#in which pieck looks very respectfully

[corner-stories]

the shirtless wonder in the parking lot

Pieck Finger. Porco Galliard. Pomeranians. Fire Alarms. Swoon-Worthy Shoulders. Modern AU. 2895 words. (ao3.)

At this point of her adult life, Pieck Finger was very used to unexpected things — whether it be her research proposal being turned down for a third time, getting saddled with undergrad babysitting duty at the last minute, or the fire alarm in her building going off at 3AM. 

The sound of which was absolutely piercing, nearly making her heart skip a beat as she jolted up from her bed. It only took a few seconds for the blaring noise to be joined by the sounds of every dog in the complex barking their heads off. And here she thought that living in a pet-friendly building was a good idea. 

With a grumble, Pieck rubbed her tired eyes and moved off her mattress. So much for trying to sleep at a normal time like a responsible adult.

Stumbling through her studio in the dark felt like a blur. While she didn’t trip over her feet, she did bump her knees into more furniture than she would have liked. The sound of the alarm had yet to cease and was beginning to make her ears feel numb. Somehow she managed to find her keys, pull on her wellington boots, and grab her overcoat before leaving her apartment. 

As Pieck walked through the hallways with her neighbours, she noted that everyone moved with a zombie-like gait. It wasn’t the first time the residents of the building had to evacuate due to the fire alarm, but it was certainly the first time it happened at such an ungodly hour. 

At least they could all bond over the utter misery of the situation.

The alarm finally stopped once Pieck left the building, but stepping outside wasn’t remotely a change for the better. Though Toronto at this time of year wasn’t unfathomably cold, she could still see her breath as she stepped into the parking lot. She made sure to do-up the buttons of her overcoat as ends of the garments dangled by her bare legs. 

Pieck yawned once more, trying her best to not fall asleep while standing — she couldn’t go through that for a third time. So she stood in a gathering of the building’s residents, most of them complaining to each other about the alarm and trying to surmise who had rung it. She wasn’t exactly listening — in fact, a part of her didn’t even care. In layman’s terms, she was way too tired to give a fuck.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed before a fire engine arrived at the building. As the uniformed men rushed in, Pieck sighed and began to wander, slowly finding her way out of the crowd of neighbours and deeper into the lot. 

Not that there was anything to see, not even an edgy teen smoking a cigarette just to feel something. 

But Pieck didn’t get far before she saw a sight that caught her off-guard. 

Under a streetlight was a dog and its owner connected by a leash. The dog in question was a pomeranian, a tiny ball of fluff that looked to be about eight pounds soaking wet. 

And the owner was currently standing in the midst of the lot… 

… wearing nothing but his boxers. 

Though technically, he was also wearing a lanyard around his neck and a pair of fuzzy slippers. Clearly, his feet were number one on the list of things that needed to be covered, everything else be damned. 

The drowsiness in her system left in seconds as Pieck eyed him, doing her damndest to pay attention to his face. 

He seemed about her age and was a head taller than her, though that wasn’t a tall hurdle to jump. The features of his chin and jawline were angular and sharp, which would have made him look dashing if not for his look of utter exhaustion. She couldn’t recall passing his hazel eyes or sandy hair in the hallways — she definitely would’ve remembered him. 

But then again, Pieck was rarely home. She had a habit of spending her evenings at the university, either data analyzing the night away or attempting an experiment for the fifth time. Even when she was at her building her thoughts were usually on how tired she was or how long it had been since she ate a goddamn vegetable. And the lettuce in a big mac didn’t count. 

A part of her began to feel bad — she had been living in the building ever since she came to Toronto and she couldn’t even put a name to one of the faces.

Soon enough, the Shirtless Wonder stopped staring off into space and looked towards Pieck, effectively breaking her out of her trance. 

Their eyes met and suddenly Pieck realized that her gaze had been lingering on him, which combined with his lack of clothes made for a very peculiar set of circumstances.

And not one that made her look good.  

“Sorry!” she blurted out. “I wasn’t looking, I was just… uh…” 

The Shirtless Wonder shook his head. “It’s fine, it’s fine.” 

From the sound of his voice, he was likely just as tired as her — who wouldn’t be at this hour?

Pieck nodded and looked downwards, very respectfully avoiding the sight of his crotch. She glanced at the fluff ball on the ground. The pomeranian had cream-coloured fur, a pair of beady black eyes, and seemed to walk with the grace of a nervous chicken wing. It looked up to Pieck and sat on the ground, wagging its tail in her presence. 

With a grin, Pieck approached the dog and the dog’s bare-chested owner. 

“Who’s the little one?” she asked.

“Her name’s Ripjaw.” 

Pieck let out a laugh. There was just something inherently hilarious about such a fearsome name being given to such a floofy chicken nugget. She knelt down to get to the adorable beast’s level. 

“Is she friendly?” 

“Not usually,” said the Shirtless Wonder. He ran a hand through his unkempt bedhead. “She seems to like you though.” 

Pieck’s grin was cheeky as she reached over to pet a very happy Ripjaw. “What can I say? There’s lots to like.” 

Pieck swore that she heard the Shirtless Wonder scoffing. 

With a gentle touch, Pieck patted the top of Ripjaw’s head, something the pom seemed to enjoy. Sure, waking up at 3AM sucked and she would definitely bemoan it once she headed out later, but meeting the cutest pup in the GTA was definitely an upside. 

With a smile, she glanced up to the owner. “I’m Pieck, by the way.” 

“Porco,” he answered, and for some reason Pieck felt like that name suited him. 

After a few moments of giving Ripjaw all the love she deserved, Pieck stood up straight again. There was another beat as the two tenants (and one dog) looked over at the chaos gathering in front of their building. Firefighters were still going in and coming out, speaking things to each other that Pieck could not hear. If anything, it seemed that the residents would be standing in the cold Toronto night for a few minutes more. 

With that in mind, Pieck turned her head towards the Shirtless Wonder and asked —

“So uh… not to bring up the elephant in the parking lot, but… did you just… forget to put on clothes?” 

Porco slowly craned his head her way, looked her up and down, and replied — “You’re one to talk.” 

Pieck looked down and noticed that her overcoat had come undone, exposing her fashion choices beneath. She was used to t-shirts draping loosely on her tiny frame — often giving the illusion of a make-shift dress — but occasionally running the risk of making it appear that she forgot to put on pants. Tonight, her outfit pertained to the latter criteria. 

In a way it was fitting — she had seen Porco’s underwear and now he had seen hers. They were finally on even ground except one of them didn’t have their nipples exposed to the frigid night air. 

“Fair point,” Pieck said, then did up her overcoat again. It was certainly not the first time a man had seen her skivvies in public, but she hoped that it would be the last. 

After finishing the last button, Pieck glanced down again to see Ripjaw smiling at her feet. The little one proceeded to jump upwards on her stubby legs, clearly craving Pieck’s attention. 

And who was Pieck to refuse?

With a grin, she bent down again to pet the pomeranian’s head. “Hello again, Puppy.” 

“Do you wanna hold her?”

Pieck’s head snapped towards him, shocked. “Can I?”

Porco was already nodding and kneeling down to pick up his dog. “Sure.”

In her owner’s arms, little Ripjaw had taken the mannerisms of a panting nugget. It was adorable. Porco held Ripjaw to her and Pieck graciously accepted the pup into the arms. The first thing she noted was that despite expecting Ripjaw to be heavier, she really didn’t weigh a lot. The length of her fur was shockingly good at hiding her true proportions. Yet Pieck still held the pom like it was her first born child, unable to wipe the pleased grin on her face. 

Clearly, this had been the best thing to happen to her at 3AM since the night she tried edibles and met god. 

When Pieck looked back to Porco she realized that he was standing just a little bit closer to her. The smile on his pretty face was unmistakable. Their gazes met and suddenly Pieck remembered that he was currently clad in nothing but his boxers, so she distanced herself from him very slightly, not wanting to risk his discomfort. 

“So… what do you do for work?” asked Porco, speaking in a voice that made her think that he was genuinely interested. 

“I’m a PhD Candidate. U of T.” 

Porco blinked, surprised. “Oh shit, no way.” 

Pieck couldn’t help but scoff. Nowadays, the pride she felt from getting accepted into her reach school had long worn off. Now in its place was the despair and agony only known to those who thought that getting a degree in pharmacology was a good idea. Sure, Toronto was definitely farther than she expected to go, as most girls in her hometown of Middle-Of-Nowhere, Alberta were lucky to make it to Edmonton, but the feelings of fortune had sapped away once she accepted her fate as a disposable grad student. 

But instead of dwelling on any of that, Pieck retained a smile and decided to say —

“You sound impressed.” 

“I mean… I’ve only done community college so yeah…” Porco explained, yet again running a hand through his hair. “You’re leagues ahead of me.”

“Hey, we all gotta start somewhere, right?” Pieck assured him. “Which one?”

“Centennial,” he answered, shrugging. Judging by the way he held himself, he didn’t seem too proud of his accomplishment. “I uh… did that automotive foundations course.”

Pieck tilted her head to the side, quickly looking him up and down and not for the reasons one would think. 

“Hm… you didn’t strike me as a grease monkey type…”

Porco raised an eyebrow. “Why so?”

There was a beat, then Pieck reached forward to take his hand, running her thumb over his palm and realizing that it was baby smooth. 

“Your hands aren’t that calloused…” she observed. “... and most grease monkeys I've met don’t have cute little muffykins dogs like this.”

Porco scoffed and gave his precious pup a few head pats. “Hey… I didn’t pick Ripjaw, she picked me.”

Pieck let out a laugh. She glanced down to see that Ripjaw had now fallen asleep in her arms, burying her tiny snout into the crook of Pieck’s elbow like it was the only place she ever wanted to be. The sight of it was enough to make Pieck melt then and there. 

For a moment, the underdressed PhD candidate and grease monkey looked towards their building entrance again. Behind the crowd of sleepy tenants were more firefighters exiting the place. Judging by the lack of skip in their step, it was fair to say that whatever called them over was no longer an issue. Or at least, an issue worth panicking over. 

One older firefighter with the bushiest mustache on this side of Lake Ontario stepped out of the building last. He was holding some kind of charred, smoking item in his gloved hand as he approached the crowd. He cleared his throat rather loudly to get everyone’s attention. 

From where Pieck and Porco stood, they could see the firefighter raising the item up in the air. It turned out to be a skillet that had been burnt to hell and back, whatever food had been cooking on it had been so scorched so thoroughly that it had turned black and became one with the pan.

“Lesson learned, people!” the firefighter announced. “If you make pancakes at 3AM, don’t fall asleep!”

Some chuckles were heard in the crowd, but most were drowned out by the groans of frustration and yawns of exhaustion. At least no one seemed particularly interested in pinpointing who started the fire. Nonetheless, the firefighters had deemed it safe to re-enter the building, much to the relief of everyone. 

Pieck handed Ripjaw back to Porco and the pom looked quite sad to be away from her arms. With her hands in her overcoat pockets, Pieck walked back towards the entrance of the building with the bare-chested grease monkey walking next to her.

They joined the crowd of people re-entering the place, Porco holding his precious pomeranian in his arms to prevent her from being trampled. Since everyone seemed to be taking their sweet time getting back into the place, Pieck turned to Porco and asked — 

“What unit are you in?”

“302. You?”

“402.” Pieck smiled. “I must be right above you.” She then reached over to boop Ripjaw’s nose. “I’m surprised I haven’t heard her screaming. Aren’t pomeranians supposed to be yappy?”

Porco chuckled, seeming a lot more awake despite the time of night. “Oh, she is, but she lets it out at doggy day care.” 

Something about the sentence made Pieck light up. “You send her to daycare!?”

“Of course,” he said, giving an honest grin. “Hers is just down the street.” 

The idea of little Ripjaw roaming a room of dogs brought a grin to Pieck’s face. A part of her could just envision the fluff ball acting like the mighty leader of the pack, commanding her own forces to bring them all to victory.

Surprisingly, Pieck and Porco were some of the few tenants taking the stairs. Perhaps some people were a little too sleep-deprived to realize how ungodly long the line for the elevator was. And in a four-storey building, no less. 

In due time they arrived at the third floor. Porco began stepping towards the doorway leading him to the hallway, catching Pieck’s attention.

“Guess this is you then, eh?” she asked. 

Porco nodded. “That it is.” His eyes then glanced down to Ripjaw in his arms, who’s attention was on the PhD candidate and only the PhD candidate. 

With a sweet smile on her face, Pieck walked over to give the pom a few pets goodbye. 

“See you around, Baby Girl,” she said, then looked up to Porco. “Oh, and you, too.” 

In any other situation — perhaps one that involved both parties being more clothed — Pieck might have directed the nickname to Porco instead, just to entertain herself. But for now, she was content to shower the adorable pomeranian with love and maybe acknowledge the owner too. 

Porco seemed to be amused by her antics. “You know, I come home around 6-ish every day. You could stop by.” 

Pieck nodded. “I like the sound of that, I could use a break from the neverending road of despair that’s academia.” Her tone was surprisingly cheery. 

Pieck was expecting Porco to laugh at her remark, as did most of her fellow grad students and candidates. However, when she looked up to meet his gaze all she could see was the look of utter concern on his handsome face. 

“Grad school humour,” she explained dryly, and to that Porco nodded quite slowly. 

“Ah, gotcha.” 

Pieck’s voice suddenly took a more chipper tone to distract from her sense of humour. 

“Anyways, good night!”

And with that said, Pieck turned around and dashed up the staircase as quickly as her boots could take her. She didn’t look back at the shirtless wonder, as much as parts of her wanted to. 

Once she arrived at unit 402, she was quick to grab her keys and enter her home. Now inside the comfort of her studio, Pieck immediately discarded her coat and boots like a stripper whose rent was due tomorrow. She didn’t even bother turning on the lights. A look at the clock on her night stand told her that she had less than four hours of sleep to enjoy before life would start again. So after diving into bed, she pulled her blankets over her body before closing her eyes and attempting to face slumber once more. 

To Pieck’s surprise, the last thing on her mind before she fell asleep did not pertain to her research, advisor’s words, or the lack of groceries in her fridge. Instead what laid in her head were the memories of a little fluffy chicken wing and a pair of absolutely swoon-worthy shoulders. 

[hamliet]

Unless a Grain of Wheat Falls and It Dies...

Or, why I am pretty optimistic about the fates of Jean, Connie, Gabi, and all titanized people this chapter, which is also an excuse for me to talk about SnK’s allusions to Russian literature. 

There are strikingly parallel ideas The Brothers Karamazov and Attack on Titan, as well as parallel plot points and imagery to the point where if it isn’t deliberate, it’s uncanny. (NB: before people yell at me about comparing a Japanese and Russian work, Isayama has used Russian names since the start of SnK--Shiganshina is a Russian name.) In particular, there are narrative allusions to a portion of the novel known as “The Grand Inquisitor,” which is a short story within a novel. The central thesis of “The Grand Inquisitor” is as follows: 

nothing has ever been more insupportable for a man and a human society than freedom. 

This parable is told within the story by Ivan Karamazov, a character whose intellectuality is his gift and his curse. He tells his brother Alyosha that the motivation for creating this parable is precisely the evils done to children (oh look, a major SnK theme) and specifically cites an example which was unfortunately taken from real life in Russia and which Isayama has an uncanny parallel:

I want to see with my own eyes the hind lie down with the lion and the victim rise up and embrace his murderer. I want to be there when every one suddenly understands what it has all been for. All the religions of the world are built on this longing, and I am a believer. But then there are the children, and what am I to do about them? That's a question I can't answer... If all must suffer to pay for the eternal harmony, what have children to do with it, tell me, please? ... if it is really true that they must share responsibility for all their fathers' crimes, such a truth is not of this world and is beyond my comprehension. Some jester will say, perhaps, that the child would have grown up and have sinned, but you see he didn't grow up, he was torn to pieces by the dogs, at eight years old...

... How are you going to atone for them? Is it possible? ... What do I care for a hell for oppressors? What good can hell do, since those children have already been tortured? ... I want to forgive. I want to embrace. I don't want more suffering. And if the sufferings of children go to swell the sum of sufferings which was necessary to pay for truth, then I protest that the truth is not worth such a price. ... too high a price is asked for harmony; it's beyond our means to pay so much to enter on it... It's not God that I don't accept, Alyosha, only I most respectfully return Him the ticket.”

The actual parable of “The Grand Inquisitor” is Ivan’s answer to Alyosha’s question about Ivan’s lines above. Ivan tells a story about how freedom is actually what dooms humanity: it is the curse. (Alyosha does not believe this.) Jesus comes back to earth and is promptly arrested, because his existence and return threaten the wellbeing of society. To be happy, one cannot be free, but one or two strong people in society should be free and bear the burden for everyone else (you can see the parallels to King Fritz/the Reisses). 

Nothing is more seductive for man than his freedom of conscience, but nothing is a greater cause of suffering... all his life he loved humanity, and suddenly his eyes were opened, and he saw that it is no great moral blessedness to attain perfection and freedom, if at the same time one gains the conviction that millions of God's creatures have been created as a mockery, that they will never be capable of using their freedom...

This is SnK’s thesis: to be free, there will be suffering. It is part of human nature, and yet to not have it is to be lost. But SnK, despite its explorations of human darkness and monstrosity, has a higher view of humanity than does Ivan. SnK’s view is more alongside Alyosha’s, who says what is honestly the truth about not just the Reisses, but Eren now:

"Who are these keepers of the mystery who have taken some curse upon themselves for the happiness of mankind? .... It's simple lust of power, of filthy earthly gain, of domination—something like a universal serfdom with them as masters—that's all they stand for.”

Mikasa is akin to the Christ figure in the story, akin to Alyosha: Christ is constantly asked to speak, asked to act, and he does not until the very last moment, when he kisses the Grand Inquisitor on the lips. After the story is over, Alyosha then does likewise to Ivan. 

Not to mention when Alyosha worries about Ivan’s mental state, he then answers with this:

“Listen, Alyosha,” Ivan began in a resolute voice, “if I am really able to care for the sticky little leaves I shall only love them, remembering you. It's enough for me that you are somewhere here, and I shan't lose my desire for life yet.”

A simple leaf can save a life. A leaf can save the world. A leaf, grown from a tree that started as a seed falling to the ground, dead, only to grow life from that death. Alyosha himself notes SnK’s central thesis of chapter 137 in the (very long) novel’s final pages:

...some good, sacred memory, preserved from childhood, is perhaps the best education. If a man carries many such memories with him into life, he is safe to the end of his days, and if one has only one good memory left in one's heart, even that may sometime be the means of saving us.

There’s a lot more to this, but this is the epigraph to The Brothers Karamazov, the central thesis of the entire novel:

"Verily, verily, I say unto you, except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit." -John 12:24

Suffering can grow great fruit in an individual life, and by giving something up, by even death, something beautiful can come. Through cruelty, you can find life. 

This is not just a long-running theme in SnK, but a pattern in its plot. Often those who surrender then receive exactly what they had surrendered (but admittedly, not always, like Erwin). 

Mikasa accepted Eren’s loss, and got him back.

Mikasa let Armin go, and got him back.

Falco gave up hope of survival, and got another chance: 

Hange was going to die alone, feeling guilty for having failed her comrades, but saw everyone again, and they told her well done: 

Historia gave up being free, but now we know she will be.

Levi gave up on his revenge, and then got it. Annie thought she would never see her dad again, but she did. For Mikasa, accepting that she has to kill the boy she loves coincides not just with her acceptance of her love, but with the acceptance and knowledge that he loves her:

It always comes with sacrifice, increasingly hard sacrifice, but usually the seeds that are dropped grow and bloom. 

This chapter, everyone surrendered their hearts. They let their dreams fall to the ground, and I honestly think the story will allow it to plant life. Yes, the world as a whole is saved and that is enough to make thematic sense, but it works even better if the very people who were titanized this chapter also bloom again. They chose to trust Mikasa, Levi, Falco, and Pieck to finish the task.

The characters giving up their lives only to get them back make sense, and give Mikasa’s sacrifice of Eren. For Mikasa, Eren was her world, and she gave it up when she had lost everyone else. She had nothing left, and she still did it. I would hope she’d be narratively rewarded beyond just the world being saved, because Mikasa has always been motivated by her personal relationships.

Moving on from Mikasa: Connie’s mom has been kept alive and the concept of turning mindless titans back to humans was already brought up specifically in relation to her:

Connie giving up on his mother a dozenish chapters ago only to get her back now--not through sacrificing a child, but through saving the entire world--would fit the themes and patterns of SnK.

Thirdly, Gabi should not die. She’s Eren with positive development, and cannot meet the same end. Even people who are skeptical of every titan being saved seem to agree that she’ll be fine. It’s possible she’s the only one saved, but imo, not likely. 

See, the only shifter characters who are going to have the option of self-sacrifice are Falco and maaaaaybe Armin. The others look like they’re about to die right here and now, never mind choosing someone to save: the mindless titans are ripping at their napes. Armin also looks to be in bad shape. 

Yet Armin cannot narratively commit suicide; two chapters ago he was still screaming at himself for being useless and thinking he would be better off dead. He’s already tried the heroic sacrifice, too, so why would it work this time around? It does not work for his arc. Falco dying for Gabi was the plan without any freedom from the titan curse; it’s more powerful if ending the curse changes things, rather than forcing him to make the same choice that Reiner has always been trying to make: a heroic suicide. It could happen; it’s just not as narratively strong.

As for whether the worldbuilding rules, we know that mindless titans are not truly dead nor entirely mindless; they just don’t have freedom. Ymir’s case of getting herself back after decades shows that they aren’t quite dead or absorbed. They still have consciousness that can be awoken; Ymir described it as being in a long “nightmare.” Dina still went looking for Grisha. Connie’s mom remembered and recognized Connie, telling him “welcome home.” There is plenty of evidence that there are parts of these people that are still in there even if they are forced to become monsters (oh hey, it’s an Eren parallel; he was conscious of it and had choices while mindless titans do not, but the parallel remains).

[kai-uh-arcadian]

Hanahaki Disease (Pieck x Reader

Word count: 990

CW: Major character death, angst-ish, some fluff, unrequited love

A/N: Hi, I’m currently pining for someone): I have like a zero chance with her and I don’t even know if she is into girls so I wrote this to cope lmao//: any tips?? asking for a friend lolz

ANYWAYS

“Hanahaki Disease  is a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left untreated.”

For weeks now, there’s been this annoying painful itch in your lungs. As if hot tea went down the wrong pipe and the cough is just stuck in the back of your throat.

You thought it was some terrible cold that was seemingly indestructible because you drank an abhorrent amount of orange juice, popped multiple Alka-Seltzer Extreme Cold and Flu pills, and got enough sleep.

That was until you coughed a blue rose petal

.

Up until now, Hanahaki Disease to you was a myth-- made up to romanticize unrequited love. It’s also rare for someone to develop flowers in their lungs in the first place.

When reality hit you, your brain didn’t hesitate to give you slideshow-like flashes of who was the culprit behind the start of this silly sickness.

It was her.

The girl who sits directly behind you in ENGL 3207 on Mon/Wed/Fridays

Pieck Finger.

Ironic that you of all people have this. You have (politely and respectfully) have turned many women down in such a way that they respect/pine you even more. As someone who is very popular amongst women, you fell in love with someone who would never love you back.

This one snuck up on you-- your love being very subtle, it was the accumulation of all little things manifested into something that will kill you.

From small favours such as asking for a pencil/paper/pen, asking to be partners for discussions, buying two breakfast sandwiches(one for you and her) then telling her it was free because they messed up your order, to purposely getting B’s on assignments so you have an excuse to ask her to tutor you.

The thought of surgery crossed your mind once but it fleeted after you realized that you enjoy having a reason to wake up 30 minutes early just to pick out an outfit to attempt to “impress” Pieck. You loved this feeling of being in love and having butterflies-- if you got surgery, the infection leaves as well it rids of the feelings you had for the person who caused it. It’s too high of a price

You’ll (literally) take your quiet feelings to the grave because you know there was a -15% chance of these feelings to be reciprocated-- after seeing Pieck kiss a guy with dirty blonde hair and an undercut goodbye in the door frame before class multiple times. You aren’t bitter though, you respect their (assumed) relationship too much to even confess.

A few days pass after the initial blue flower popped out of your lungs, now you can make a full bouquet of blue roses with the ones you have now. You decided to confide in your good friend Historia to question the symbolization of it.

According to her, blue roses mean “unattainable, impossible” You couldn’t help but sarcastically chuckle at that as it did pertain to your situation very well

Not long after, lavender and white petals decided to spew out to create your pitiful bouquet

According to Miss Flower Genius: lavender means love-at-first-sight and white means youthful/innocent.

Which makes sense, you’ve been enthralled with her the second you walked into the stale lecture hall and your eyes met her sleepy ones-- which earned you a genuine grin from Pieck.

This is the first time you’ve ever felt like this.

Your symptoms worsened overtime which earned Pieck to exchange numbers with you to catch you up on assignments, lectures and daily work-- and of course to make sure you’re doing okay

After class when you weren’t there (which is beginning to become more frequent), she’d stop by and make sure you’ve properly eaten/drinken and spend a few hours there chatting about everything and nothing-- which strengthened your guys’ friendship and weakened you.. But you would choose this life a thousand times if it meant you got to spend trivial moments like this with her.

If warm smiles and beautiful ebullient laughs were the cure to this pesky sickness, she would have saved you a million times.

You decided it was best that you did classes remotely due to your disease quickening (well you have been with quite often recently)

Pieck still, if not more, visited you. Pieck is incredibly smart and pays attention to details so it’s no surprise she realizes it was her who is causing your demise. (She does not address this though)

You noticed when you two share a laugh, her smiles look so sympathetic and kind. She understands that she cannot do anything about this and you love her more for it honestly. You don’t fault her for this though, you’re ecstatic that she loves someone just enough, if not more as you love her. A tinge of jealousy surges through your body because someone (who isn’t you) is blessed with her magnificent love.

Pieck knew your days were coming to an end because the coughing fits became more frequent, you rarely have the stomach to eat, and your eyes are lackluster.

You two sat on a park bench sharing a bento when you began coughing up a white lily. This fit left you with the corners of your mouth stained with blood. Pieck gestured you to lay down and guided your head with her gentle hands onto her lap. You looked up at her. The position of her head was perfectly blocking the sun, causing her head to radiate and beam like the sun-- which makes sense.

You innocently smiled at her and she gazed down at you with tears in her eyes as she wiped the blood away. She folded down and placed a chaste kiss on your lips as her tears hit your cheeks.

You mustered up the strength to give (new!) soon-to-be Mrs.Galliard a loving yet somber smile as a tear escaped your eye.

With that, you took your last breath before the Hanahaki took you.

In another life, you and Pieck can try again.

In every life, you’ll always choose her.