look down.

“I’m James,” you introduce softly. “Member of Levi Squad, Lieutenant of the Scout Regiment. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Levi swallows, thick with a hesitance. You’re almost certain he’ll step right past your humble effort to start over — just like he asked.

Then he removes a slender hand from its tucked space at his side and holds it out, hovering fingertip to fingertip.

A beat passes. His hand reaches forward, gliding along your palm to hold your hand.

He squeezes.

You feel it hit, zapping every nerve like a short-distanced lightning strike — warmth floods and envelopes your body with an image you don’t quite have the word for in the moment, but you see it when he opens his mouth.

“Levi Ackerman,” he roughly replies. “Leader of Levi Squad, Captain of the Scout Regiment. Glad to have you on my team.”

(Home.)

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has liked, reblogged, and sent lovely anons about this story before. You're alll such wonderful people. xo

[snuggerudsz]

REMEMBERING SUNDAY l QH43

summary: based on "remembering sunday" by all time low.

pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader

author's note: hi! this was supposed to come out yesterday, but I got stuck and couldn't finish it, which is why the end is a bit rushed. anyways, enjoy!!

!!! the scenes in italics are flashbacks.

02:37 a.m.

Another sleepless night for Quinn Hughes.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the fog of a night of drinking. The young man tries to stretch, but his limbs are weighted down by a heavy sorrow. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he tries to make the hangover from last night go away, alongside the ache in his chest. Quinn stands slowly, wobbling slightly as his head throbbed. He felt his way toward the door and stumbled into the hallway.

Maybe if he ignores it, it’ll go away. Maybe he’ll forget about her. He doesn’t even know why he feels this way. They didn't know each other that long, it was only a few short months, it doesn’t make any sense. He keeps trying to rationalize why he feels like his heart is slowly being clipped from his chest, but he’s still way too drunk to think clearly. 

Sundays quickly became Quinn’s favorite day of the week. He and (Y/N) had been having breakfast together every Sunday since they'd met four months ago. She came into his life like a whirlwind. A beautiful smile and daring eyes to match. She was a storm of a woman, nothing you can control and everything you can’t run away from.  Their mornings were always quiet and peaceful, like a secret shared between them. They found a cozy café in the heart of Vancouver and it was one of those places that always felt familiar, no matter how many times you’ve been there. The air was always heavy and comforting, laden with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the low hum of conversations. It opened early in the morning, and it was a gem, hidden from the outside world. And they were good – great, even. Perhaps too good to be true. The conversation flowed as naturally as breathing, with easy jokes and loose laughter. The memory of that time was quickly replaced with a feeling of longing. He hadn’t felt the completeness he experienced with (Y/N) in a long time.

Quinn had been warned, obviously. They told him all about her. She told him to not fall for her. But, he didn’t – couldn’t – believe it.  But it’s been three weeks and (Y/N) was nowhere to be found. She just packed up in the middle of the night and disappeared to nothingness. Maybe she was truly too good to be true.

“Quinn Hughes was sitting in a bar, absolutely overwhelmed with love. The young defenseman couldn’t help but fall for the girl in front of him, with the sweet smile and the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen.

“If you take a picture, it’ll last longer, Huggy” (Y/N) says, teasing him.

“Just admiring you, pretty girl,” The man states, somewhat drunk.

“Don’t do that to yourself,” she says, seriously, “don’t fall for me, Quinn. I can’t love you back.” The girl finishes, looking into his eyes.

He wants to revolt, to yell, scream he’s already fallen. He wants to tell her.

“I won’t.”

“Fuck it”, he mumbles to himself, putting on some shoes, grabbing a coat, and getting out of his apartment.

He walked on the almost empty streets of Vancouver, unsure of where he was going, but surrendered to the wind and let it push him where it may. He was lost in his thoughts, reminiscing over the past and the love he had once felt. He was so deep in his own world that he hadn't noticed that he had stopped walking.

Surely, Quinn had lost his mind. Yet, here he was, in front of her building. He knows the way to her place by heart. 5th floor, apartment 132. He could feel his heart aching with nostalgia, overwhelmed by the weight of his sorrow. It’s insane and creepy and weird and he knows it. But he stays there, standing and staring at the apartment complex she lives in – used to, at least. If Quinn closes his eyes, he can still see her pulling him down the hallway, leading him to her door, their lips connecting as they go, big smiles on their faces. He wants to erase it from his mind, but it’s impossible. He can’t forget her curves, her sounds, her.

“He holds her gently by the waist like he’s scared of hurting her. She looks at him, a teasing smirk on her lips and her eyes shine more brightly than ever before.

“Quinn, I’m not going to break, alright? I’m not as delicate as you think I am”

“I just… I still feel like I’m gonna break you. I can’t believe I’m doing this, never in my wildest dreams I thought I’d be…” The girl puts a finger to his lips, making him go quiet.

“Shut up and kiss me”.

Quinn’s heart sinks following every tick on the watch in his pulse. God, he wishes he could forget her. He’s still sitting on the sidewalk, he can’t leave. There’s an uncontrollable urge to stay, to just wait and see if she comes back. He misses the girl’s humor, her laugh, and her bright smile. He fell in love with every detail about her.

He was so sure of her. (Y/N) was never sure she wanted him.

But Quinn’s not mad. He’s not mad when he calls her multiple times a day and goes unanswered or when his texts are left unseen. The man has left what feels like a thousand voicemails on (Y/N)’s phone, even more messages and he’s still not upset she has completely cut him off of her life.

Most importantly, he’s not mad when he recognizes one of her neighbors and asks about her.  But, he’s completely broken when they tell him you moved away. For good. Quinn quietly turns around and walks home. The throbbing in his head doesn’t allow him to even hear his own thoughts, – not that he would want to – while he’s walking almost robotically towards his place.

It’s over. She wasn’t coming back.

She’s gone.

[snowangeldotmp3]

hello, back again with more supergirl robin! this was also written a little while ago, but idk i might actually pick this au back up sometime, just for funsies. who knows.

Supergirl takes a deep breath.

“I spent so much of my life trying to fit in and be normal. Not to draw any attention to myself, to make myself smaller and fit into this box that everyone else seemed to fit in to. And I could never make it work. No matter what I did, or how hard I tried, it’s like everyone knew there was something… different about me. 'Course, they just thought I was a little weird, not that I was a literal space alien.”

Nancy smiles softly, something warm stirring in her when Supergirl grins back at her. She understands, kind of. Of expectations and following them and fitting into a box you’re not meant for. She gets it. 

Supergirl continues. “And it’s hard, you know? All of that weight on your shoulders. Especially at fifteen years old. Like high school isn’t already hell on Earth.

“But then I think you get to this point where the dam just, breaks, you know? There’s a point where you have to realize that you will never fit in, you’ll never be what they want you to be. So you have to make that choice. Do I want to keep pretending to be what I’m not? Or do I live as myself, regardless of others think?”

Nancy nods, humming in agreement. She hadn’t expected Supergirl to be so profound. She’d fully prepared for this to be a ‘never meet your heroes’ moment. That it was all an act with Supergirl, that she put on this persona of hope, help, and compassion for all, that once the cameras stopped rolling, or nobody else was there to see it, she'd be a completely different person.

She's not. 

Nancy wants to be surprised that Supergirl’s so genuine. She should be surprised, especially since she was so worried. But it just rolls off of her. Nancy doesn’t write this down, the whole interview is recorded anyway, but there’s just something so personal about this, that she knows it would take away from the moment. She can’t help but be drawn in by Supergirl’s words, either. It’s magnetic, hypnotizing, and weirdly inspiring.

Supergirl crosses her arms, leaning against the balcony facing Nancy. “It’s not easy to be yourself, but it lifts that weight off your shoulder,” she pauses, and a chuckle escapes her. “Sorry, it’s just… It’s funny, you see it everywhere, too. ‘Be yourself,’ she air quotes. “But they don’t mean it. It’s ‘be yourself’ until you’re too weird or too gay or, hell, not from here. It’s a marketed version of yourself. Which is worse, I think.

“But it’s hard sometimes to be honest with yourself. To figure out who you are and where you fit. Sometimes you don’t fit, sometimes you have to carve out a space for yourself and say, ‘No. I do belong here.’”

And it’s…wow. The emotion in Supergirl’s eyes, it’s raw. Nancy can tell this is not some hokey hope and acceptance speech. This is, was, Supergirl’s life.

Nancy does write that down. 

She wants to say something. Something smart and intelligible and how Nancy agrees with everything and how she understands where she’s coming from. 

Except…

The only thing Nancy’s mind seems to focus on is the fact that Supergirl is gay.

Nancy remains quiet, taking in and processing the information that’s just spilled in front of her, ignoring the way her face heats up the longer she thinks about it. About how Hawkins' one and only superhero, is gay. Supergirl must take this as a bad sign, because she’s quickly filling the silence again. “Sorry. For rambling like that. It’s like my brain just decided to word vomit.” She winces, arms crossing over her chest, caving into herself.

For a moment, Nancy is reminded of Robin, of rambling words and hands moving while she talks. She can see why they’d be good friends. 

“No! No, don’t worry about it at all.” Nancy crosses her arms, forgetting the notebook. “I get it, actually. Trying to be something you aren’t.”

Supergirl quirks a brow. “Really?”

Nancy nods. “Like you said, High school’s hell on earth. I thought I could balance being the perfect daughter and the perfect student and the perfect girlfriend. And I couldn’t. I was living a lie.”

She doesn’t give her the full story. Supergirl might be open and genuine and able to talk about all these things, but Nancy is not. Some of these wounds are still fresh, Nancy’s walls are still up. Besides, this is supposed to be a professional interview, not a sleepover where they share their deepest, darkest secrets.

Supergirl must see through some of it, see some of Nancy’s pain. Or maybe she’s just an empath. Maybe that’s a secret power she has. She places a firm hand over Nancy’s, and whispers, “I’m sorry.” 

And it’s so warm and gentle and heartfelt that Nancy… Nancy doesn’t know what to make of it, but she knows she’s got to change the subject. Fast. She cannot develop a crush on Supergirl.

[writtenonreceipts]

Rowaelin Month Day One: Song Fic @rowaelinscourt

Back by no one’s demands but my own: a part two and conclusion to “Annie” the song fic I wrote for last year.  This one does end happier, I pinky promise.  Inspired by Mat Kearney’s song “New York to California.”  If you’ve been around for a while, you know Mat is one of those artists that I adore and his music means so much to me.  I also just really wanted to conclude “Annie” and NYtCA just hits different…anyways, I hope you enjoy?  You technically don’t need to read Annie if you don’t want to.

Rowaelin Month 2023 Masterlist Main Masterlist Annie—Part One

Warnings: she’s a touch angsty, nothing worse than how I usually go.  ~3k words

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

New York to California

Before

She doesn’t know if it’s late or early when sleep takes her.  For weeks now she’s been trapped behind a gray haze.  It falls over her mind and tries to convince her that nothing really matters anymore.  It’s far too easy to fall victim to that mindset, and usually she does better at chasing the demons away.  Usually it’s easier.

So as she drifts off, she’s just glad for a taste of some relief from the day.  It’s been hard lately, too hard.  And she doesn’t know how she’ll break free from it.

Maybe, for that reason alone, it’s better that she falls asleep.  It can be the reprieve from her foster father and the ways the world has a way of crashing down around her.

The problem is, she forgets how easily the dreams find her.   They invade this quiet space she’s tried to carve out for herself so easily that sometimes she doubts her sanity.  Because the dreams are full of shadows and screams, pain and panic.  She wants to escape them.  More than anything if she could fade away into the gray haze of dawn and linger there—she would.

She’s in the middle of one of those terrors when a gentle hand glides down her cheek and she can hear his voice calling to her.

Fireheart.  Fireheart.

When her eyes open it’s to find him staring down at her, green eyes flickering with the light of the TV, his hoodie drenched with rain.  She can see the worry reflecting in his eyes as he brings his hand back to her cheek.  His thumb runs in soothing circles along her skin.

“I had one of those dreams again,” she whispers.  She doesn’t want to admit it, doesn’t want to cause him more pain.  But it’s Rowan.  And he’s always been a part of her. “I thought I lost you.”

“It’s alright,” he says, easing onto the couch beside her. “Everything’s alright, I’m here.”

Aelin knows she shouldn’t, but she snuggles into his side nonetheless.  He smells like pine and rain and earth and it’s the most comforting thing she can imagine.  So she leans into him and wraps her arms tight around him so he won’t disappear on her again.

She knows they shouldn’t do this.  Knows he shouldn’t even be here.  If Arobynn finds out Rowan showed up at the house Aelin knows there will be hell to pay.  The only thing that gives her hope is that her foster father is gone on a work trip.  He won’t be back until Thursday.  But Aelin lives in a constant state of fear as her mind lingers on the “what-ifs” of it all.

“It’s alright, baby,” Rowan says.  He presses his lips into her forehead and pulls the fleece blanket over them.  “I’m right here with you.”

She lets his words wash over her and soothe her own worries.  He’s never steered her wrong before, never left her unless he had to.  And even than he lingers still.  Because that Rowan, her Rowan, can temper any storm raging in her mind.

As he holds her close, she can make out the scent of cheap beer and cigarettes.  She knows he was singing at the bar again tonight, trying to earn some cash for the two of them to finally breakaway from this damned town.

“Don’t leave,” she says, slurred with sleep and exhaustion. His warmth is all she needs to drift back off to sleep, missing what he whispers to her next.

…

After

The coffee shop is the same as it always is: loud and hot. 

No matter when Aelin comes, there is always line out the door and every table is occupied by no one that actually has to be there.  She has decided it is a ruse designed by society in general to make coffee shops more appealing.  Supposedly they can offer you a sense of peace and comfort and delude you into thinking that you’re right where you belong—mixed up in a mess of people just as desperate for connection as you.

So yes, the coffee shop is always full.  Single patrons take up tables for just themselves and their selfies and little cookies that they won’t actually eat.  And straw liners are somehow strewn about the floor even though straws have been banned in the city for almost a year now.  And somehow the heater is always going even in the middle of summer but no one ever comments because it is a coffee shop so therefore everything is perfect.

But it’s not.  Everything is so far from perfect that Aelin has more than once found herself stumbling through life.  She’s lost in a world that has passed her by all because her foster father beat her down.  All because she stayed behind and let the one good thing in her life leave.

She doesn’t blame him, of course.  She can’t.  He was always too good for this place anyways.  He always had a way about him that said he wouldn’t step back from a fight.

It’s what she loves most about him.

Because of course she still loves him.

Rowan Whitethorn was, and still is, the best thing to ever happen to her.  From the time they were kinds to the inevitable night that finally pulled them apart—Rowan had been all she ever needed.

He left the city the second he could after his music managed to get him free.  He’d tried to take her with him, tried to say that he’d take care of her and that everything would be alright with just the two of them.

But Aelin knew then that it wasn’t that simple.  It never would be.

Except now, Arobynn is dead.  Dead and no longer tormenting her daily.  Instead, he’s just another terror in her dreams.

They’ve gotten better though, the nightmares.  They don’t come every night and even when they do, it’s easier to chase them away now.  Because she’s free.

And sometimes, if she’s lucky, Rowan will be there.  He’s always had a way of climbing into her dreams and staying right where he’s needed.  Even though he’s not physically here he’s still the greatest source of comfort to her.

She tries to shake the thoughts of him away.  They won’t do her any good.  No matter how badly she wishes they could, that he was there with her.  Instead, any and all thoughts of him haunt her and remind her of what could have been.

So she opens her laptop, navigating to the article she’s supposed to be editing. 

Somewhere along the way, she managed to pave a small road for herself.  She was even the lead editor on this new addition of Kingsflame, an up and coming magazine.  It took her a while to find her way here, to find something she liked and was just for her.  But she was good at writing, she was good at picking up on details, she was good and weaving a story together.

Just not her own.

Aelin works for a little, trying to give all her attention to the document.  The intern that wrote it is promising and Aelin wants to make sure to nourish a love of writing for her.  Aelin knows first hand what just a taste of approval can do for someone and she wants the girl to grow in her love of words.  Writing is what saved Aelin herself after all.

Sitting back in her seat, Aelin sighs and sips at her coffee.  It’s something dark and bitter—not at all what she usually likes.  She prefers sweet and sugar and all the extra bits but the poor barista behind the counter looked one pumpkin spiced latte away from quitting so Aelin got a simple black coffee.  She added extra packets of sugar herself.  

It’s disgusting.

But she has to admit the caffeine is definitely going straight to her brain.

She takes another long sip when it happens.  The song on the radio changes and she hears a voice that has only been a part of her dreams.  It’s low with the barest hint of his accent.  He’s accompanied by a piano which is different—he’s always preferred the guitar, saying that he’ll leave the piano to her.

Only…she never got the chance to play with him.

And now he’s singing a ballad of love and hope over the speakers of her coffee shop.  And no one notices.  And no one realizes what it means to hear him now.

He’d always promised he’d find his way back to her.  She just thought it was going to be different.

…

Before

There’s a storm billowing through the trees and lashing the windows with rain.  The gray sky is endless as it grows darker with each passing second.  This isn’t any regular storm.  It’s been raging on for over an hour now, bringing in a few rounds of thunder and lightning with it. 

Aelin finds she doesn’t mind it.  Not at all.

Because beside her on the couch is Rowan.  He has an arm wrapped around her as he drifts in and out of sleep.  It’s been a long day of sneaking about, hiding, and worrying.  Now, they just have an hour.  One hour of just the two of them before she has to go back home.

“I miss you,” Rowan says, quiet. 

Aelin isn’t sure she’s heard him properly.  Or maybe he’s talking in his sleep, he does that sometimes.  She runs her fingers through his hair, brushing the silvery locks back from his forehead.

“What did you say?”

Rowan twists, his chin resting on her stomach.  Green eyes stare up at her, dark with longing.

“I miss you,” he repeats, just as quiet.

“I’m right here,” she says.  She doesn’t stop running her fingers through his hair, can’t stop more like it.  It’s grown longer recently and she loves it. 

He doesn’t say anything.  All he does is watch her.  A flash of lightning snaps from outside illuminates his face, turning the shadows beneath his eyes lighter for once.  They’re just kids but it feels like they’ve fought wars already.

Tightening his hold on her, Rowan lets out a small sigh.

“I know,” he says, “but it never feels close enough, does it?”

“You’re just talking,” she says with a low chuckle.  Sometimes, words take on more meaning.  Sometimes, words mean more than they usually do.  And sometimes words are promises that bind you to more than a moment.

He grunts. “No I’m not.”

Her heart thuds at his words, at the feel of him as he sits up slowly, still pressed close to her; only now they’re chest to chest.  He’s so much bigger than Aelin that his frame practically engulfs her.  His broad chest and thick arms are enough to keep her from fidgeting too much though.  Because where else would she rather be?

“No matter what happen, I’ll be here, you know?” he says.  It’s the closest they’ve gotten to talking about the Arobynn situation and how Aelin can’t leave.  No matter what hopes and dreams she might have and share with Rowan.

She’s trapped.

“Rowan,” Aelin begins, she can’t let him say things he doesn’t mean or make promises he can’t keep.

“I’ll never be far enough away that I can’t find you again,” he says.  One finger curls beneath her chin, causing her to look up. “I’d crawl back to you if I had to.”

“I guess I could get used to you being on your knees for me,” she replies.  She wants to ease the moment, to find some levity that doesn’t make her feel like her heart is about be cut open and left to bleed out.

Rowan leans forward until his nose touches hers, until they’re so close that it would be so easy, so easy, to kiss him.  To taste him.  To have a small part of him that she’s wanted for so long.

“Only for you, Fireheart.”

…

After

California bleeds neon lights and smoke on the horizon.

At first, Aelin can only stare at the skyline and bustling streets and the myriad of people passing by like they’ve got all the time in the world.  At first, Aelin can only breathe in the smog that coats the air like a second skin and the underlying musk of sea water. 

She flew into Los Angeles on nothing but a whim and her last paycheck.  Elide told her not to go.  Aedion insisted she at least wait for him to come with her.  Lysandra gave her an extra hundred dollars for an emergency.

Now, she’s wandering the old boardwalks by the ocean, watching waves crash and crowds swarm various popular spots.  She doesn’t know where she is exactly.  All she knows is that she’s nowhere near Hollywood or all the fancy places that she’d always imagined California to have.  But that’s alright.  She’s always found her way in the unknown and unpredictable.  Even if it has been hell.

It's getting late and all she has guiding her is an old news letter she found online.  There’s supposed to be an old grunge bar around here along the downtown scene.  A place that supports those small artists with dreams bigger than reality.

The late fall light fades into the horizon, bringing a chill to the air.  Aelin hadn’t expected it—cool air and gentle breezes.  But she doesn’t mind it.  She’s full or energy and worry, which may as well be a good thing as the combination has kept her from spiraling out of control.

When she enters the bar she already things she’s in the wrong place.  The low lights and heady scent of cigarettes is enough to tell her so.  But she pays a cover fee for the musicians playing and works her way to the front. 

A part of her mind screams that she should have gotten here sooner, that it’s nearing the final acts and she’s missed her opportunity.  Another part of her is convinced that she shouldn’t even be here to begin with.  Afterall, it’s been five years. 

But Aelin knows she would wait for any length of time; she’d always find a way back to his side.  She got out of her own nightmares even if it did take her years.  Maybe she should have called.  She even has his number and has listened to every voicemail he’s left on repeat as if its her own lullaby for the darkest nights.

It takes some effort, but Aelin makes it closer to the stage.  She’s still two rows back, but it’s close enough, she thinks. 

On stage a woman finishes a ballad with her guitar.  The music’s simple and her scratchy voice doesn’t hold the song together—at least in Aelin’s opinion, but she’s so far detached from this world, maybe she doesn’t know anything.

As the woman exits, a young college kid steps up to the microphone.  His hair falls in his face and he’s trying to layer flannel and an old-style t-shirt that doesn’t quite work for him.

“Next up we’ve got our regular,” the kid announces, already pulling away to make room for the final act. “Rowan Whitethorn.”

All around Aelin, the audience erupts into cheers.  They’ve all come for him, she realizes.  All eagerly awaiting the one person Aelin’s been waiting her entire life for.  She wants to cheer, wants to clap, wants to do anything but stand there and stare.  She can’t.

Because walking across the stage to the electric piano set up in the corner is Rowan.  Rowan with his hair too long.  Rowan with an unlit cigarette behind one ear.  Rowan with his da’s guitar case by his side, even now.  Rowan with tan skin and tattoos reflecting in the pale light of the bar.  Her Rowan that she’s loved for longer than she can say.

He doesn’t look up as he adjusts the settings of the piano and strikes a few keys.  He messes with the microphone next, making sure it’s lined up the way he likes it. 

When he does look up, it’s as though he’s always expected to find her there.  It doesn’t take long at all for their gazes to meet, for his green eyes to burn under the yellow bar lights.  His lips part in silent surprise and Aelin feels her skin heat when he cocks his head to one side before finally, a small smile kicks up one corner of his mouth.

He leans in to the microphone—eyes never leaving hers.

“Fireheart,” he says. “I promised we’d find each other again.”

…

After

She’s lost again.

But not in the way she once was.

Because instead of being surrounded by her nightmares, she’s tangled up in strong arms that haven’t let her go in hours.  She’s lost in him like never before.

She doesn’t mind of course.  Because she’s lost in him this time.  Skin to skin, soul to soul.  And there’s no place she’d rather be.

Aelin sighs and burrows in closer to his side.  He smells of pine and snow just like always.  It’s better than her memories, being so close to him.  Better than anything she could have hoped for.  She never thought it would come to this. 

For so long she’d wandered through her life trying like hell to find her ways.  Too often it felt like she was drowning, scrambling for air, for salvation.

And then she’d met Rowan. 

She doesn’t blame him for leaving.  She told him as much when he tried to apologized.  Silenced him with her kisses, in fact. 

Somehow they made it back to his apartment—small and tucked above a Thai restaurant.  It didn’t take them long to rediscover each other.  For Rowan to find the new scars along her back, for Aelin to learn the paths of his new tattoos. It didn’t take long at all to fall together into bed and spend the night whispering promises into the neon lights that filtered through the bedroom drapes.

“Fireheart,” Rowan whispers, his soft voice enough to pull Aelin from her thoughts.

She looks up into his eyes, already smiling. “Buzzard.”

Rolling his eyes, Rowan runs a hand up her bare side, the calluses on his fingers catching her skin.  It’s enough to cause her to shiver which lights a new fire in Rowan’s gaze.

Whatever he was going to say is lost as he leans in and kisses her.  She reacts instantly, not that she can help it.  Everything about Rowan draws her in.  His mouth is insistent and teasing and his hands leave hot trails against her skin as he pulls her on top of him.

It’s only when they’re both gasping for air that they break apart.  Rowan brushes Aelin’s hair from her face, his large hand running across her cheek.

“What are you doing to me?” he asks.

Their next kiss is slow and languid and sends sparks shooting through Aelin’s entire body.

They don’t speak again until morning when dawn breaks and scatters sunshine across the bed.  But when they wake it’s with the knowledge that never again are they going to come apart.  They’ll be together across every mile, side-by-side.

end.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

taglist is a joke will reblog soon

[caspira-writes-fanfiction]

Finding Family (Fizz's Found Family)-Chapter 1

Fizz's First Performance

(tw: mentions of childhood neglect)

Being a kid in Greed wasn’t easy. The only way to survive was to be slippery, and find a way to forget some of the shit you saw. There weren’t many kids in greed, at least not that Fizzarolli knew of. Until recently, he spent most of his time hiding in whatever room or apartment his mother and him shared. He listened for footsteps and told her when people were at the door before the knocking was loud enough to feel in the floorboards. He hid when his mother told him to, blocking out the outside world by thinking of whatever could make him laugh. Later, when his mom was sad, he’d try to make her laugh with everything he’d thought of.

But he hadn’t been able to make Mama laugh in days.

Nobody had come to the door in two days. Mama hadn’t smiled in three. Instead she closed her eyes, effectively tuning her out from the world unless Fizz came to tickle her. She usually didn’t like that, though, so he hadn’t tried.

They’re living in one of the nicer apartments right now. It only has a small kitchen and the bathroom is down the hallways and shared with 10 other people on the floor, but this one has a mattress and a television. That’s better than the last place they were at. Fizz crawls from the mattress. Mama has been facing the wall for the last while. She doesn’t turn to look at him when he crawls off the mattress and turns on the television. He could leave the volume up, she wouldn’t notice, but he kept it silent. In case he had to listen to footsteps.

The screen flickered on, grainy and low contrast. Even with the poor quality of the screen, however, Fizz could see how colorful it was supposed to be. Bright Green striped the screen as a large Jester danced on a stage. He couldn’t hear what the man was saying but it didn’t matter. He was captivating. Fizz couldn’t keep his eyes off him.

Mammon he learned was the man’s name. Fizz liked how it sounded sort of like Mama on his tongue. He liked that they sounded similar. Both Mammon and Mama made him laugh, they made him want to be something great. The comfort of their similarities was Fizz's own personal secret, though. Mama couldn't hear him say either of their names, and Mama didn't smile when Fizz went on about Mammon anyway.

He practiced his juggling as often as he could. Whether it be balled up socks or pieces of paper. If he could swipe some fruit or potatoes, he’d practice with those until they needed to be eaten. Sometimes he’d tried with rocks. When he didn’t have anything to juggle, he worked on pantomime.

It wasn’t a secret, but he practiced the most when Mama wasn’t looking. Every time Fizz tried to talk about Mammon she rolled her eyes. No Money, She would tell him when he mentioned him. He didn’t understand what that had to do with anything yet. She said No money about a lot of things, it never stopped the two of them from dreaming before.

----

Mama taught Fizz how to dream at an early age. It’s important she’d tell him, If you can dream it, you can make it happen. You can do anything you set your mind to. When he’d wake up in the middle of the night from a bad dream, Mama would hold him and scratch between his horns.

What’s the dream you’d like to have? She’d smile at him and rock him. Sometimes he would tell her, sometimes he’d close his eyes and go back to sleep while thinking of all the wonderful things he could dream.

In the mornings when Mama would be getting ready for the day, Fizz would ask her about her dreams. Her answer was always the same: To get out of here. He never knew where here was, they were always in a new place. He didn’t argue, though. He just started thinking of all the new places they could go together.

When Mama would leave for work, Fizz would think about all the places they could go. He’d have a new story for her when she got home, something to make her smile. He loved making his Mama smile. On the nights that Mama didn’t come home, Fizz would curl up under his blanket and think of all the wonderful dreams he could have. Sometimes, he managed to dream of something nice.

____

Mammon quickly became his dream. This could be their escape. If he could be as talented as Mammon was, he could get Mama out of here. If he could be good enough, Mama would smile again.

After a week of sneaking Mammon’s television program every moment he could, the screen changed. Instead of the clown’s face looking back at him, a big OVERDUE notice was on the screen. Fizz didn’t know how to read, he didn’t know what it meant, he just knew that Mammon wasn’t on the television anymore.

He told himself it didn’t matter. Today he was going to try his act for his mother. She’d gotten out of bed today, she’d left the house before Fizz woke up. She’d left two dollars on the counter. That was more money than Fizz had been entrusted with ever. Today was going to be a good day. Today, he was going to get Mama to smile. Today he was going to be like Mammon.

Five year old Fizzarolli had never been farther than his quarter of these mazing slums alone, but with two whole dollars! Who knew what he could do? He knew to lock the door before he left, but Mama didn’t leave a key. He made sure one of the windows was unlocked, but a small one. The bathroom, then. Fizz tucked his two dollars into his pocket, double locked the front door and headed to the bathroom. He was small enough to fit through the top latch of the window. All he had to do was climb onto the toilet, hop onto the windowsill, and shimmy up the frame until he could pull himself out. Then, he had to find the small sill on the outside and stand on it so that he could close the window again. Mama hated when he left the windows open.

Two dollars, it turns out, could not get you a lot in Greed. Fizz managed to make his way out of the complex without much notice. He walked towards the bus stop like him and Mama did to go to the market. The bus took both of his dollars and gave him change and a small blue and green card in return. It was three stops to the market. He could still get something magical for Mama there.

He was lucky that Mama had gotten him new clothes a few weeks ago. You’re getting so big. She said after pulling an oversized sweater over him. You need bigger clothes to fit into. These should last you awhile. Bigger clothes also meant that he could sneak more things. He was small, cute, easy to distract and great with his hands. When he was with Mama, he’d hide under her skirt and take whatever was low hanging enough and tasty looking. Today he was looking for juggling materials.

Three meager potatoes hid in the imp’s sleeve that he cradled to his arm, pretending it was injured. He tried slipping an apple into his pocket as well, but was caught and forced to surrender the rest of his change in exchange for it. It was worth it though, and nobody ever caught on about the potatoes.

The hell hound driving the bus points at Fizz’s ticket when he gives it to her. ONE WAY is printed in big letters. She explained he needed to pay more if he wanted to ride the bus, but he’d spent all of his money on the first bus and his apple so he got off and walked. He followed the bus’s path home. Four more passed him as he walked. He found a newspaper that wasn’t too dirty and even managed to pick a few flowers growing from cracks in the gutter. His legs were sore and he was tired when he finally made it back to their tiny apartment, but the five year old Fizzarolli’s heart was happy.

It wasn’t the easiest crawl back in from the bathroom window, but he’d climbed through plenty of windows before. He had to pull himself up onto the windowsill first, then scoot the window down from the top. He was thankful that he didn’t have to walk back on his arms, because he wouldn’t have been able to pull himself up and inside if they were as sore as his legs were.

When he heard the familiar footsteps of Mama many hours later, Fizzarolli straightened. He waited in the dark, doing his best to hide his excitement. He’d crafted a hat out of newspaper, a simple cone with the gutter flowers poking out the top. It was a little lopsided and unstable, but he considered it another challenge. A balancing act. When the lights turned on and Fizz was met with his mother’s face staring at him, the little imp lit up.

Introducing the great Fizzarolli! He signed, his smile so wide it made his cheeks hurt. He held onto his hat as he bowed. First act: juggling. Except this was a trick. Oh, Mama was going to be so impressed!

Fizz pretended to take his three potatoes out of his pocket. His eyebrows raised as he looked down at the invisible balls in his hand. He practiced the movements of juggling, his eyes following the invisible movement of the balls before looking over at her. She wasn’t smiling yet, but her attention was on him. He took the opportunity to act as though he’d dropped one of the balls and they’d hit him on the head.

The door closed behind Mama and he could see the beginnings of a smile. The act picked up. Fizzarolli picked the invisible balls up and threw them behind him, looking back to make sure he hadn’t broken a window. He could hear the soft snort that meant Mama thought he was being cute. He pulled the potatoes out of his pocket and juggled them. He alternated between standing on one leg and standing on both. He couldn’t juggle them for longer than six or seven seconds at a time, but it didn’t matter. By the time his show was over, Mama was laughing.

He ran into her arms after his bows. He’d missed his Mama so much.

My little jester. She signed, pressing her horns against his. He could feel tears drip onto his head. She must be so proud of him.

That night, Fizz fell asleep thinking about his Mama’s smile.

______________________________________________________________

Lifetimes later, Fizzarolli finds himself awake in his palace. He is no longer alone; Asmodeous sleeps sprawled on his back and snoring while Fizz tries to calm to the rise and fall of his love’s chest. Fizz is safe, but he’s not settled.

He can’t remember Mama’s face anymore.

Asmodeus roused a while later. He was becoming accustomed to waking up in the middle of the night without the usual weight of Fizzarolli on his chest. This was the third time this week Fizz had run off in the middle of the night. It had been less than a month since Fizz had quit Mammon and ever since Fizz had been…..all over the place. The king sighed as he accepted his fate for the night. He just hoped Fizz would be easy to find. The last time Fizz got up in the night, Ozzie found him in the kitchen cupboards halfway through a box of Bee’s cotton candy cereal. He wasn’t even picking out just the marshmallows.

Something hit him in the head followed by a dejected sigh that has Asmodeus up and alert in an instant. The light contrast of Fizzarolli’s night cap flitting around the trapeze above their bed let Asmodeus know that Fizz hadn’t left the room.

“Froooooggy” Ozzie’s voice sang from his spot in their bed. He sounded amused, it was the easiest way to keep the concern from edging in.

Fizz didn’t answer him.

Asmodeus sighed and floated up to Fizz’s height. He looked exhausted, not unlike how he’d looked in the days leading up to Mamm’s contest. “Babe, come on back to bed. Tell me what’s on your mind? I’ll give you a rub down...we can just talk.” Fizz wouldn’t look at him, no matter which angle Ozzie tried to catch his eye. Gentle worry turned to a more fiery concern.

“Fizzy”

I’m fine! Fizz signed, wadded up balls of paper fell from his hands as his arms grew in size to make his message very clear. Fizz had never signed to him before, and it happened so fast that Asmodius barely registered what he’d done until it was over and Fizz was flipping him off. His face, however, showed no malice in it. He looked sad. When Oz didn’t waver, he watched Fizzarolli’s face crumple. The clown leaned backwards, letting himself fall safely for a while before catching himself with his legs so he could hang upside down.

“You’re not fine. Fiz, this is the third night this week you’ve been up doing some bullshit instead of sleeping. What is on your mind, Fizzy Frog?” Ozzie had been patient when Fizz didn’t want to talk all the previous nights, but Fizz hadn’t pushed him away like this then. “Is this about Mammon still? I’ve told you, Fizzy. I’ve got it covered. I don’t care what he says about us. And you still have a career if you want one. You are the most talented, inspiring, creative, original-”

“It’s not about Mammon!” The room was suddenly very quiet.

Fizz was crying.

“Talk to me, Froggy.”

Fizzarolli let his body go limp. Ozzie worried that he was going to hurt himself in the fall from the trapeze to the bed but Fizz was a natural performer, he knew exactly how to fall. Fizarrolli caught himself at just the right time, curling up into a ball and pressing his knees to his chest as soon as his body hit the mattress. Ozzie returned to the bed and sat beside him.

The gentle sound of sobs filled the silence. Ozzie’s hand rubbed circles against Fizzarolli’s back until he was ready to speak again.

“I-I’m….I’m dreaming about Mama again.”

[pinklikeroses]

Lo ep 231// spoilers

Sighs buckle up buttercup bc this is gonna be looong

I knew about the proposal well before this episode, gonna say a week or two in advance.

Now I knew this chapter would be bad, nay— terrible

But I didn’t think it’d be as terrible if not worse than I thought it was. This is far far worse than the previous ep retconning Demeter’s character as a whole. While writing in going back and forth through the ep to break it all down , so I can gather my thoughts properly, stay on topic and not derail from the subject matter

Okay

Here we go:

The chapter starts off with an ominous logo change (eye roll) indicating it’s gonna “ different from past chapters. Spoiler alert it’s not. just a repeat of what our two protagonists have been doing from the get go

-Persephone laments about how she thought she was special bc of how overprotective her mother was of her, that she did her best ruling the mortal realm, making her own choices and that she’ll never be able to fulfill the expectations or live the life her mother wanted for her.

(Something we didn’t see her show any concern for while on Olympus)

She goes on to say she knows how her mother is treating her isn’t right, yet all she wanted to do is please her, to have that constant praise, and that had this been anyone else she would’ve put them in their place.

-I don’t like the chains used in this panel as symbolism bc it’s far from what we’ve seen of Demeter in previous eps. It’s stated from the beginning Demeter is overprotective, her controlling paranoid behavior clearly stems from generational trauma, seeing her mother eaten, her sister cut in half. Her explaining her theory of fertility goddesses, which was later proved CORRECT! Btw! Her putting Persephone into the TGoEM to keep her safe from gods that could use her for their own personal gain. This holds no weight, only to persuade the audience how bad mother Demeter is from Persephone’s perspective it doesn’t hold up

Second, Persephone had no problem turning minthe into plant for rightfully ratting her out about mass genocide. She had no problem bullying an ex classmate from college, who had no choice but be nice to her bc of his job as a customer service representative.

The only ppl Persephone “puts in their place” are ones that can’t fight back, no Kronos doesn’t count.

-Now I just wanna say standing up to an overprotective, controlling parent isn’t easy. I have two myself it’s hard setting boundaries I’m not dismissing that. It’s a struggle. Especially when it’s someone who raised and cared for you, yet constantly told you they know what’s best for you instead of you yourself.

But Persephone is a 30 yr old woman, who’s had next to no character development. So why should we expect that? Before and After the trial arc she’s done nothing but act like a spoiled brat. Helplessly running to hades to solve her problems and shield her from the consequences of her own actions.

Not once thinking of her mother, forgetting her completely after the big fight with Kronos and not bothering to ask about her further when Zeus tells her she’s fine.

Persephone is nothing more than a selfish brat who cares only for herself, bullying others and seeking entitlement she hasn’t earned.

-she goes on to say how could someone she holds in such high reguard hold contempt for her choices.

In context, mind you, Demeter is against her relationship with Hades. A man she knew only for four fucking weeks, didn’t see for 10yrs who she’s living with! Four weeks! She’s known this guy! They had one date. Only one! Not even rebuilding their friendship or catching up they just jump into being a couple.

It’s valid that her mother wouldn’t approve this! And just makes Persephone look like a delusional idiot. Honey you don’t know this guy. He tricked and manipulated you into a relationship. You were the other woman. You were the home wrecker. You knew he was in a relationship and pursued him anyway. And he pursued you! You’re mother is concerned for your well being.

-We’re supposed to see Demeter as this controlling evil parent when in reality she’s a concerned mother. Those of us who are critical with this comic see right through the shallow narrative and attempt to get the audience to side with our protagonist and see Demeter as a manipulative hag who only wants full and total control of her daughter. But this is flawed this is a retcon. This backfired.

The only reason we see the emotional manipulation is bc it was thrown in as a plot device and excuse for rs to use for her poor writing and mislead us into thinking this is how Demeter’s always been. When it came out Of nowhere. We’ve never seen her this way up until now. This trauma is used as a connivence. Like the SA was used to make hades look better, the emotional manipulation was used to make Demeter look bad.

And as someone who’s experienced this with their own parents I am disgusted with the way it was used in this story. I hate it. When the fast pass first came out there was no trigger warning at the beginning of the previous episode! That was only added AFTER it became public bc so many readers told Rachel under instagram post. This is something she shouldn’t need to be told! And the fact that it triggered so many ppl is infuriating! I myself had a hard time reading it, and had to control my breathing bc I was getting g so worked up and that was AFTER the public post of the comic!

RS only uses trauma as plot devices with no resolution. Only to demonize and up lift characters.Point blank period.

Demeter says ruling the underworld would be too much for Persephone and points out the tree she grew there, the same tree that awakened frigging Kronos.

She’s right. Ruling the mortal realm was too much for her. So much so Persephone was struggling, draining herself with her powers just to keep up with her moms work. But she did work and work hard. Not as hard as she thought she was as confirmed in previous episodes with Zeus failing her and the previous one her mother pointing out all the unfinished work and damage.

Hades called that tree a gift, but it was that very tree that led to his and many other gods laying dormant for 10yrs!! Peres wasn’t responsible with her powers on Olympus and in the underworld coddled by hades. Since her return, he doesn’t want her to work! It seems as well intentioned bc she “worked SO hard in the mortal realm” but it’s not. This is a man who wants to keep a woman under his thumb. She was supposed to work! That was the point of her punishment and she couldn’t even do that right.

She isn’t fit to rule a kingdom, shes bullying lower class citizens and is okay staying at home without questioning her partner!

Okay I don’t wanna derail too much so now I’ll talk about the proposal. My god the proposal!!!

This was god awful! So awful.

Nothing about this was empowering, uplifting or romantic. It was manipulative, shallow, self indulgent, conceited and self absorbed. It’s safe to say Hades has become one of my least favorite characters. And it’s not hard to see why.

He goes on to say being from the beginning of time and space deem Persephone worthy of ruling the underworld, a clear jab at Demeter (what a prick that Hades).

-he goes on this long annoying self absorbed tangent. Putting Persephone on this ridiculously high pedestal while lamenting about himself. Me me me! You did this for ME. You made ME feel this way, IM so lucky to have you. It’s all about him. Persephone isn’t her own person in his eyes. It’s all about how she is WITH HIM!. She’s HIS savior, shes nothing more than HIS queen, not a queen HIS queen.

It’s so possessive and demeaning and gross.

This is right after/during her emotional roller coster with her mom!!! Who just emotionally manipulated her not one episode ago! And he’s doing it with this proposal! In front of dozens of ppl and her mother!

But bc he’s her partner and he “loves” her it’s okay. It’s framed as sentimental when it’s no different from the emotional manipulation we just saw! He’s scumbag, talking advantage of an emotionally vulnerable person abs it’s framed as good! Its terrible.

And finally we see her hands turn pink again from the wedding ring. Another jab at Demeter. I guess to symbolize her freedom?? But to me ? It undoes all the hard work that came with them. Persephone’s green hands I guess were meant to symbolize her trying to be like her mother, but to me it showed the one good thing about her character. It showed she had to WORK for her powers. She had to work hard to maintain them. She had to get off her butt and figure out her way of doing things.

Her hands turning pink isn’t a flex it’s a representation that she’d rather be pampered and coddled by a partner. Reaping the benefits of slave labor and live a life of luxury instead of nature.

It’s not romantic running from an overprotective parent only thrust yourself into a marriage To a person you’ve barely known. This wasn’t sweet or sentimental. This was rushed, sloppy, shallow and manipulative.

What I wanted out of this chapter?

Persephone to stand up to her mother even if they didn’t meet a middle ground, for her to voice her opinion, put her foot down and say her choices were her own.

Instead? We once again get white knight Hades making this whole thing about himself. And Persephone letting him. Demeter is jabbed at, demonized and made a villain. Hades is praised despite doing the same emotionally abusive tactic.

This was absolute garbage. And we’re well past disappointment. No depth. No substance just trash.

[just-jordie-things]

i don’t really know if you write for him, but there’s a criminal lack of yuuta content on this app😭 can i see him with a instead of him studying overseas it’s reader and they finally come back for good and surprise him? if you write for him ofc :)) -🌿

💕yuuta my love💕

just so you know he is so proud of you and how strong you are to take on such important missions on ur own! he’s your hype man through and through <3

but bc you’re gone so much it did take a while for him to find the time (and courage- he’s a shy lover!!) to ask you out. <3

you always bring him back a souvenir or two, something neat or a little treat that makes you think of him <3

this particular mission you’d been on had been difficult for a variety of reasons. curse after curse kept you overseas for weeks longer than planned, until you’d almost been gone for two whole months. you were growing tired, and yuuta was getting restless not having you around.

he always missed you when you were gone, from the second you left to the second you came back. but you’d never been gone this long before, and he was losing his mind a little bit having you around.

the other second years get a little tired of how antsy and distant he gets. they try to cheer him up and show him a good time but everything reminds him of you and he just wants you back by his side <3

maki, toge, and panda decide they’ll have to take matters into their own hands. it takes a lot of effort but they bring a case to gojo as to why he needs to get you back home now.

gojo’s an idiot but he’s not stupid- he knows they’re just tired of yuuta being a mope- but he’s proud enough of his students for trying to help in their own way and he’ll always take an opportunity to bitch out the elders! <3

yuuta’s sparring with maki on the field- getting his ass beat- when he suddenly hears cheering from the bleachers. loud cheering. for him.

he’s so excited when he turns to see you that he forgets what he was doing and maki slams her bamboo staff on his head. hard. she wasn’t the type to hold back <maki3

“that’s for acting like an idiot! next time (y/n) is overseas, find a goddamn hobby to keep you busy!”

yuuta promises he’ll catch up on some manga or take up crocheting before he’s stumbling his way over to where you’re already running up to him.

“are you ok?? she hit you hard!”

he doesn’t even answer, he doesn’t care, he’s just so happy to see you.

he picks you up, hugging you tight and spinning you around so fast he sorta ends up sending you both into the ground.

(queue maki gagging and rushing off the field)

he’s kissing your whole face, not even bothering to get off the grass, he just holds you above him and is murmuring out how happy he is to see you. you could tell him to get up bc you’re worried about his head injury but he doesn’t give you the chance to. <3

clings to you the whole first week of you being back. you wanted to sleep in your own bed after being gone so long? too bad. yuuta has you trapped in his room with him every second of free time you had <3

the other second years give you both about two weeks of alone time, and even then when they start making plans to hang out with you yuuta i’d pouty. you’re his :(

(it’s ok you make it up to him ;) it’s easy he’s a simp for you anyways)

[ladyintree]

send 👂 to overhear my muse talking about yours.

she never imagined herself doing this,  mostly because she never thought about herself getting married at all.   she thought maybe if it happened someday, it’d happen, but because she knew it wasn’t even applicable for someone like her,  she didn’t let herself spend too much time thinking about it at all.  she definitely didn’t expect that to be how she spent her time out here—  most of the time, she’s been trying to look forward, figure out how they could get home.  but when her excursion failed,  it became harder and harder to stay optimistic, and adapting to the situation seemed much more prevalent.  

that’s why it was so easy for her to say yes to mikayla. 

they don’t know what this means for once  (  if  )  they do get home.  they haven’t discussed it,  but it doesn’t seem to matter,  anyway—   because taissa’s certain about her feelings.  she’s certain that what they have here is already what mikayla described to her when she proposed,  and maybe this ceremony they’re planning to do is entirely unnecessary— but that doesn’t matter.  mikayla deserves everything tai can give her,  and celebrating their love isn’t something she wants to do simply.  getting to call her her wife,  knowing they’ve done this,  it makes it even better.  and while tai has mostly been bothered by some of the attempts to make ‘fun’ out of this place,  this is not like that for her.  she or mikayla could die at any time;  they could be torn away from each other in sacrifice.  and while they both have ensured each other they’re going to fight if it comes to that,  at least they’ll always be certain of this:  their love knows no bounds,  and they have each other.

❝  do you think it’s stupid?  ❞  she doesn’t actually care for an answer,  because she isn’t changing her own mind.  she knows it may seem silly from the outside,  but it’s real to her and it’s real to mikayla.  and if this is a chance to give everyone some kind of hope,  then she wants to take it.   ❝  —- it’s not.  not to me, ❞   she insists,  and suddenly,  she feels shy around nat.   she always thought the concept of some man asking a father’s permission to marry his daughter was ridiculous,  because it’s not up to them,  and she definitely wouldn’t care for mikayla’s father’s opinion.  but she does care about nat’s,  because she knows what nat has always meant to mikayla,  and she knows that she’s the best friend she has.  and more than that,  too,  nat’s their leader,  she’s the one they’re all looking to for guidance,  the one tai doesn’t want to disappoint on multiple levels.  her opinion does matter,  especially about mikayla. 

❝  i love her.  i’ve never—   i never saw this for myself.   i didn’t let myself think about that,  ❞   she admits,  and she instantly realizes she’s giving nat a side of herself she’s never shared with her before,  but it feels worth it,  because if she’s going to declare her love for mikayla so proudly in front of everyone like this,  she wants it to be clear.  ❝  but loving her is the easiest thing i’ve ever done.  ❞   even out here, when nothing feels simple—  she has that to hold onto.  and she has a lot of regrets and a lot of resentment for the choices she’s made,  leading her to constantly question whether for not she’s even capable of doing good.   but her love for mikayla reminds her that she isn’t the monster that some people have made her out to be,  and she never wants to forget that.  

her eyes scan nat’s for a moment before she takes a deep breath, trying to collect herself.   ❝  she’s already my wife.  that’s what she is to me.   i was just hoping  .  .  .    we could— i don’t know.  ❞   she starts to roll her eyes,  mostly feeling silly for it now,  but it’s still important.  ❝  — you’re her best friend,  ❞   she blurts instead.   ❝  so i guess i just want to know that you—   you think i’m good enough for her.  ❞    her jaw clenches,  because it sounds ridiculous.  this isn’t the way she talks about herself,  not with this shaken confidence,  but this is for mikayla.  ❝  i want —  your blessing.  or whatever,  ❞   she adds with a soft scoff,  poking fun at herself.   tell me i’m not going to fuck this up,  she means.   tell me i’m going to be what she deserves.

[sayonarasanity]

Reverberation

Chapter VIII. II.

Chapter 1- 2- 3- 4- 5- 6- 7-8

link to AO3

The stars look far away.

Levi stares at the night sky. All vast, infinite, and black and he thinks about how lonely the moon is. The bottle in his hand is almost empty yet it feels heavy, nearly halfway to slipping away between his weak fingers. He holds onto it anyway. It is the one and only solid thing he feels at the moment. The sole thing that feels real, tangible. Under midnight, with the lone company of the moonlight, it is so easy to dream of oblivion. It is so easy to wish to vanish, to just not be anymore. If only there was a way, if only he could turn into dust and join the stars above, he would do it without a second thought. 

He wonders if his mother can see him now from wherever she is up there and what she would think of him if she could. Disappointment, possibly. Hurt. He is a failure from head to toe. There is only one thing that he is absurdly good at and that is letting the people he loves down. 

“Sorry mom,” he whispers to the night with a sliver of hope that maybe she can hear him and see how regretful he is for not trying harder. “I couldn’t save you.” 

It’s still so hard to accept. Thinking about his mother now is like parting the ground in half with his own bare hands. Only the ground is his heart, and it feels like it is being ripped apart. But he hasn’t shed a single tear since the funeral. He knows he should possibly scream, cry or maybe punch something around him. Just to let it out so that it wouldn’t kill him from inside out slowly like a deadly poison.

Rather, Levi brings the bottle up to his mouth to drink the last remnants of the bitter liquid. It fills his mouth briefly before rolling down his throat. He stares at the empty thing then, his drunk gaze barely focusing on the letters written on its vitreous surface. He barely stands on his two feet. Everything around is blurry. Getting drunk on the edge of a roof was not the best idea, probably. Yet the cold glass he grips has been the mere thing that is close to a friend in these last few weeks. And the roof is the one thing that he feels close to home. It is familiar but in the most foreign way. It has the warmth of a living room when there is a blizzard outside. All he can feel right now though is the bitter cold. 

It is a difficult task not to think about her now. On top of this building when he is alone with the night when he tries to forget about his loss, he remembers her. Her laughter and bright eyes, her wit and her foolishness, her voice and her existence. He thinks he needs them more than ever. To have her here with him now. The time had cruelly erased the sounds from his mind. No matter how hard he had tried to keep them by his side, treasure them in his heart and mind, he had given in to the passing years at last. Let them carry away the sound of laughter that felt like the only thing his soul needed. Now he is greedy, desperate to hear it one more time. Maybe one last time. He doesn’t deserve it; he knows but if only—

“Levi?”

He stills, fingers wrapping around the head of the bottle tightly. His body instinctively gravitates to the owner of the voice. His eyes nearly take the shape of the full moon when he turns his head to the side, his mind in a drunken haze, and he cannot believe, he cannot even fathom that what he has just heard was real. Because no amount of lost time or countless distance would be enough for him to not recognize who that voice belonged to. 

“Hanji?” he whispers to himself, dumbfounded. 

The bottle slips down from between his fingers and shatters to pieces on the ground. He stares at the broken pieces with shocked eyes, his heart pounds like a newly cut wound. It can’t be.

It can’t. Of course. He is drunk as hell. Levi blinks his eyes rapidly, and among the thick mist in his mind, he somehow founds the will to chuckle. A dry, humorless sound. “Fucking great,” he murmurs. “I am seeing things.”

“Levi!” The imaginary voice calls him again. This time he looks up just in time to see the dream Hanji standing in front of him. She looks painfully real, and different too from the last time he had seen her. Taller, somehow, and a little skinnier. She has grown up too. Levi hasn’t realized his dreams catching up with the present. He had always dreamed of her in her teenage years. Young, alive and bright. Now her eyes stare at him with apprehension, brows furrowed and a pair of oval glasses slipping down her nose. Hair a wild mess but even so she is beautiful. Cruelly beautiful.

“What the hell are you doing here?” The imaginary Hanji chides him. She is mad at him for some reason. For some reason? She had every right to be mad at him. Apparently, he manages to sadden her even in his dreams. “Are you out of your mind?”

Levi blinks. He is drunk. Incredibly so. And he is in no mood for the mind games his subconscious obviously takes great joy in playing with him. “Clearly, I am,” he murmurs. The dream Hanji looks even more pissed at his comment. She purses her lips for a second and Levi finds himself staring at them as if he is hypnotized. Even though he knows she is not real he barely holds himself back from reaching out to touch her face. To trace the lines of her lips, her eyes, and her cheek. To touch the soft hair adorning her face, to press his lips—

“Levi,” the dream talks again. This time the tone of her voice is different. It’s softer, quieter, and tender. As if she is afraid to cross a line. As if she is afraid to press on a deep, fresh wound.

Which is absurd. Because she is just a dream and dreams don’t think. They are not real. So is she. 

The imaginary Hanji takes a step forward and he sees her eyes alight with tears. They search his eyes and the look in them is almost pleading like she is trying to reach out to him, to find him wherever he has hidden behind the walls of his heart. “I’m here.” 

His lips tremble and he struggles hard to not avert his eyes from hers. Even though he knows he will look like he has gone mad talking to someone who isn’t actually here he answers regardless, “Hanji wouldn’t be here,” he says, determined.

“Why?” the dream asks, confused.

Eventually, he looks away, his eyes focus on the edge of the roof, and traces the lines of a puddle on the corner. It reflects the starry night, the moon shines on its surface, and Levi’s heart shivers when his next words leave his mouth, “Because she hates me.”

The imaginary Hanji is silent for a terrifyingly long moment, and he cannot bring himself to turn back to her eyes just to see the hurt and anger he is sure are hidden in them. His mind loves to torture him even in his dreams. This wouldn’t be the first time he faced those emotions. 

After a considerably quiet moment, the dream Hanji asks, “Why do you think so?”

Levi swallows. He is sure his mind knows the answer, yet it wouldn’t let go of him that easily. He listens to a plane landing, making a howling sound, cutting the silence. And then he moves his eyes up to the moon. It is a perfect circle and so bright. He thinks about all the secrets it had witnessed them giving to each other during those years they spent with its company. And how it was the onlooker of each drop of tear he had shed on this rooftop. All alone. Desperate. And hurt. “Because I broke her heart,” he whispers. 

A sharp breath leaves the mouth of his very vivid dream. This is it now, he thinks. She must be gone. He is still drunk. The alcohol runs through his veins, and it makes him unstable. It is not healthy he knows. His mother constantly chided him for giving up to the brief oblivion it provides. But she is not here anymore, is she? Just like Hanji. They both were the only things he had valued with everything he got and lost painfully. 

He decides he wants to look at her one last time before she disappears. Who knows when he will see a dream which feels as realistic as this one? He wants to make the best of it. Wants to engrave each and every detail of her face in his mind just so it will be impossible for it to ever disappear from his memory. 

Just when he moves his eyes back on her, he sees a drop of tear sliding down her cheek. “And I broke yours,” she whispers.

He hates to see her cry; he thinks knitting his brows and he almost almost reaches out to wipe the tear away from her cheek. 

But before he can do so he feels cold, soft hands cupping his face, and warm breath touches his face. And he freezes, eyes widening and mouth agape. A dream shouldn’t feel this real, this solid. A dream shouldn’t make his breath hitch and his heart skip a beat. A dream shouldn’t be able to hold him like this. 

Unless it is not a dream. Not a product of his drunk and mourning brain. But reality. Actual, palpable reality. “How?..” He says, bewildered. “Hanji…”

A sound between a sob and laughter escapes her mouth. “And you call me an idiot.” Her thumb traces his cheeks, wiping away the tears he hasn’t even realized fall from his eyes. “I’m here.”

“But why?” He asks again. Insistent. Because he is curious. He wants to know why after everything he has done, she has come here to find him in a place he has specifically made for himself just so nobody could.

She looks at him with wet and sorrowful eyes. The hazel-brown shade of them is so familiar it makes his stomach burn with longing and with the ashes of a love he had been hiding in his heart like a valuable mine. “Because you are still my best friend,” she says quietly and with tears shining bright on her face.

And somehow it is enough for his drunk brain cells to finally accept the fact that she is here with him for real. That the hands holding his face and the eyes searching his are not a dream. That she is not a dream, and he hasn’t yet crossed the line of sanity.

Blindly, his hands find her waist, circling around her to bring her body flush against his. He buries his nose in her neck, breathing in the scent of her he has been yearning to feel again for years. His eyes close and his arms tighten to hold her impossibly closer. Hanji’s arms wrap around his neck and her fingers run through his hair and his undercut. 

Maybe it is her presence, her solid warmth that in the end encourages him to speak out the words of truth he has been trying to ignore for days. There is no one else he can open his heart so blatantly to, without worry and without any fear. She is the only one who can kneel with him to pick up the millions of pieces of his soul that are scattered apart. And now she is right here, between his arms, just where he needs her. 

“I lost my mom, Hanji,” he whispers against her neck, throat tight with sobs that are ready to leave his lips at any second. The tears he has been holding so stubbornly now wait on the edge, threatening to fall down. 

“I know,” she says, and he feels her lips pressing hot kisses on his neck, and her tears leave wet traces on his skin. “I’m so sorry, Levi. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” She repeats it like a mantra, like the more she says it the more she can take away from his pain. 

His body is trembling as a result of how hard he is fighting against his tears and to not just give in and let go of everything that had been building out over and over in his heart like a skyscraper. His nails dig into her raincoat, and his teeth are pressed so tight it is nearly painful.

Hanji picks out the shivering that is shaking his whole body. And of course, she understands and sees the reason behind it. “Let it go,” she tells into his ear. Her voice is soothing, familiar like a spring breeze on his skin. “Let it go, Levi. I’m here. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

And as if he has been waiting to hear those words, let go he does. After a long, fierce battle he comes out bloody and wounded but rises the white flag all the same. Eventually, the sobs leave his mouth one by one, tears fall down like a waterfall and the mere thing that keeps him above the surface is her touch and her warmth. And as he wets her shoulder with his tears, as his whole body jerks with the force of his sobs she holds him throughout it all, whispering into his ear, her fingers caressing his skin.

And he prays, maybe for the first time since his mother passed away that if this moment is a dream, then please God don’t make me wake up.

*

Hanji stands quietly behind Levi as he very much struggles, given how drunk he is, to open the door to his apartment with his keys. Silent curses leave his mouth as harsh whispers and Hanji purses her lips to hide the smile that quite obviously wants to shape on her lips.

He hasn’t changed a bit.

They had taken a taxi ride to his home. She had learned from Kenny that he lived alone. Though not very far from his mother and Kenny he had an apartment a little away from the city center. They hadn’t talked much during the ride. But she had felt Levi’s gaze on her until the car had stopped to signal their arrival. 

It still feels like a dream. Him being in front of her now. He has grown up a lot as expected. His shoulders are wider, and he is a little bit taller, the lines of his face are sharper. His hair is still the same though. Straight black with an undercut. It looks smooth and clean. His overall appearance is clean. Very much like him. Very much like the Levi she has known.

Finally, after a lot of hard work, Levi manages to open the door. He pushes it open and gestures with his arm for her to step inside. His eyes watch her every move intently. 

Hanji smiles and enters his house with her heart beating loudly. It is dark before Levi follows her behind and closes the door and he switches the lights on. She is nervous. Completely opposite of how she felt when they were together while they were young. It is different now. She is aware of his very presence; of every breath he inhales and every sound he makes. On the one hand, it is normal considering that it had been eight years since they last saw each other. On the other hand, though…

“Would you like something to drink?”

Hanji winces, quite visibly, and stares at him with wide eyes. Too nervous. “Uhm…”

“Not anything that includes alcohol,” Levi adds, his eyes are a pretty shade of blue under the yellow light of the hall and they are slightly red around. But he has that same sharp gaze. Intense, even though they are merely talking about what they should drink. Somehow, it causes goosebumps on her skin. “I am still a little drunk.”

Hanji snorts, just to gain a little more confidence, and maybe relax a bit. “That was a big ass bottle, Levi.”

“It’s barely enough,” he says grimly, then sighs, “I do need to sober up tough.”

Hanji pushes her glasses up her nose and nods. Together they walk towards the kitchen. Levi’s steps are calculated like he might trip down any second. No wonder he had thought she wasn’t real with that amount of alcohol he had consumed. 

The kitchen is big and wide and the cupboards are white. There is a kitchen island in the middle with chairs lined around. While Levi fills the kettle with water Hanji travels her hand on the cold surface of the island just to have something to do other than thinking about the way he held her, the way he stared at her, and the way he looked like when he said, “Because I broke her heart.”    

It pains her even to think of. He had spent years thinking that she might hate him when in reality all she had felt was confusion and unresolved curiosity as to why he had chosen to be alone like that.

And how he had cried in her arms afterward like each drop of tear took away a part of his heart. It had taken minutes for his sobs to subdue and tears to dry. Hanji couldn’t even think of how long he had been hiding them inside, keeping them behind a barricade that was inevitably bound to break at some point. 

The sound of the kettle boiling disperses her thoughts. “So, what do you do?” He asks, his back facing her as he takes two teacups out from a drawer. Small talk with Levi as if they are two strangers feels awkward and a little bit painful, but Hanji goes along with it. That’s what they need now. A fresh start. 

“I am working as a space scientist,” she says, sitting on one of the chairs. “In Jeager Space Administration.”

Levi throws her a brief look from above his shoulder. There is a small smile on his lips which makes her heart flutter. He turns back to his work of placing two tea bags inside the cups. And although she cannot see his face now, she can hear the pride in his voice when he says, softly, “That’s my Hanji.” 

The sound of her heartbeats reverberates in her ears, her lips open and close with no words leaving her mouth and she finds herself dumbfounded, staring at his back. My Hanji. 

She shakes her head as if to clear the fog his words created in her head. “What about you?” she directs the question back at him, clearing her throat. “You’re an aerospace engineer, right?”

“Yeah,” he answers as he fills the cups with boiling water. “I am working at a small company. Nothing worth mentioning. It’s totally not as fancy as yours.”

Hanji chuckles and rests her cheek on her palm after placing her elbow on the kitchen island. She is fully aware of the fact that they are beating around the bush, ignoring the actual matters that they should be talking about completely. Like how, despite everything he had told her that day they were moving away, he had become an aerospace engineer still. Following the dream that they had set for themselves to work side by side, to be together no matter what. Knowing that the last part of that dream never came true was heartbreaking.

And Kuchel. Hanji can feel the matter hanging in the air, heavily between them. Though neither of them makes a move to say a word about it. It is not that difficult to see the dark brushes of grief on his face. It is all over his body. Settled on his shoulders like a dead weight. 

Unaware of what’s going on inside her head, Levi walks towards her, bringing two cups of tea to the island, the hot stream rises from their surface, and they have a nice, soothing smell. He places them on the island, then straightens up but just when he is about to walk around her to get to the other side, he stumbles on his feet, and with a startled huff he loses his balance.

Hanji doesn’t even realize what she is doing until they become face to face with bewildered eyes and her fingers are grabbing his upper arms. He feels solid underneath her hands. And warmth radiates through the fabric of his white shirt. Her fingers don’t even wrap fully around his arms. They merely hold a part of them which is quite weird because how the hell had he become so big?

“Have you been working out?” she blurts like the bewildered fool that she is. Immediately her cheeks heat up and she bites her tongue inside.

An almost smug grin lifts one corner of his lips. “Every now and then.”

“Good,” she comments. “For your health, I mean.”

“Mmm,” he murmurs, still playful smile hanging on his mouth. But then his eyes leave hers to travel around her face, past her cheekbones, and her nose, and they stay fixated on her lips. 

Her breath is stuck somewhere in her throat and Hanji cannot stop her eyes from taking the same route. Following his dark eyelashes, the circles underneath his eyes which are the remainder of his sleepless nights, his little, perfect nose, and the barely visible shadow of a beard around his jaw.

And then finally his lips. 

She feels her fingers tighten around his biceps uncontrollably. This isn’t what she thought would happen when she saw Levi again for the first time after all these years. Love had been an innocent, fragile thing while they were merely teenagers. And she had been so busy trying to ignore her feelings and accept the fact that they would never be requited she hadn’t paid enough attention to anything that was simply physical. She had been in love with his mind and the kindness he kept hidden in himself. Everything aside, it had been years. She must’ve buried all those emotions by now. She had thought she had. Yet, now they sprout again, emerging through what must have been the gravestone of her feelings. And it is different now, poisonous even, given how it affects her at the moment as if she had drunk it straight from a bottle. 

Somehow, that poison must have paralyzed her for she cannot look away from the way his lips move when he talks, “I should probably take a shower.”

The way her heart pounds is nearly painful. She finally manages to rip her eyes away from his mouth to carry them up to his eyes. She blinks. “Okay.”

Now under the white, fluorescent lights, his eyes are somehow darker, and they seem to be losing focus from time to time. And as seconds thick by but he doesn’t move, gradually they fill with much sorrow and undeniable longing. She can feel her own eyes reflecting the same emotions. They had a lot to talk about. So many things to unravel. Countless misunderstandings to fix.

His eyes soften and a little smile flutters on his lips. And just like old times, Hanji doesn’t get surprised when he says, as if he has read her mind, “We have much to talk about, don’t we?”

Somehow, that single question finally makes her relax. She can feel the tension on her shoulders at ease, and she displays a smile mirroring his. “Yeah.”

His smile vaguely widens then eventually he straightens up and Hanji’s hands fall on her lap. He doesn’t instantly leave. Instead, he holds up his hand and his thumb brushes her chin, caressing it with a featherlight touch. Yet it is enough to send a rush of goosebumps along her body. “Drink your tea,” he says unaware of what his little gesture caused. “I’ll be right back.”

*

Hanji has been watching the flickering city lights from behind the large window in Levi’s living room when he finds her. She sees his reflection on the glass first, resting against the door frame with a towel around his neck and wet hair combed back. He watches her for a while as if he cannot believe that she is actually there.

Then he comes to stand next to her. His shampoo spreads a sharp, fresh smell like that of peppermint. His eyes are thoughtful as they observe the past-midnight view outside. 

“Pretty view you have here,” Hanji says as partly an attempt to break the silence and make the atmosphere less awkward and more familiar. 

Levi shrugs as if it’s no big deal. He looks at her then, his eyes take in the frame of her face. Examining her features. “I think I do,” he responds.

Something in the way he has said those words makes her cheeks go aflame, “You’ve changed,” she remarks getting more and more aware of that fact. Change has been of course inevitable and while in some aspects he is still the same in some he is clearly different. He is more somber, thoughtful, and calmer.

He looks away, giving her a clear view of the self-evident sorrow on his face. “I’ve lost a lot.”

Her throat tightens, “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “Levi—”

“How did you know?” he cuts, and he sounds curious like he has been meaning to ask the question since the moment he saw her tonight.

“Kenny called me,” Hanji answers, slightly taken aback by his abrupt question. “He was really worried about you.”

Hanji had texted Kenny to let him know that she had found Levi while Levi was taking a shower. Kenny had replied with lots of colourful swear words and a thank you in return. 

A muscle moves on Levi’s jaw upon hearing his uncle’s name and Hanji remembers her conversation with Kenny this morning. He must be still mad at him she thinks but his anger doesn’t seem to have been directed towards only one person. She has a feeling that he is angry with himself the most.

Then she adds, quietly, “I was too.”

But too late. She can clearly see the moment he builds his walls and surrounds himself with them. “I’m alright,” he says turning around and walking towards the L-shaped sofa in the corner of the room. 

Hanji follows him as he sits down. “You don’t look alright,” she comments. 

He runs a hand through his half-soaked hair and throws the towel wrapped around his neck on top of the back of the sofa. “Wonder why,” he murmurs. 

“Don’t be sarcastic.” It’s his trait, his way to cope with things she knows. But if he is sarcastic then she is stubborn and she won’t let him get away easily.

Levi looks up at her from where he sits, and she sees the thing she fears the most in his eyes, coldness.

“Why?” he asks, “What are you going to do about it?” And Hanji knows. She feels the sharp edges of the knife right on her ribcage before she even sees it. “Leave me again?”

Her body freezes, motionless as a statue and she cannot even talk for several seconds. Her remorse and pain resurface, rises like a hurricane, and almost drown her with its crashing waves. “Don’t,” she manages to say. 

“Why not?” he stands up and takes a careful step towards her. “Isn’t that the truth, Hanji?”

Hanji knows he is in pain, a pain she cannot even imagine. And she is aware that he has the right to be mad at her, to yell and demand answers. As much as she does. He had accepted her decision then. Never once questioned it after she left. Now it is time to pay back. Both for her and him. 

Nevertheless, his cruelty is what she cannot bring herself to accept. This isn’t a fair game though and being brutal isn’t an option but a necessity. So, she plays her own card. “You left me too.”

Her remark sparks something in his eyes. They flicker as if he is holding himself back from displaying whatever he feels inside. He keeps the walls safely around him though, doesn’t let her even touch their surface. And Hanji thinks there are only a few other things more painful than watching one person you know heart and soul now becoming a stranger. The person who once had been a book the pages of which she had known by heart now standing right in front of her having ripped all those pages and burned them to ashes.

“I had to,” he answers shortly as if that explains everything.

But she won’t hold back now. If he demands answers so does she. “I would’ve come with you,” she says, voice roughly trembling. “You know I would.”

“You didn’t even want to talk to me—”

“Because I was stupid!” She burst, causing his eyes to slightly widen with bewilderment upon her outburst. “I was in pain, and I didn’t know what else to do with it! But I would still come with you if you asked me for it, Levi. You know damn well I would.”

“So what?” he retorts, finally he lets the flames of his anger lighten his eyes. “What if you came with me? I didn’t even know what kind of hell I was walking into. My mother was sick, I was moving away to somewhere I didn’t know shit about, and we didn’t have enough money to fucking live properly. I barely managed to finish the first year of university because my idiot of an uncle lost all the money we had.” 

His breaths are fast, his chest moving up and down quickly as if he had run a marathon. Hanji merely watches, unable to do anything else. No matter how much she wants to reach out to hold him for all the years he had to live alone and all the suffering he had to carry on his own.

“You didn’t have to face all that alone,” Hanji tells him, she feels her anger dissipate and she waits for him to calm down. 

And he does, merely seconds after like he doesn’t even have the energy to yell, to be mad, or to feel anything anymore. “It was goddamn hell, Hanji,” he adds, now calmer. As if he is exhausted. “How would I have let you go through it as well?”

It hurts her to know that she had been the reason why he had made that choice. “That’s why you never picked up when I called?” she asks her heart tightening with sorrow. “The reason why you never talked to me?”

He nods, his eyes looking everywhere else but her. “I wanted you to hate me,” he says honestly. “I thought it would make it easier for you to go on with your life. Without me…”

“It wasn’t easier,” she completes his sentence. “You know how important you were to me. I was angry but I never hated you.” She takes a step closer to him, eyes searching his face. They burned and her vision blurred. “I wouldn’t care you know,” she whispers, and she doesn’t feel even a moment of hesitation while uttering her next words, “Going through hell with you.”

“I know.” He closes his eyes and a second later when he opens them, he looks at her with such candidness that it takes her breath away. “But you don’t understand Hanji,” he says, and the way he stares into her eyes and the emotions floating on their surface captures her soul like a tornado. “I was in love with you.”

Time slows down around her; air gets thick and the mere thing she sees is the blue of his eyes. The colour of the moon. Hanji thinks of that boy who watches the stars, and she feels like that girl on the rooftop again. A child and ecstatic, unaware. A teenager and heartbroken, in love. Hanji had always thought it was the rooftop that made feel her closer to the sky. But it wasn’t the rooftop that lifted her up to touch the stars.

It was him.

“You loved me?” She asks, silently, bewildered, dizzy, and without even waiting for an answer.

“I was going to tell you,” he continues as if what he has just said hasn’t turned her entire world upside down. “Remember the day I called you and told you that I had something to tell you? It was that. I was going to tell you that I loved you. I didn’t even care what would happen after. I was ready to take the risk but then…” 

He sighs and closes his eyes, but Hanji understands. “You learned your mother was sick,” she completes instead of him, a few drops of tears have already wetted her face.

Levi nods. “I had to leave you, Hanji,” he stares into her eyes as if he is begging her to understand. “It was the only way to keep you safe, to make sure you fulfilled your dreams, to know that you were happy. Away from me,” he releases a shaky breath. “I was a fucking mess. Believe me, you were better off without me.”

Hanji shakes her head, “You shouldn’t have faced all of that alone.”

“I managed,” he says. Barely is what is hidden behind his words.

Hanji wipes her cheeks and decides that it was only fair if she laid all her cards on the table. “I was selfish.”

Levi looks at her curiously, “What?”

“I left you because I didn’t—couldn’t bare seeing you with her.” She averts her eyes to the painting on the wall behind Levi. “I should’ve been happy for you as your best friend. But I—the more I tried to come to terms with it the more I realized that it was eating me alive like a worm. Bit by bit.”

“Hanji—”

“So, I broke our friendship before I made something stupid to make it even worse,” she carries her eyes back at him to see his somewhat shocked expression. “It was way too late when I realized that I had fallen for you already. But I chose to run away from that feeling rather than facing it.”

Levi stares at her with astonishment for a handful of moments and then he says, “And you were supposed to be the genius.”

Upon his obviously unexpected reaction, it takes Hanji a while to respond, “I am the genius!”

“Clearly you’re not emotionally intelligent.”

“You’re the one to talk!”

“I bet you didn’t figure it out yourself,” Levi challenges. “Who told you that you loved me?”

Hanji hesitates before answering, cursing at the way he can still see through her. “Erwin,” she says timidly.

“Glad to know you two gossiped about me,” he says, smugly.

“What about you?” Hanji asks, crossing her arms.

“Huh?”

“Who told you? You couldn’t have possibly found it out yourself either. You are not so good with feelings, are you?”

Levi glares at her before answering, so quietly that she barely catches it. “Petra.”

“Hah!” Hanji exclaims throwing her hands in the air. Unbelievable. “Congrats, we are both the fools of the century.”

“We are soulmates for a reason,” Levi says, and once again the mood instantly changes.

Up to this point they both had talked in the past tense. Hanji is perfectly aware that there is no guarantee they are holding the same feelings now. Life is like a constantly moving train. It never stops to wait for passengers. It merely comes to a brief halt only to pick up, bitter or sweet, all memories and nothing else. It collects all the laughter and pain, tears and merriness then it leaves, moves so swiftly the eye fails to catch even its silhouette. o

But, Hanji thinks, being someone’s soulmate is something the passing years cannot wither, cannot erase. Whether something like it exists or not. Hanji is sure some way or another other their souls are connected. 

No one in this world can understand her better than him.

And as such, she is certain that throughout all those years she never once stopped loving him.

“Sorry,” Levi says, probably having misunderstood her silence. “Was that—”

“Why did you study aerospace engineering, Levi?” Hanji drops the question finally. It had been demanding an answer for years for it was in contradiction with what he had told her the day he left.

They weren’t our dreams, Hanji. They were yours.

Hard she tried, she could’ve never forgotten those words. They had hurt her more than anything. The two had grown up building their future with their bare hands, piece by piece. And that day he had stepped on it as if it meant nothing to him.

For a second she is able to see the regret in his eyes and she knows he understood the reason why she asked this question. And it doesn’t take him long to answer it.

“Because it was our dream.” 

Taking off her glasses Hanji presses the palms of her hands on her eyes because at this point there is no way to stop the tears from flowing furiously. She barely manages to prevent her sobs to shake her shoulders by pursing her lips. It feels like an overflow for everything she had buried until now. For the lonely nights, she had spent on the rooftop without him as the cold wind pierced her clothes and she had thought that the stars meant nothing. For the days she had walked past his empty house staring at the naked windows and praying for the door to be open and be welcomed with the smell of newly baked apple tart and warmth. For the sleepless nights, she lay on the floor of the attic, staring up at the navy blanket with tears running down the sides of her face and wishing to hear his voice once again. To have him right beside her. To laugh with him one more time. And for the times she sobbed hugging her mother’s chest as her fingers ran softly through her hair, “I miss him, mom. I miss him so much.”

For Kuchel. And for the fact that she will never have the chance to see her smile again. 

And for Levi who has lost his mother, who has had to carry all the burden by himself because he loved her, and he loved his mother. Because he is selfless and the strongest person she had ever known.

“I’m sorry,” Levi whispers. “I don’t know if it means anything though for it,” he pauses, and Hanji waits for him to continue while her ragged breaths leave her mouth. “if I had to do it again, I would. Without hesitation. But Hanji… wouldn’t you do the same?”

For some reason that makes her cry even harder, and she no longer tries to subdue her sobs from jerking her whole body. She is somehow able to nod because he is right. She would do anything to protect him. 

Then she feels his presence right in front of her and his fingers grab her wrists. Hanji lets him pull her hands down but she is unable to meet his gaze as his fingers caress her skin softly and she is certain that there will never come a time when he will feel like a stranger to her. It is not possible given the fact that she knows him with every fiber of her body.

And then he hugs her gently, holds her carefully and tenderly. Completely opposite to the way he had held her earlier on the rooftop. Hanji presses her forehead on his shoulder, and her fingers grab his t-shirt weakly. And as he leaves a kiss on her hair as light as a butterfly, she wishes she hadn’t waited so long for this moment to come.

“I’m sorry, Levi,” she gives him her very late apology. “I really am.”

“It’s alright. Don’t think about it now,” Levi whispers, his fingers running through her hair. “Let’s get some sleep. You must be tired.”

We both are, Hanji wants to say but only approves with her head and lets Levi direct her out of the living room.

*

Hanji changes her clothes with the ones Levi had given to her inside the bathroom. Meanwhile, she washes her face and wets her neck. Though the redness around her eyes is still clearly visible. She places her glasses on top of her nose and reties her hair before leaving the bathroom. 

Levi is pulling the blanket of the twin bed down when she enters the bedroom. His room, as expected, is extremely tidy. There is nothing out of place or looks like a surfeit. He has a little library right next to the window and she can pick out the familiar backs of certain books she had read. And as she walks closer to it, she sees the copy of Macbeth, the one she had given to him on his birthday, on one of the shelves. A smile blooms on her face as if she had come across an old friend and she is about to reach out and take it in her hand when Levi calls her.

“You can sleep here,” he says, and Hanji turns around to see him pointing to the bed with his hand. “The sheets are clean.”

Her smile widens and Hanji walks closer to the bed and sits down, breathing in the fresh smell of the cotton sheets. She had never really realized how exhausted she actually had been for the last couple of days. No matter the fact that she had slept at Eren’s house and eaten a little before leaving to find Levi. She hadn’t been able to rest with a clear mind.

“I never doubted you, you know, clean freak.”

When he hears the old nickname, his eyes round slightly with surprise, and a pause after, a smile adorns his lips, and Hanji smirks. “That’s because you have no standard when it comes to hygiene, four-eyes.” 

Hanji gasps, obviously fake. “How dare you!” But then she starts to giggle, feeling lightened for the first time in years. “You’re right though.”

Levi snorts. “Of course, I am.” 

It’s been a long time, yet Hanji still remembers. Silence with Levi had never been something strange or uncomfortable. They, mostly her, one way or the other found a topic to talk about. However, at the moment as silence settled over, she feels awkward and doesn’t know what to say or what to do.

“Goodnight then,” Levi says eventually. And then turns around to leave the room.

That, in the end, is what prompts her. “Where are you going?” she sounds a little panicked because well she kind of is.

He stops and faces her, raising a brow. “To the living room.”

Hanji pauses. Well, naturally, that is the logical thing to do. “But…”

“It’s alright,” Levi interrupts. “I barely sleep on the bed anyway.”

For some reason that makes her feel even worse. “Don’t go.”

His shoulders tense, surprise paints his face and he seems ready to reject her. “Hanji—”

“You can sleep on the floor,” she suggests reminiscing about the old days.

“How is that better than sleeping on the couch?” he asks, confused.

Hanji shrugs and smiles timidly. “Or you can sleep in the bed.”

“What about—”

“With me.”

He inhales through his nose, patiently, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Hanji.”

“Why not?” she tries once more. “It’s not anything we haven’t done before.”

“We are not children anymore,” Levi says. For sure, Hanji is overly aware of that. 

“The bed is big enough for the two of us,” she states. “We’ll keep our distance.”

Levi pauses as if he is at least considering her offer. “It’s a terrible idea.”

“Terrible ideas are my thing.”

“This is the worst you’ve ever come up with.”

“Worse than letting you cut my hair?” She smirks.

His eyes narrow while he seemingly compares the two of them inside his head. “Yes,” he decides to say at last.

Hanji pouts, picking at a stray string on the blanket. “You’re no fun.”

“This has nothing to do with fun, Hanji,” Levi says surprisingly gravely. “Sleeping in the same bed with you means I’m going to suffer until the damn sun rises.”

Hanji blinks his eyes. Truthfully that had made her feel just a little bit awful. “Well, sorry. Didn’t know you despised the idea that mu—”

“You’re the densest person I’ve ever seen,” Levi sighs. 

“Ouch.”

“Idiot,” the familiar word spills from his mouth easily but there is no heaviness behind it. He says it much affectionately as a smile lifts one corner of his lips. Hanji never thought of everything else she would miss the way he called her like that the most. Then he sighs again like he is fighting against what his heart desires and what his brain rationalizes. “I should sleep in the living room.”

Hanji doesn’t say anything this time and just confines with watching him silently as he walks towards the door and murmurs something like ‘oblivious woman’ and ‘hasn’t grown up a day’ as he slaps upon the light switch and causes the room to go dark.

Then he turns around and approaches the bed.

Her body locks and with wide, bewildered eyes she watches him through the dark as he sits on the edge of the bed, opens the bedside lamp then lies down and pulls the blanket to his chest. And when he turns his head a little to do side, she is still quite astonished. He places an arm under his head. His stare is nonchalant.

“So?”

“What?” she croaks. 

He lifts his head up a little. “Didn’t you want to sleep with me?”

Everything happens in a second. Hanji doesn’t even bother to think or consider as she grabs the pillow on her side, holds it up and it lands on Levi’s face with a loud pat.

His ultimate shock lasts barely a few seconds. When he grips the pillow and pulls it away from his face his eyes are fiery, burning like coals. “The hell?”

“You wanted to play it dirty.” Hanji points to the pillow with her chin. “Dirty it is then.”

A heartbeat later she feels the soft surface of the pillow hitting the side of her face. It isn’t painful or hard, yet it is enough to freeze her with surprise. Her shocked glare finds Levi who is now sitting on the bed, his expression challenging, almost daring. 

Her fingers clutch to either side of the pillow which Levi still grips as if his life depends on it. And when she pulls it towards herself, he pulls it back. The back and forth goes on for a while until it leaves Hanji sweaty on the forehead. He had become absurdly strong. “Give me the pillow!” she protests at last, out of patience.

“No,” Levi says casually.

“It’s mine,” Hanji remarks. “Give it back.”

“Technically it’s mine,” Levi slaps. 

“You know I won’t let it go until you do.”

“Likewise.”

Stubborn bastard. Hanji inhales through her nose, gritting her teeth. Then she forces a smile, not sincere in the slightest. “Let’s chat a little then, shall we?”

He shrugs. “Fine by me.”

His stare is indifferent, posture calm and relaxed. He knows that Hanji cannot win over him with just muscle power. But she has another thing up in her sleeve.

“How’s your love life?”

The question causes the effect she had been expecting. He seems caught by surprise. “Huh?”

“Love life?” Hanji repeats and although she had asked the question as a distraction her heart beats faster as she waits for the answer which she actually is in great curiosity to hear. 

“Oh that,” he says nonchalantly. “Non-existent.”

“Really?” That answer had satisfied her she couldn’t lie but apparently, she had been expecting a different one. 

“Yeah,” he responds easily. “I haven’t dated anyone since Petra.”

“Oh,” Hanji says. Feeling disappointed for some reason. “I see.”

“You don’t see a thing Hanji. Even with those thick glasses of yours.”

Almost subconsciously, Hanji readjusts her glasses. “Now you’re just being rude.” 

Levi sighs deeply, rolling his eyes. “Why have I—” He stops and looks into her eyes. “You know I broke up with her because of you.”

Hanji blinks her eyes, and she is about to react but why? But then again it is not rocket science to guess the reason behind it. He had said it himself. I was in love with you.

But before Hanji is able to let out a single word Levi acts faster than her. “Please don’t ask me why. You should know since you’re a genius.”

“You know Levi, the way you say it makes me feel like I’m a blithering idiot.”

He clicks his tongue. “Wonder why?”

Irritation fills her insides and Hanji pulls the pillow towards herself harshly, hoping maybe he has softened his iron grip on the corners of the poor thing. Yet his answering pull is even more powerful than before, and it makes her body jerk forward. She balances herself by pressing upon the pillow with her palms and stares at Levi with wide eyes. “This isn’t a fair game.”

“It never has been,” he lets his eyes roam about her features and her heartbeats go so fast they echo in her ears. Her fingers clutch the pillow even more tightly. For the second time this night, his stare pauses on her lips. “I told you this was a terrible idea.”

“Why don’t you elaborate?” Hanji challenges, feeling bold for no logical reason. What is the point of walking into the waters she is fully aware of that are deadly and perilous? None. But walking away for a dash of oxygen had brought nothing but dry air into her lungs and thousands of fractures in her heart. So why not walk into it instead this time? 

When he looks back at her, his eyes are sharp and under the dim light of the bedside lamp, they are darker like the midnight ocean. Yet unlike the ocean, they are not placid or still. His stare is scorching, menacing. But enough running. She responds to his stare determinedly, steadfastly. 

“Why do you think it’s a bad idea, Levi?”

But Levi doesn’t give her a verbal answer. Instead, he grabs her upper arms, fingers steady and robust but not quite painful around her flesh, and within a second, before she is able to give any kind of reaction, she finds herself laying on the bed with Levi hovering above her and the pillow they had been fighting for squeezed between their bodies. 

For a handful of seconds, she lies there, dumbstruck while Levi pulls his fingers away and he rests his forearms on either side of her head. Her chest moves swiftly with her thick, unstable breaths making the pillow rise and fall with its movements. And his face is tense, solid like a rock. His lips are pulled in a thin line and his eyes are switching between all kinds of emotions. Hanji realizes that he is waiting for a reaction from her. Any kind of a reaction. Or else he seems like he is going to crumble away like dust. 

Because he is self-conscious, Hanji notices. It is as if he waits for her to push him back, yell at him, or run away. 

But it’s Levi. Her Levi. Her best friend. Her first love. He had never felt like a stranger. He never would.

So, she smiles, and delights in the way his eyes slightly widen, and the way tension finally retreats its invasion from all over his body. And as he closes his eyes a deep sigh leaves his mouth as if he has been holding it for some time then he leans in, resting his forehead against hers. Her eyes close on their own accord and she merely focuses on his fresh smell and cold breath that caresses her skin. She raises her hand to rest it on his neck, her thumb traces the line of his undercut.

“It’s because I want to hug you,” he whispers, finally answering her previous question and Hanji keeps her breath. “I want to hold you so close I feel like I might die if I don’t. Because I’m still trying to convince myself that this isn’t a dream, Hanji. That you’re here, with me.”

Once again, his candidness leaves her stunned and the heaviness behind his words, the emotions he hides underneath them all feel like a giant wall towering above her. It is the sincerity of a man who has already lost so much that he doesn’t care about pushing a little forward. They had wasted almost a decade running away from their feelings. It was enough.

“I am,” Hanji holds his face with both hands to make him look into her eyes. “But I won’t be for long, Levi. So, let’s just… let’s just spent as much time together as we can, okay?”

“Right,” his eyebrows wrinkle, displaying his discontent. “How long will you stay?”

Hanji had asked for a week off but since she had a team to lead Mr. Jeager had only allowed her to take four days off. “I would love to give you a week off believe me,” he had said back when they both had been waiting for the bus. “But we can’t afford to be away from you that long.” A wink and a playful smile had accompanied his words so she couldn’t have told whether he was being sincere or not, but orders were orders and she had to obey them. 

“Just a few more days,” she says, disappointedly.

Levi nods, curtly. It is clear he is not content with her answer yet doesn’t say anything else. 

He rolls over to his side, and as Hanji picks the pillow from her chest and puts it back to its place, strong arms circle her body, pulling her towards his chest. She complies easily, settling over the side of his body, she hugs his stomach, resting her cheek near his neck. Levi kisses her forehead, his warm lips lingering a second too long on her skin and then he pulls back, covering them both with the blanket. “Let’s make the best of it then.”  

*

It's raining.

It’s the first thing her sleep-clouded mind notices even before she opens her eyes. She fights to at least lift her eyelids up just a fraction and through her misty gaze –both because of sleep and the lack of her glasses—she manages to pick out the dark sky painted with bleak clouds. The sound of the raindrops tapping against the glass is a beautiful melody, almost like a lullaby that is there to draw her back into sleep.

The arms that are wound around her middle tighten slightly, and in his sleep, he murmurs something unintelligible and buries his nose deeper into her neck. His chest rises and falls in a stable rhythm on her back, his warmth surrounds her, and her heart beats calmly as if it has found its place after it has walked through ruins and wracks to at last find peace in where it belonged to.

A smile easily curls her lips, and she presses her back against his chest, stealing more of his warmth. Then with the company of the rattling rain and Levi’s steady breaths she closes her eyes again letting sleep once more take her away. 

*

It wasn’t a dream. That part, he is sure.

Levi watches her while she is deep in her sleep. The side of her face pressed upon the pillow, lips parted open, and hair disheveled all around. Without allowance, his fingers follow the lines of her cheekbone, her jaw, and her lips. A sigh escapes his lips when he thinks about all the things he had done and said yesterday. He had crossed a line, hadn’t he? Not one, he had crossed plenty. Yet when he searched for a bit of regret in his heart, he couldn’t find any. 

He thinks about his mother and all the times she had practically begged him to go see Hanji or at least talk to her through his phone. Levi had always understood yet never made it clear that his mother had blamed herself for the two of them falling apart. More often than not he would find her staring at him sorrowfully, with eyes full of remorse and despair for she had no power in her hands to fix things. No matter how many times she had asked him to go he never had. He had promised himself that he would keep Hanji out of that mess, at all costs. He had told his mother as much. Told her that it was his decision, and she had no reason to blame herself for what happened. Levi never knew if his mother believed in him but after a while, she stopped asking.

He blinks back the tears that thinking about her had caused. Levi wonders if there will come a day when his chest won’t feel like it’s being crushed under a truck, or his heart being thrown right in the middle of a burning fire even at just the mere thought of her.

Hanji sighs in her sleep and wrinkles her body moving her cheek up and down on the pillow. It is a habit of hers, Levi recalls which makes him smile. She hadn’t changed much. Apart from the maturity and responsibility that being an adult had brought about her. Hanji is still Hanji. The brightest and sometimes the most foolish person he had ever met. Stars in her eyes and a galaxy in her mind. She had a universe in her heart. Big enough to fit millions inside.

A few more days is all he has and this time he promises himself that he won’t make the same mistake again. This might not be a dream, but reality still glues his feet to the ground preventing him from flying too high. She will be leaving, and he has to accept it soon as he can, or else the result would be nothing but heartbreak. And neither of them can afford that. 

Trying his best not to make so much noise so that she doesn’t wake up he gets up from the bed. Although it isn’t raining currently the sky seems dark through the curtains. So, leaning over he pulls the blanket up to cover her shoulders in case she feels cold. Then, because he is weak, the weakest person on the goddamn earth, he reaches out with his hand and touches her cheek with the back of his fingers. Featherlight but enough to feel her heat. And when she turns her head just barely towards his touch and her lips shape a smile so beautiful his poor, broken mess of a heart squeezes painfully inside his ribcage.

He thinks he doesn’t deserve this much happiness however short-lived it will be. Yet he is selfish and greedy, and he will use it to its very last bit. 

Swallowing hard he retreats his hand and walks away from the bed to leave the bedroom. 

*

He is flipping over the pancakes when Hanji steps into the kitchen, yawning and her head a mess as the clothes Levi had given her last night. One leg of her pants dragged up almost to her knee while the shoulder of her t-shirt looks like it’s about to slip down. His lips curl upwards without his consent, and he looks away when he realizes his heart picked up a pace that is not good neither for his physical nor mental health.

“Mmm smells delicious,” she murmurs, coming to stand next to him. She picks one of the pancakes that are stiffed on top of each other on a plate in her hand and takes a huge bite. “Taste delicious too,” she says hoarsely, mouth full.

“Finish your mouth first, you barbarian,” Levi admonishes her. Using the spatula in his hand he carries the cooked pancakes to the plate and adds the last remnants of the dough to the pan.

“You’re as cheerful as ever,” Hanji deadpans and shoves the rest of the pancake in her mouth. Levi twists his lips, disgusted. “My little sunshine.”

“Shut it,” he dismisses her. But he has to admit, this little back and forth, the bickering between them feels nostalgic yet so natural that it soothes all his worries and wipes all the anxiety he has been feeling lately away. 

Hanji ignores him and stretches her arms above her head, groaning. “I haven’t slept this much for ages.” Then when she lowers her arms, they land on Levi’s shoulders, and instantly she is so close he can smell the faint scent of her skin. “It wasn’t a terrible idea, after all, was it?”

He glances at her sideways and struggles to keep his expression neutral when he sees her bright eyes and sweet smile. She waits for an answer and Levi doesn’t know if he can give her one. Sleeping with Hanji in her arms, her smell on the tip of his nose had been his dream for years. He had given an intense fight against this desire, to give up on it and forget her altogether. Needless to say, he has failed, miserably so. 

And to know that that dark and deep desire of his had finally become reality is the best thing that had ever happened to him in the last few years. However, it was a terrible idea because now that he knows what it feels like to have her snuggled against him, her body fitting his perfectly he wants more and more and more. And the truth is he can’t and so he doesn’t have the answer Hanji is still waiting for.

She frowns as if she has sensed whatever chaos going on inside his head yet just as she opens her mouth to possibly question him a noise distracts them. 

Hanji startles and looks around the kitchen to find the source of the noise. Not much later she finds it on top of the kitchen island, and it turns out it is her phone that has been ringing. 

“Who could it be?” she murmurs to herself as she hurries to pick it up. Meanwhile, a smell that resembles suspiciously to burnt pancakes reaches his nose and he stares down back at the pan with panic to see the worst-case scenario happening right in front of his eyes. “Damn it,” he whispers sharply and turns off the stove, carrying the pan somewhere else along with the deceased pancakes.

“Mr. Jeager?” Hanji speaks to the phone while he takes the plate full of pancakes to the kitchen island. Jeager? Isn’t it the owner of the Jeager Space Administration thus, Hanji’s boss? Why does he call her on her day off?

“Ah, Hanji,” comes the man’s dusty voice from the other end of the line. Levi doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, he doesn’t really, but he happens to as he silently picks a seat around the table which also happens to be next to where Hanji stands with a confused expression on her face. “Sorry to call you like this. I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

“Of course not,” Hanji reassures. Levi doesn’t know the man, yet his smug voice irritates him. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothing,” he says, and they exchange a look with Hanji. His narrowed stare is suspicious, while her eyes are round and full of questions. “I’ve heard that you visited my brother from Armin. Just wanted to ask you how he was doing.”

“Oh,” finally the confusion leaves her face, and she looks relaxed. Even a little smile shapes on her lips. “Right, yes. He was doing pretty okay, I guess. I didn’t see anything wrong.”

“Great,” comes the reply. “Heard he helped you find your friend?”

“Yes, he did.” Hanji smiles at Levi, her eyes twinkling. “I am more than grateful. I owe him a lot.”

“He owes you more so don’t mention it,” the man quickly closes the matter. “How is your vacation?”

“Pretty goo—”

“Oh, for god’s sake, leave the girl alone!” A female voice interrupts and Hanji seems kind of surprised, blinking her eyes. 

“Was that Pieck?” she asks.

“Yes, she wishes for me to leave you alone. But we were just chatting—”

“Hello, Hanji,” the female voice, Pieck, seemingly takes over the phone. “And goodbye. I’d love to talk to you longer but I’m guessing you’re busy.”

“Well…”

“I’ll talk to you later,” she cuts her sentence. “And sorry for that inconsiderate boss of yours.”

“It’s fine,” Hanji giggles. “I’ll see you in a few days, Pieck.”

Afterward, she hangs up the phone and smiles at him somewhat timidly. “Sorry.”

“Was that your boss?” Levi asks, trying not to reflect the irritation in his voice.

“Yes,” Hanji replies and takes a seat next to him. “And Pieck is my co-worker, but she and Zeke are old friends.”

“Zeke?”

“Yeah, his first name.” She picks up her phone, scrolling through her photos, and shows him a picture of a blond, bearded man with ridiculous glasses and a long, black-haired woman next to him.

“He looks like a monkey,” Levi points out, as it is the first thing that had come to his mind upon his first glance at the phone screen. Hanji seems startled upon his observation. She even turns the screen to herself to examine the picture.

Then inevitably her cheerful laughter feels the kitchen. “Oh my God, Levi!” she doubles over, holding her stomach with one arm. “Now there is no way I can look at him without thinking that he—he—”

“Looks like a hairy, dirty, and stinky beast?”

She laughs harder and has to wipe her eyes at some point. Levi feels somewhat proud of making her laugh like that. He had missed that sound so much he wants to hear more of it. But he also doesn’t understand the reason why he resented a man he doesn’t even know. 

But doesn’t he really? That man might look like a pathetic, idiotic animal but he had the privilege to see and talk and work with Hanji every day. So, in that kind of hierarchy, he is above Levi, no matter how much he despises the thought. 

“Why does he call you on your day off?” He questions after Hanji’s laughter subdues and she cleans her face with a tissue. 

She shrugs, “He said he wanted to ask me about his brother—they don’t get along well--. His name is Eren. He helped me find you.”

“I don’t like you being indebted to that man,” he says, gloomily. 

“He is not that kind of a man,” Hanji, for whatever reason, defends him. “But—why are you being so prejudiced against him? He is not that bad.”

“He sounded a little intimate for a boss,” he states. Then a thought comes to his mind and his whole-body freezes. “Are you two—”

“No,” Hanji cuts him off, thank fuck, before he finishes the sentence. “He is my boss. I rejected him way too many times now.”

“Oh, so he did ask you out?” Levi asks the question before he even had a chance to reconsider it. And the way he sounded as the words left his mouth…. Well, fuck.

Just as he had feared, Hanji puts her elbow on the kitchen island and rests her cheek on her palm, eyes shining mischievously signaling danger. “Why? You jealous?”

He huffs and turns his head away swiftly. He wouldn’t tell it out loud, but he is, damn it. Of course, he is jealous of every man that is lucky enough to have her all to himself. “No,” he says but it sounds more like, yes, and I would like to kill the bastard, please tell me where he lives.

“I went out with a boy during college, for about a year,” Hanji, surprisingly, changes the subject, making Levi look back at her curiously. She is staring at the surface of the kitchen island, eyes lost behind a mist of memories. “He was sweet and loyal, but he was a little bit naïve, you know what I mean? And I did like him, but I don’t think it was love. And we wanted different things too. Like he wished to get married and have children right after college, and I… I couldn’t do that, you know, Levi? I had so many dreams and I was so young. I think he just never understood where I came from. He thought I didn’t want him in my life, so he left me the day we graduated,” she laughs like she genuinely finds it funny. 

Even though it surprises him, he snorts, “Douchebag.”

“Yeah, he kind of was,” Hanji smiles, and shrugs.” It’s alright though, it was for the best. It would’ve never worked out. The sooner I moved on the better.”

“What about later?” Levi asks, unable to stop himself.

“Huh?”

“After college. Have you found what you have been looking for?”

Hanji stares at his eyes, his smile fading and eyes full of meaning he cannot figure out. “No, I haven’t,” she replies quietly. And she holds his gaze for a while like she wants to say more but doesn’t know how. Levi waits, expectation grabs his heart and shakes it fiercely. He doesn’t even know what he waits to hear, what he wishes to hear but doesn’t matter. Because Hanji doesn’t say anything in the end. Her eyes are carried somewhere else; she sighs.

Right, what has he been expecting anyway? Time is ticking, hours are limited, and they had no time to waste.

“Let’s eat,” he says, dispensing the dreary atmosphere. “I have somewhere to take you.”

*

The cemetery is unwontedly peaceful. The smell of after rain encircles them from all around. The wind is howling every now and then, making the bushes and the trees rustle. On the gravestone they are standing before is written the name of the woman who is so unfairly buried under. Kuchel Ackerman. 

Levi places a bucket of tulips, his mother’s favourites, in front of the stone. Then he kneels, his fingers touching the cold marble as if he is caressing his mother’s hair, so gently and tenderly that it becomes impossible to stop the tears from blurring her vision. 

“I haven’t been here since the funeral,” he says, to her, to his mother, or to himself she doesn’t know. “Isn’t it a little cold in here, mom?”

Two drops of tear land on the ground and she presses trembling lips hard on each other so that she doesn’t start sobbing and steal the moment he should—need—to have to himself. 

“I’m sorry,” his sounds hoarse, like he is on the verge of tears which makes her throat go tight, and dig her nails into her palms. She doesn’t know what he is apologizing for but the word spills out from his mouth like it is meant for more than a single thing. “I’ve never listened to you when you wanted me to go see her,” he chuckles, tearily and his voice gets quiet when he continues, “So, I brought her to you.”

Hanji looks up, surprised, to see Levi smiling at her from where he kneels. His eyes are shining with unshed tears. And Hanji cannot hold back anymore. She takes a step forward, reaching out to him.

He reacts instantly, standing up he lets her circle her arms around him and to pull him tight against her. He presses his lips on her shoulder, whereas Hanji hides her tears on his neck, his coat crumpling inside her fists. 

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Hanji thinks about all the times Levi had held her like this when she was broken and sad when she didn’t understand how to cope with things that were on her way and didn’t know how to breathe when she felt like she was a puzzle piece that belonged to nowhere. A surplus, a lost part no one felt the need to search for. No one but him. 

And yet he had kept her together all the same. Never let her feel like she was a nuisance even though she was always so loud and so unnecessarily excited about everything. Despite her being his exact opposite, he had always been there, holding her, her hand, her soul, and her heart.

“Always,” she says, sniffling and leaning her cheek on his hair. “To the last syllable of recorded time, remember?” 

His laugh which is more akin to a sob is muffled. But his shoulders shake, and she feels him nod. 

And she smiles. It’s a promise.

*

Next, they go to Kenny.

Levi is tense when they both are waiting for the door to be open. Hanji bites her lip; she doesn’t know what to expect from this unison of an uncle and his nephew who had both lost someone precious to the both of them. Knowing the two men’s nature, she doesn’t dare to hope for even a slightly sentimental one though.

When the door opens, frantically, just after seconds Levi pressed the bell, Kenny stares at his nephew, eyes stern and unbending and Levi responds to his stare head-on. Lips pressed, and face muscles tense. Hanji feels like she is watching a ticking bomb and there is very little time for it to eventually explode. And as Kenny lifts one of his arms and extends it towards Levi she holds her breath, ready to push Levi out of the way in case Kenny aims a punch at his face.

But he doesn’t. Instead, the hand he is extending forward grabs Levi by the collar and in one swift motion pulls him to his himself. Arms tight around his shoulders, Kenny presses his nephew to his chest. 

“Brat,” Kenny hisses but he looks like he has lifted a tone of weight off his shoulders. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Levi stands still for a handful of seconds, possibly shocked by his uncle’s unexpected gesture. In the end, slowly, very slowly he lifts his hands and hugs him back. And even though Hanji can see it’s a bit reluctant she knows that deep down he appreciates it.

When she smiles, Kenny catches her eyes and mouths, “Thank you.” Grinning widely, Hanji gives him a thumbs up. 

Not long after, though it’s equal to an eternity given his cold nature, Levi pulls back, grunting. “Take your dirty hands off me, you stink.”

“I smell better than that cheap cologne you seem to be obsessed with,” Kenny snaps.

Levi stills, his mouth opening wide. “It’s not cheap,” he retorts. “And you had said you liked it!”

“Yeah yeah. Sorry to break your little heart. Come on in. We don’t want our Hanji to be frozen over there, do we?”

Levi stares at her as if he has forgotten that she has been there. And his face turns slightly red. “Does it smell that bad?” He asks, hopeful, and perturbed at the same time.

Hanji barely contains her laughter inside. He looks so worried. “Not at all.”

“Tell me the truth,” he insists as they both step inside the house. Kenny closes the door behind them, and they share a brief glance. Kenny winks, amused at the way he had annoyed his nephew.

“I swear it’s not that bad.”

Now he seems even more troubled. “So, it’s not good?”

“Levi, come on. You always smell clean,” Hanji reassures him and pats him on the shoulder. “You’re good.”

At that, he narrows his eyes like he doesn’t believe a word that leaves her mouth and clicks his tongue, annoyed. Then he takes off his coat and pushes it on his uncle’s hands. “For the record,” he says, glaring him dead in the eyes. “I still hate you.”

Kenny doesn’t even blink. “You and me both.”

Afterwards Levi turns around and Kenny and Hanji watch him walk down the hall, murmuring something under his breath they both cannot hear. Then they look at each other briefly before Hanji breaks down into a fit of laughter.

“He’ll never change, that brat,” Kenny says, chuckling. 

“He better not,” Hanji adds. “We like him the way he is.”

*

During dinner, Kenny fills four glasses with wine, placing one of them in front of the empty seat on his left. 

“Cheers, sis,” he says shortly before raising his glass towards the empty seat and swallows the liquid in one go.

Levi stares ahead, right where his mother should be but is hollow instead. Even after they start eating and having casual conversations about mundane things, his eyes remain focused on that one seat and the wine glass that hasn’t lowered a sip.

Her heart aches, knowing that there is no way she can take away his pain. He has to adapt, one way or the other. It might take time and it will, but Hanji knows that he is strong enough to bare it. Both mentally and physically. Nevertheless, they are human, and an earthquake might shake even the sturdiest of buildings. So, she will be there whenever he needs a helping hand. 

Under the table she nudges his knee, making him look at her curiously. Hanji doesn’t say anything, but she smiles and somehow it is enough to ease his shoulders and lift the corners of his lips upwards.

He nudges her knee back as an answer and finally takes a bite from his food that he hasn’t touched yet and keeps his leg pressed against hers.

They stay like that for the rest of the dinner.

*

Hanji hugs Kenny briefly before they leave his house. He pats her back softly and tells her to come back soon. Hanji promises that she will, and Levi cannot help but let the flower of hope blossom in his heart like a lotus. 

As Hanji waves and walks to his car, Kenny grabs his arm and Levi searches his eyes, wondering what he has to say. “Take good care of her,” he advises, grievously. “She needs you as much as you need her, brat. Mark my words. Don’t just let her go.” 

If it were any other time he would scowl and ignore his uncle, saying he had no right to meddle in his life. But this time it is different. He can see that Kenny is serious and waits for an equally honest answer. “I won’t,” he says, determined. 

Only after seeing the resolution in his eyes does Kenny let go of his arm. “You take care of yourself too,” he crosses his arms. “And don’t disappear on me like that again or I’ll break your legs.”

Levi rolls his eyes and waves him off briefly before turning around to join Hanji. 

 *

The next two days Levi takes her on a quick and admittedly insufficient tour around Rose. It’s a big city so naturally, it is nearly impossible to fit each and every place to visit into just two days. For every place they had skipped to not lose any unnecessary time, Hanji told him that next time they would go. And that word, the hidden promise behind it seemed to lighten up his features. 

Towards the evening of her last night in Rose, they go to the rooftop Hanji had found Levi in. Hanji had initiated the idea thinking that it would be nice to reminisce about their younger years. Thankfully Levi had agreed upon realizing her keenness.

“Aah, good old days,” she croons sitting on the ground cross-legged. Levi sits next to her, pressing their shoulders. Hanji leans on him, to share his warmth. He hands her over the snacks they had bought before coming here and a packet of chocolate milk.

She grins widely and starts drinking it with appetite. The taste leaves a nostalgic feeling on her tongue, and with the stars and moon above and her best friend right beside it almost feels like they are teenagers again.

“I miss our rooftop,” she sighs. “It’s been years.”

“Yeah,” Levi agrees, drinking from his soda. He swallows and seems hesitant before he starts, “We should…” He searches her eyes, looking for something, maybe encouragement and willingness, and then goes on. “We can go sometime. If you’d like to.”

She beams at him and nudges his shoulder. As if she wouldn’t. “Of course, I’d love to.”

Afterwards they simply talk. About work, about their university years, they remember their past days, the old friendships, people who are now just a memory, or places that are pushed back into their minds but still carry their value in their hearts. Hanji mentions Erwin, who has married two months ago, and Levi scoffs because he hadn’t invited him to his wedding and Hanji laughs as if he has ever been so eager to see him. 

Stars are bright, and vivid, and the moon is thin and welcoming. It almost feels like home with Levi beside her. His face is tranquil, the softest of smiles on his lips, his eyes argent with a touch of blue. His body is strong and real not a memory, not a dream. Hanji thinks he is beautiful. Then wonders how she had been so stupid enough to understand that what made her heart flutter when she looked at him was not the handsome shape of his features which everybody with eyes could see. But because he was her home, her safe place. That is why right now even on top of a derelict building she is not familiar with, her heart is content because he is here with her.

Levi points out the sky with his index finger to show her a shooting star. She watches it with a smile on her face and resting her head on his shoulder she makes a wish. 

Please stay with me even when the sky is empty of stars.

*

“Gosh, for real,” Hanji pulls her hair, frustrated. “Why the hell do I keep losing things?”

“What is it now?” Levi asks, raising his brows.

Putting her hands on either side of her waist, Hanji huffs, standing in the middle of the living room and eyes searching madly around. “I can’t find my charger.”

Since they returned home about an hour ago, she has been in a hurry to collect her things because her plane is at ten in the morning. Levi wants to help but doesn’t really feel like it. Would a lost charger make her stay longer? Probably not. But it is worth a shot.

“Maybe it’s in the bedroom?” Levi asks, reluctant.

Hanji sighs. “Already checked,” she clicks her tongue. “But I’ll check again.”

Levi follows her fast steps into the bedroom, his heart weight heavy in his chest. He has been thinking of ways to accidentally make her stay for a few more days. Like maybe ripping away her plane ticket, or hiding her suitcase, or maybe throwing her phone out of the window—

“I swear I’m gonna lose it,” she bemoans checking the drawers of the bedside table. “Where the hell have I put it?”

Levi decides, against his better judgment, that it is best to at least look like he is helping her. A pissed-off Hanji is a scary thing he doesn’t want to face right now. So, he crouches to look under the bed and wrinkles his nose at the side of the dust that has been collecting for a few days, or almost a week. He couldn’t have found time enough to do a proper cleanup. 

He doesn’t find her charger, but he finds a pair of her ridiculous socks she had worn only once and forgotten about later. And when he gets up and continues his fake search, he sees a black hair tie next to her earrings on one of the shelves. And the book she had brought with her is on his bedside table, half-read, unfinished. She had read it to him at night to help him fall asleep. It had been so easy for sleep to invade his mind when her voice filled his ears, and her fingers caressed his hair. Within merely a number of days how he had gotten so used to her presence when during the years she hadn’t been in his life, his heart and soul had failed to accept that absence? How he had been so foolish enough to let himself get carried away? Even though he knew from the start that it was to happen within just days. How had he forgotten that the time was always so merciless when it was filled with joy and happiness?

“I can’t find my earrings too, aah,” she grunts, laying her head backward. “I hate it when this happens. Zeke’s gonna kill me if I miss that plane.”

He cannot ask her to stay. He wants to, God knows he dies to do so, but he cannot bring himself to be that selfish towards her. But when will he see her again? She had promised to come back but how her work is going to allow her to do that? As for him, he had already taken a week off and because of his mother, he had used most of his annual leave already. When will they find time enough to see each other? What is he going to do now that he knows what her warm breath felt like on his skin, how his face fitted on the curl of her neck, and what she looked like in the mornings? Peaceful, soft, and beautiful. 

He is a fool, isn’t he? He is the goddamn fool of the century. An idiot who cannot let go when he needs to. A desperate, useless man who has a bottle filled with poisonous water in his hand and despite knowing that it will kill him, or worse it will make him suffer and so he has to, he needs to turn the bottle over end pour the water out he does the opposite.

Because he is so thirsty, he is going to die anyway. He just chooses the more painful death.

“Hanji,” he says, heart beating so loud he fears he won’t be able to hear her when she answers. She stares at him, her face flushed, eyes fiery and hair disheveled all because she couldn’t find a goddamn charger. 

His lips tremble. And he needs to stop, he knows, he is so fucking aware but—

Don’t just let her go.

“I’m going to do something very stupid,” he declares.

He has been expecting her to look confused, or curious yet she snorts, her eyes leaving him to continue her idle search around the room. “Don’t you dare steal my role, clean freak. It’s my job to do stupid things.”

He inhales through his nose, “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever known, Hanji.”

Now she is dumbfounded, eyes wide behind her glasses and she looks so ridiculous and so painfully pretty. He knows the moment he had laid his eyes on her that first night it had been over for him.

It’s ironic, compared to the long, seemingly everlasting thoughts and possibilities, and things that he is most possibly going to fuck up in his mind, it takes merely two steps, and hundreds of heartbeats to close the distance between them, hold her face with his hands and press his lips to hers.                                     

It merely lasts for a handful of seconds, yet it is enough to set his skin on fire. His heartbeat is still so loud he barely even hears his own thoughts which are a growing list of basically him trying to comprehend what he is doing at the moment.

I am kissing Hanji. I am kissing my best friend. 

Then as if he has been struck by a jolt of lightning he jumps back, because he realizes that Hanji hasn’t been responding. They both stare at each other with shocked eyes and red faces. Even worse, she stands rigid, her hands curled up as fists and shoulders tense. And right then a fear so profound creeps its seed into his heart and it grows so quickly that he feels it even on the tips of his fingers. 

He closes his eyes then, tightly. And opens his lips to apologize, and if necessary, beg for forgiveness. 

But just then he feels the smooth, almost timid touch of lips on his own, and then her hands cradle his face. He doesn’t dare to open his eyes afraid that if he does the moment will be over like a mirage in a desert. He lets her apply more pressure, her lips are hot, and her hands are trembling. And Levi can relate, really, for his whole body, his very own soul is shivering like a thin paper. Maybe, he ponders, he might have thought or even dreamt about kissing Hanji before but none of that could be compared to this now. To say that it feels like an otherworldly experience would be an understatement. He feels like he has been for his whole life for this very moment. 

And damn him, and his inability to think rationally and his lack of self-control. Damn him for choosing Macbeth and letting those goddamn lines stick with him for more than a decade. Damn his deep and dark desires to resurface now of all times, exactly when they shouldn’t.

Hanji starts to pull back slowly and almost immediately his mind rings alarm bells. How can he let her go now that he had tasted that poison and knows that it is sweet like honey and addicting like a drug?

Snaking an arm around her waist he presses her body against his and tilts his head so that he takes control, deepening the kiss. Their chests move almost in sync, up and down so fast there is no pause in between their thick breaths. When he pushes his tongue between her lips and tastes the chocolate milk on her tongue an unwilling sound escapes him, and he feels the shudder that travels throughout her body. 

The timidness and shyness pack up and leaves after a few brushes of his tongue. Hanji scraps her nails on his scalp, both arms around his neck. There is hunger in her touch, in the way she leans her body on his and in the way her tongue meets his, and in the little gasps and whines he manages to pull out from her lips. Levi responds with an equal or maybe more but not less hunger of his own. His hands trying to keep her impossibly closer, he runs his palms up and down her back, all the while fighting against the urge to travel them further down or place one of them under her—his—t-shirt to feel the hotness of her skin on his fingertips.

Can he? Would she let him go that far? Should they go that far? He doesn’t know, he cannot think straight when her mouth leaves his to press kisses along the line of his jaw and his neck. He throws his head back, eyes misty and head dizzy. “Hanji,” he gasps, and he means it as a warning, but it sounds much more like a plea. “Maybe—m-maybe we should—”

She rocks her body against his before letting him finish his sentence, pressing upon his currently overly sensitive areas and his whole world turns around him like a carousel. Groaning he lets his head fall on her shoulder. “Fuck.”

“I think we should,” she says, and he hears the amusement in her voice, and he feels so damn annoyed because how can she enjoy his torment like that? “Go on, I mean.”

His nails dig into her sides. “You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear.”

“But it would be so romantic, don’t you think?” Even though he cannot see her he can imagine her smirk as she goes on with her next words, “You know like ‘Those violent night has violent ends,’”

He groans, out of pure annoyance this time. “Hanji—”

“And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,” she recites, hardly suppressing her laughter.

“Hanji, I swear if you finish that sentence—”

“Which, as they kiss, consume,” she finishes ignoring him and his inefficient threats. She laughs heartily then, her body shakes between his arms.

He holds his head up and stares at her bright smile and just because he can, he kisses her hard on the lips. “Fucking Shakespeare,” he murmurs. 

“Careful, you’re talking about a legend.”

“That legend won’t take you to bed right now,” he places his hands on her hips and lifts her up and she wraps her legs around his waist just in time. Their faces are centimeters apart when he whispers against her lips, “I will.”

*

Levi is gentle. Not that it is a fact she had learned about him just now, yet this is a different side of his kindness. His touch is smooth, yet possessive. He is extra cautious when he helps her take off her clothes one by one. Then his eyes take in the shape of her body so intently it makes her muscles twitch. His lips are hot as they touch each part of her skin that is free from its layers. She bites her lips when he presses his lips on her inner thigh, one and the other. She gasps for air when his mouth lands on the centre of her desire, making her arch her body. The sheets are a crumpled mess inside her fists and on the ceiling, she sees galaxies rather than plain darkness. His name on her lips repeated like a prayer. Levi, Levi, Levi.

Afterwards she lies there out of breath and with misty eyes, she watches him throw off his clothes. Her eyes drink in his fine shape. She sits up with a growing need to touch him. He shudders and closes his eyes when Hanji moves her knuckles on his bare abdomen, tracing the lines of his muscles as if he is savouring her touch. She presses her palms on his chest and feels the radiations of how quickly his heart is beating. She leaves open-mouthed kisses along his torso, and he whispers her name over and over as her touch travels down and he has to grip the covers to not lose his balance. 

But he stops her with a gentle hand that grabs her hair. Then he brings her face closer to kiss her on the lips. She moves to straddle his hips, sliding her palms along his back, feeling his smooth skin without parting their mouths. He grabs her hips, his touch is firm, his thumbs caressing her skin. When they part, gasping, Hanji rests her forehead against his. “I wanna do this right,” Levi whispers.

He sounds concerned and she wants to take away all of his worries, and his hurt to the last drop of pain that paints his soul red, and his heart blue. So, Hanji kisses his nose, his brow, cheeks, and forehead. “It’s just me Levi,” she tells him, kissing the side of his lips. “It’s just you,” she kisses his chin. Holding his face between her palms, she leaves a soft kiss on his lips. “It’s just us.”

Because this moment already feels right, there is nothing else he should do. Sighing as if he has relaxed, Levi nods and places fevering kisses on her neck as he lies her down on the bed so tenderly that it almost brings tears to her eyes. Leaving a gentle kiss on her forehead, he places himself between her legs. His stare never leaves hers, now almost dark with lust but she sees her childhood in his eyes, in every corner of his face. Her thumbs move along the raise of his cheekbones, his eyelashes flutter and he kisses her palm. 

And then the tenderness slowly retreats. Levi laces their fingers above her head with a tight grip and captures her lips with a passionate kiss, groaning into her mouth just as he enters her, swallowing her desperate moans. He moves inside her with careful strokes at first which later turn into hard and swift thrusts that make her go blind with desire. And even after the loud noises and ragged breaths, turn to soft and satisfied sighs he doesn’t let go of her hands.

And neither does she. 

*

“We’re planning on launching a rocket to space,” Hanji tells Levi, as she plays with his hair, raven strands slip through her fingers like silk. She had always wondered if they were as soft as they looked. They are, she muses, smiling to herself. "It'll take a few years though."

Levi hums in response, shuffling to make himself more comfortable on her chest. The morning light creeps through the curtains, creating glittering patterns on the floor while they lie there, a tangled mess under the sheets. All but loose muscles and lazy strokes on each other’s skin. “Look how far you’ve come,” he says, attempting to sound serious but fails to do so for a mocking smile curls his lips.

Hanji pinches his shoulder, and he grunts, squeezing her thigh. “Four-eyes…”

“What?” 

Pulling his head slightly back he looks at her, eyes cautious, searching. His lips part open, and she can see that he is thinking, debating on whether to say whatever he wants to say or not. Her heart beats speed up as expectation builds up in her stomach. Because deep down she knows she wants him to say the word. Even if she cannot do it. And she wants to tell him to come with her. Even though she knows he can’t. 

In the end, what leaves his lips is a mere sigh and nothing else. And she smiles, raising a hand to brush his cheek. He closes his eyes then when she leans closer to give him a slow kiss on the lips he welcomes it, his arm tightening its hold around her waist.

“Let’s keep in touch,” he breathes against her mouth when pull apart. 

Hanji raises her brows to see if he is being serious and, in his eyes, she sees that he is. Very much so. She beams at him, “Deal.”

“I can visit you in Sina when I have time.”

Her breath hitches in her throat. “Really?”

“Yeah, and I’ll text you too,” he goes on. “You’ll probably forget.”

“I won’t!”

“You will, weirdo. You’re launching a rocket into space. You’ll forget that I even exist.”

Hanji gasps, offended. “How could you say that?”

“Because I know you so well,” he smiles, carelessly. As if they had all the time in the world. 

“That you do,” she giggles. “Oh, and I don't have enough money to you know, open a coffee in the name of you but—”

A hand clasps her mouth, muffling the rest of her sentence. “Don’t say another word.”

Hanji wraps her fingers around his wrists, and he miraculously lets her pull his hand down. “Why not? I was so touched.”

He pinches her side and she yelps. “Is this a joke to you, idiot?”

“Not at all, grumpy,” she kisses the space between his brows, smoothening the frown with her thumb. “But you don’t need to worry,” she gives him a reassuring smile. “I’ll text you all the time. I’ll text you so much you’ll block me and then I’ll find other ways to bother you.”

“Like jumping on a plane and flying to Rose?”

She laughs, “That too.”

“Then I’ll block you right away,” Levi says, determined.

“But you’re ruining all the fun!” she whines. “At least wait until you see my mind-blowing memes.”

“Mind-blowing?” he raises a brow. “More like mind-numbing?”

“I can’t believe I’ve been friends with you for all these years,” Hanji shakes her head, disappointed. “You have no compassion for my poor nerves.”

Despite all his great affords, he laughs. Heartfelt. “Dumbass.”

She presses her lips on his forehead, breathing in his fresh smell. And it feels like she is breathing in the scent of her youth. In her mind, she sees the cheerful girl and the sulky boy, hand in hand in cold winter streets, under the moon, and on the road between the autumn trees. “Yours truly, clean freak.”

 *

A few months later

He is not texting back.

No doubt, even though she hasn’t averted her eyes from the phone there is no notification coming from a certain, grumpy, clean freak that brightens her screen. She has to leave it at some point when her break is inevitably over yet until then she waits and waits. In vain.

“Hah,” she mutters, taking the phone in her hand, and sliding it open to search for any possible texts she might have missed for good measure. “And he was saying I would forget.”

Not that she is so bitter. Not entirely. He must have good reasons to not reply to her since… well since yesterday. And frankly, she doesn’t know whether to be worried or to be annoyed at being ignored for that long.

“Hanji, a little help over here!”

Seems like her break is already over. Sighing she puts her phone in the pocket of her trousers and goes back to work.

*

The next day, still no news from him except for an “I’m alive, geez,” message upon her constant texts and calls that obviously managed to bother him to that extent. She tries not to dwell too much on it. It’s Levi, after all. He can’t run away from her forever.

*

“I swear I’ll dig your grave, Ackerman,” Hanji furiously taps on her screen, so much so that literal flames are about to rise from the force of it. Because it’s almost a week and he still hasn’t contacted her, either via text or phone call. And she is growing a little concerned and admittedly overly angry. 

So, unable to control that anger she taps another text, “I’ll cut your—”

“Hanji,” a voice that belongs to her beloved boss stops her halfway from sending him a very threatening text. Hanji looks up from her phone, alarmed, to be caught in the act during work. 

“Yes?”

Fortunately, Zeke doesn’t seem very much suspicious or mad. Though it’s hard to see the man with such sentiments. He is generally quite laid back. “A minute please?”

“Ah, sure,” Hanji hurriedly stands up from her chair to follow her boss through the halls that lead to his room. 

“Everything alright?” he asks, eying her. “You seem… frustrated.”

Of course, he had noticed. “It’s nothing. I’m just a little stressed lately.”

He hums, and the corners of his eyes wrinkle with humour. “You won’t ask for another day off, will you?”

Startled at first, Hanji chuckles soon after, shaking her head. “No, no need for that.”

“Good,” he says as he opens the door to his room. “Because we have a new employer and I expect you to be on good terms with him that is if you aren’t already,” he winks and invites her inside. “Meet your new team member.”

The moment her eyes follow the direction of where he is pointing with his hand, her whole body jerks with shock, and an uncontrollable gasp escapes her mouth before she can avoid it. So much for being a professional in front of her boss. 

But how can she not when who stands in front of her clad in his black suit is the one only Levi Ackerman? 

Her Levi.

“What?” She blinks, to make sure he is not a daydream while Levi simply smiles calmly at her yet in his eyes there is victory. The victory of having caught her off guard. I won this time. 

“Levi Ackerman, our new aerospace engineer,” Zeke explains, not affected by her apparent bewilderment. “And this is Hanji Zoe, our space scientist. You’ll be working together from now on.”

That single sentence which to him means nothing while to the two other people in the room it means that a mutual childhood dream finally becomes reality swarms her heart and fills it to the brim. If only there was a way to reach out to that little girl now, to wipe away all of her tears and wrap her arms around her thin body and say that it’s okay, you’ll find him.

And he will find you.

Levi walks closer to her, a hand outstretched, that smile still in place. The same one that melts her heart and brushes her soul. My love, she thinks, my only true friend.

“I’m looking forward to working with you,” his eyes twinkle like he hides the whole sky in them. And she is sure, she will never get tired of watching its colours. “Four-eyes.”

A smile so big parts her lips and ultimately, she feels at ease. She lifts up one hand to shake his, looking into his eyes. “Likewise, clean freak.”

[aubreysheadspace]

Normal Hero x reader (romantic) except the backstory is just:

*Befriends Mari, dates her then she dies*

Hero: Damn, homicide.

*Tries to move on by dating Reader, things are going well but then they also die*

Hero: Damn, double homicide.

---

Have fun! You can add anything you want in this :)

HERO WITH A READER THAT ALSO DIES

MY GOD MALLORY i always love your requests they’re either so sad or silly >:) hope you enjoy! <3

after his first love MARI died, HERO wasn’t sure if he’d ever move on to the point where he’d find someone else that he’ll love

he always thought MARI would be his first and last love, no thoughts that she’d die before him

so as the two of you started to date, HERO was a bit hesitant. surely you wouldn’t leave him like MARI did… right?

HERO would probably be a bit more affectionate towards you, either by physical affection or acts of service. no matter what, he always has your attention

as soon as he is sure he’s finally moved on from MARI, the worst case scenario happens. you’re gone.

either from a disease, an injury, or even yourself, it’ll still break HERO once again. he’ll go back to the sad pathetic person he was when MARI died

things were going good.. why did this have to happen to him again? why won’t his life give him the lover he desperately needs?

although with the help of his friend group, especially his younger brother KEL, HERO can bounce back way more earlier than he did last time

of course, the images of your body and words linger around his mind, sometimes MARI’s words too. he tries to block it out and move on, but he can’t. he’ll breakdown once he’s alone, knowing that two of his beloveds are gone for good. should he even try again?

HERO definitely visits both you and MARI’s graves anytime he can, especially if it’s your anniversary or birthday. he’ll always leave a flower that either represents you or you just simply like

arriving just now to the graveyard was HERO yet again, walking closer to your grave with a flower in hand, your favorite flower. in front of your grave, he sits down criss-crossed and starts to speak to you.

"hey [READER], it’s me HERO again… it’s been a while since.." HERO doesn’t finish his sentence, or rather, he doesn’t want to. he clears his throat and continues. "anyway, i just wanna say.. i’m sorry. i should’ve visited your grave when i had the chance, but i got.. way too depressed to even get out of bed."

HERO stifles out a tiny chuckle from a thought in his mind… it wouldn’t weird to pretend he was genuinely having a conversation with you now, right? "i know, i know, you’d definitely scold me about it if you were here! but it’s not that easy everyday, you know?"

after chatting with your grave, eventually HERO had to leave. he placed the flower top of your grave and gave you his charming smile, oh how you deeply missed it. "i’ll be heading off now alright? my mom would scold me if i stay out longer without her knowing, haha! i already visited MARI’s grave."

"…goodbye, [READER]. i’ll love you forever, don’t ever forget that." HERO said with a more depressed tone in his voice and expression on his face. he turns around to leave, but he stops to look back.. then he leaves. he’ll visit you again some day, so why is he crying so hard again..?

"…i’ll love you forever as well, HERO. happy anniversary.."

[koviah]

A Journey to Belonging

Ryuu Introspection one shot

[Read on AO3]

The people in the hall all offer boisterous greetings to each other; their voices flow comfortably together as if it was something practiced, as if they were all given the same script beforehand.

No matter how many books Ryuu reads on the subject, he could never catch up to the same page as everyone else.

When it comes time to pass him they offer a smile and curt nod.

It’s a familiar ache.

He used to try to include himself, but the practiced phrases never sound as good out loud as they did in his head.

Something about what he says is wrong- the conversation halts. They could sense he didn’t belong.

The silence is so loud.

The flowers refuse to teach him how to open up. He specializes in poisons, instead.

He stops trying.

*

Shirayuki joins the team. As the weeks go on he waits for her to see him for who he truly was and drift off like all the others.

Why doesn’t she?

She shows him her work, and asks his opinions. Continues to listen intently, taking notes when needed and smiling at his conclusions- even thanking him for his time.

His throat feels tight, and his eyes begin to burn.

‘When was the last time I had some water?’ He shouldn’t overdo it. Dehydration would only hinder his research.

Shirayuki turns to him as he stands. Her mouth doesn’t move but her questioning eyes are kind and he wants to answer. “W-water!”

If she hears him stutter, she doesn’t show it.

She simply smiles and goes back to her paper.

It makes him want to try again.

*

Obi makes a joke that gets a reaction out of the other people in the room and it hurts to be left out again.

The words weren’t meant for him.

He pretends to not hear it.

Someone as charismatic as Obi wouldn’t want to wait to hear what he had to say, anyways. He wasn’t witty enough for a conversation with this many people.

Ryuu is startled as a tall lanky form leans against his desk. Gold eyes focused on his face.

“I- Uhm…”

His words were always too loud, his laughter too sudden, he was always trying too hard yet somehow never hard enough.

His mind goes blank.

He feels ashamed that he wasn’t prepared.

Obi lifts a hand to ruffle his hair with a smile, effectively breaking through his intrusive thoughts, offering a silent communication. just for him.

Ryuu closes his mouth and watches in awe as Obi gets comfortable next to him as if it were easy.

Throughout the conversation the taller man pats his shoulder twice, and occasionally moves around some of the items on his desk with a sly grin. It feels as if Obi wanted to make sure his presence was felt.

Ryuu grumbles and glares as he corrects everything, but the corners of his lips threaten to betray him with a smile. It feels nice to have him there.

*

It becomes part of his daily ritual to be crossing the courtyard and have Obi fall from the sky to walk with him.

He doesn’t think he will ever be used to it, but he smiles upon seeing the older man approach him now.

*

When Shirayuki heads to the cafeteria first she always grabs an extra plate for him at dinner. It makes him warm to think that he would be missed if he continued working as he once used to.

They wait for Obi to finish his patrolling shift together.

*

He doesn’t remember when he starts to look forward to these moments with excitement instead of hesitation.

He wishes he could go back in time.

He would give himself a message to hold on to.

It gets easier.

He notices that he no longer has to plan out what to say, and how to say them. Sometimes he stutters, and other times he just shrugs, but his words don’t feel wrong anymore.

The pervasive ache finally subsides.

*

<center>Someday, someone will love you

and you will forget

why no one else ever could.</center>