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[ynsbrightorbs]

CIRCLE (Hange Zoe x Fem Reader)

⋄ ⊱ ACT ONE: Forget Me Not ⊰ ⋄

ac: @ _kozuha twt

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

YEAR 850

Blood.

You watch as the droplet pools at the tip of your finger, creating an ever growing dew drop of crimson on your once pristine skin. It grows in size until any shaking movement of your hand threatens to send the tear down the extremity.

There was something endearing about the blood. Whether it was the color, the warmth, the stinging pain still throbbing, you didn't know. Yet your eyes remain fixed on the liquid; your breath held up in your throat.

Then the door opens, an abrupt entrance that causes your shoulders to flinch, instantly sending that growing bead of red down your finger through all your efforts to keep it still; to watch just how much could leak from you.

You finally breathe as you drop your hand down to the table you sit at, tilting your head up and away from your body and towards the entrance of the building.

It's morning, still so early that the streets had yet to become populous. Having a customer so early was rare, but you understood exactly why as your eyes came into contact with the person who had ruined your morbid game.

Dressed as that of a military officer, you understood what they would need before they had to explain it to you. There was only one reason why military personnel would attend a floral shop: a funeral was in order.

You had grown accustomed to arrangements for these events, putting together large bouquets to sit atop the casket as friends and family mourned their lost one. And that morbid curiosity in you had somewhat enjoyed the process of arranging a floral farewell for the deceased.

"Good morning, what may I do for you?" You ask, brushing off your bloodied finger along the leather apron strapped to your waist, hiding the act under the wooden table top.

Their appearance strikes you; brown hair tied back atop their head letting a short layer hang to their shoulders, pale skin with a rosy colored hue, a pair of oval glasses perched on their hooked nose, and underneath a black eyepatch covers their left eye and wraps around their head.

A single brown eye meets the E/C of yours through the glare cast onto their glasses and immediately your struck with a layer of confusion.

You notice the green jeweled bolo tied around their neck, the color glimmering as they step inside the shop. You had seen the bolo before, one given as an honorary veteran status to those only in the Survey Corps. You had seen it on the neck of their Commander, Erwin Smith, the man who from time to time had stopped by to order more funeral arrangements. You had never seen the stranger now approaching in the shop.

"Morning," Their voice is low, solemn, and warm, "I'm looking to have a funeral arrangement made."

Once you finish cleaning the blood from your finger, you stand from your chair, keeping your eyes on the stranger before you.

"I'm sorry for your loss," You begin the routine speech, "Let me get my book and I'll be more than happy to assist you. Please, take a seat."

You motion towards the table you sat at, a round wooden structure with three matching chairs, a small blue vase holding a fresh bouquet decorates the middle. Left on the table, the pair of shears and bundle of roses that you had been working to dethorn, the same rose that had pricked your finger lies flat by itself.

You turn to the back of the building, trying to locate the hand woven book that held every transaction you had made in your time running the shop, listening to the stranger as they move to the table. The chair they pull scraping along the wooden floorboards before they sit with a sigh.

"Do you run this place by yourself?" As you reach for the leather spine of the book, you glance over your shoulder, meeting their eye already placed upon you.

"Yes," You offer a quick smile, turning back to your task and gripping the book, opening to a new page and grabbing an ink and quill with your freehand, "For three years now."

You take your seat once more, pushing away the roses you had been preparing to the side and replacing them with the open book. Lined pages discolored with age with a smell of crafted paper that had always comforted your nose.

"That's lovely." Your eyes lift up to them at their words, the vocabulary striking you with peaked interest. Their eye on you, their hands folded atop the table, their aura steaming off of them in soft tendrils that you can almost see; a warm glow, caring and inviting, one that you have to tear your eyes away from.

You smile at them in response, uncapping the ink and fixing the quill comfortably between your fingers.

"May I have the name of the deceased?" You glide your hand over the top of the page, waiting for an answer, and soon it comes, yet to your surprise, it stings.

"Erwin Smith."

You lift your head up to them with an underlying shock. An image of the man who used to come by every now and again flashing through your mind. Then it hits you; the Survey Corps' mission to retake Wall Maria had left their numbers at a staggering low, and with only a couple days having passed their return, that loss had included their Commander.

Your lips split as you retract your pupils from them, meeting them back down to the blank pages. Though you knew the man to a surface level, you remember how he used to buy single flowers with his orders, trading his coins and then placing the flower down on the table you now sit at, leaving the shop with a soft smile. Small gestures to an even smaller relationship that gave you all the clues you needed to understand how kind his heart was.

Sifting through your thoughts, you begin writing down his name.

"And what are you looking for for this arrangement?" The words bitter on your tongue as you await their reply.

"Hm...I haven't really thought too much on it," A soft chuckle leaves their lips, "What do you think?"

Although this was your profession, you loathed that question and others similar to it. Of course you had ideas, beautiful ones that flowed easily in your head, you had yet to gain a confidence in them.

What if they don't like my ideas?

Perhaps they think it's odd.

Why would they think anything coming from my mind is acceptable?

All of these thoughts and more of their likeness plague you, the belittled self esteem riddling your bones as you attempt to pull together any sort of idea for the stranger. Erwin Smith's face, his kindness, not aiding to your trials in the slightest.

"Well, for funerals, the usual base people gravitate towards are hyacinths," You lift a freehand towards the bundle of white flowers sitting in their respective vases to the right, their eye following your direction, "Lilies are another favorite," You point them towards the hanging flowers to the left, "And people tend to ask for-"

"But what do you think?" They interrupt you, meeting their stare and holding it across the table, "I want to know what you gravitate towards."

You sit in silence for a few seconds, watching as they lean over in their seat, their eye staying locked on yours as you're now too nervous to break the contact. It was now unavoidable, having to state your own opinions, your own likes and dislikes. The same ones that had been shut down many times in the past.

But the strangers eye isn't harsh like your parents had been, they watch you with intrigue, with a soft curiosity as you jumble the words on the tip of your tongue.

"Bluebells," You utter, instantly darting your eyes away from them and to the blue flowers sitting patiently near the front window of the shop, "They tend to symbolize care and warmth. Kindness. I didn't know the Commander that well, but he did come by a few times for reasons like this. Based on my interactions with him, I think anyone from a mile away could feel the kindness in his heart."

You meet their stare once you've finished, hesitantly looking back down to the blank book and apologizing for your small ramble.

"No," They break your remorse, "Don't apologize. What else?"

You can feel your heart racing in your chest, a throbbing pulse emanating from the healing cut at your finger.

"Forget-me-nots. People usually order them for smaller bouquets but I feel like they add a sense of vulnerability to larger arrangements. I suppose I could use a hyacinth base, a layer of bluebells with some smaller foliage fillers. And top it off with them."

You watch them lean back in their seat, straightening their posture and perching an eyebrow with a small, warm, smile.

"I would have just said roses and been done with it."

That nervousness, that self doubt, almost regurgitates from your throat with a plea of remorse but they continue their words before that volcano erupts.

"That being said, I'm glad you're the one doing this and not me."

Praise.

"Think you can have it done in two days?" They ask, their eye moving towards the rose buds waiting to be trimmed on the table, "That's when the memorial service will be."

Your head begins to nod before the words spill from your lips, "Yes, yes that's no problem." You dip the quill into the ink pot once more, taking it to the page and begin etching in the details you had described, your hand trying its best to control the shaking of your writing.

"Will this be enough to cover the cost?" As you finish the detailing, you lift your eyes from the book, directly landing your attention to the satchel of coins they place before you. A black bag, the gold coins clinking against one another as it settles onto the wood. You don't need to look inside to know it's above and beyond your commission for an arrangement like this.

"Oh, that's far too much, it would only be-"

"It's the least I can do for your help," They cut you off, "I can't imagine many would have come up with an idea as admirable as yours."

Praise.

You begin to grow flustered at their kind words, the sensation almost immobilizing you yet you keep pushing, refusing to let someone as generous as them waste their kindness.

"Please, I can't let you overpay." You place a hand on the pouch, beginning to slide it back towards them, yet their own hand meets the fabric, halting the motion. The tips of their fingers grazing your own.

Their eye locks on yours, both of your lips ceasing your words before they stand from their seat, removing their hand from the bag of coins. You watch as they brush the wrinkles out of the olive green coat fastened to their figure, watching as they take a step towards the middle of the table. Their hand now reaching out to the rose before you.

The stem only one thorn away from being trimmed, the same thorn that had pricked your finger making a home at its base.

"I'll buy this too then." They hold the rose delicately between their fingers, giving the stem a twirl as the dark red petals flutter with the motion.

Roses had become a rarity. Since the Titans first broke through Shiganshina and Wall Maria - the domains in which the roses had primarily grown - they now symbolized a level of wealth. A single rose coming up to cost with that of a meal for ten, or a single cutlet of meat.

"Is that alright with you?" Their eye meets yours, looking down to you as you remain in your seat.

That nervousness that had begun to do a number to your confidence keeps the words caught in your throat, the feeling of a burning rod sizzles them shut inside of you as you keep their stare. You only nod your head, offering a small smile before trailing your eyes back down to that sharp thorn that had made you bleed.

You grab for the shears on the table, standing from your chair and taking a step towards the soldier.

"Here, I had just started this one when you came in." You lift the sharp edge to the base of the stem, their fingers moving aside as you enclose the shears around the thorn. Their eye watches you from above, only paying attention to the way your brow creases in concentration as you clip the harmful prick away from their rose.

You listen to the thorn hit the wooden floor, the hard piece of stem clattering on the ground before your eyes look up to them, swiftly retreating from their fixed gaze and letting your eyes fall to the deep green cabochon adorning their collar. The jewel sits at eye level with you, and if you looked close enough, you could see your reflection shaded in with the green hue.

You stare into the bolo for a few seconds before catching yourself, your hand still grasped onto the rose and the shears in your other. Once you notice, you immediately drop your grip, stepping away from the stranger and bowing your head slightly to their superiority.

"You have a lovely business," Their words lift your head back up to them, "I'm looking forward to seeing you, and your work." Though their words had come across as confident, loud and strong, they speak the last few with an underlying softness, this time tilting their own head down to you before turning towards the door.

You're left speechless, stunned by not only their assured presence, but by their willingness to show respect to someone of such a lower rank.

You watch as they grip the metal knob of the door, turning it in their hand before glancing back to you.

"By the way, may I have your name?" You quickly try to swallow down the burning in your throat to answer.

"Y/N," And before your next breath, you let your own curiosity get the best of you, "And yours?"

They offer a smile, a small expression that turns into a solemn look as their eye grazes your stature.

"Commander Hange," You feel your breath hitch, "Until we meet again, Y/N."

You watch as they open the door, the hinges creaking in response, before they exit the small shop. Even then, you watch from the window as they mount the horse awaiting outside, placing the rose in the front pocket of their coat, watching as they begin a trot down the street until they fully disappear from your view.

And it wasn't until two days later, the day of Erwin Smith's memorial service, that you met their aura again.

Although you hardly knew the man, you sit in silence that morning. The arrangement prepped and ready on the table, your hands folded on your lap, your eyes staring blankly out of the shops window. You watch as the crowds of people begin their day. You watch as they converse in the street, smiling, laughing. And you wonder how the world can continue moving after death.

You wonder of Erwin's family. Did he have one? You wonder of Erwin's friends. Are they mourning? You watch the strangers faces of happiness and contentment, and you wonder how the they can wear such smiles when so many others are grieving.

These thoughts come to a stop as a horse gallops into view, dark brown with a matching mane. The moment you see their olive coat, you arise from your seat. A sudden reaction, an eager one you weren't expecting, yet your body takes control before you can ponder on it.

Commander Hange enters the shop, their appearance just the same as it had been those few days ago. And to your surprise, more so a shock, they wear a smile.

"Morning, Y/N." They say through their grin.

"Good morning," You bow your head, "Commander." With your head tilted low, you don't see, or hear, the soft chuckle leaving their lips at your formality.

"Is this it?" You lift your chin up, first looking up to them, following their eye focused on the flowers at the table.

"Yes," You feel your nerves tingle inside of you, your voice coming out shaky due to the fact, "If you'd want me to make any quick changes, I can do so, at no extra charge."

They lift a hand to you, not taking their eye away from the arrangement as they signal you to stop.

"Why would I want to change this?" They begin, "It's lovely."

You're left with no words. Their compliment leaving you speechless as your eyes trail to the bouquet. Scanning over the white hyacinths. The blue bells. The cedar leaves and myrtle. The delicate forget-me-nots on top, all tied together with a light blue ribbon.

You remember staring at the arrangement for hours the night before. Wondering if it was too much, too little, too boring, too over the top. But to Commander Hange at the very least, it was lovely.

"Don't you think?" You look back to them, catching their eye already on you. You can't muster a single response, simply nodding your head in a forced agreement; although you had a hard time believing your work had been anything along the lines of perfection, you didn't want to rebute them.

The Commander picks up the bundle delicately, holding it all in one arm with a sigh.

"Well, I appreciate your work dearly." They bow their own head to you, yet as they look back up, their eye looks behind you, to the vase of leftover roses you had just stocked on the front counter.

They walk to the vase, your eyes following them as they brush by you, the scent of the bouquet wafting as they pass. You watch as they pick out a single rose, bringing it to their nose for a moment, then turning back to you.

"Hold this for me, yeah?" They gesture the flower to you, your eyes grazing the soft petals, then grazing the soft skin of their long fingers. But you take the stem in hand, their fingers letting go as you do and reaching into their pocket.

They slip out a pinch full of gold coins, just a few tokens over the price of the single rose, and place them down on the counter. Their eye meeting yours, offering a soft smile, and their feet motioning towards the door.

Your brow furrows, your hand almost reaching out to grab them but you stop at the remembrance of their status.

"Wait, I-" They stop at your call, glancing over their shoulder with the bouquet in hand, "Your rose." You say, holding out the flower they had just purchased for them to take. But the Commander only shakes their head.

"For you," They reply softly, opening the door without taking their eye off of you, "Until we meet again, Y/N."

As they leave the shop, securing the arrangement to the back of their horses saddle, you stand perplexed with the rose in your hand. You watch as they ride off down the street, disappearing from your sight once again, and you wonder what they had meant.

Until we meet again.

You grip the roses stem, gazing into the bundle of red petals. Slowly you bring the flower to your nose, smelling the sweet scents that emanate from the bud. A small smile growing on your face.

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

A week had passed. Business had been as usual. And the rose Commander Hange purchased and left in your possession had begun to wilt.

A day didn't go by that you hadn't thought of them. Their polite words of praise. Their tall stature. That green jewel that dazzled your reflection.

Until we meet again.

But now you wonder if they had meant that; that you'd meet again. And you didn't know why you'd want to meet them again. Yet secretly you had hoped they'd walk through that door some day with another arrangement request. Another funeral. Another name for your book. And although it was a selfish, morbid thought, you wanted it. You wanted to meet them again.

As the day had come to an end, the sky growing dark and the shops along the streets beginning to close, you sigh at yet another day gone by without meeting their brown eye. But you scoff at that thought, walking to flip the sign on the window to read 'CLOSED'.

They're the Commander, you think, who knows what they have on their plate. They've forgotten me by now. They've had to.

You're pulled out of your thoughts, or more so scared out of them, as a figure rushes to the front door. As you had yet to lock it, it opens in one swing, a gust of air flying through the frame, and the familiar face huffing as they try to catch their breath.

It takes you a minute to realize it's them. Their brown hair tied up the same way it had been yet strands are now loose and unkept. From their closeness, you catch a bead of sweat trickling down the side of their hairline, only then coming into contact with their eye as yours pass by the brown globe that you, for some reason, couldn't stop thinking about.

Their breaths are uneven, painting for air yet they manage to speak, "Are you closed yet?"

You look to the sign in your hand, the wood flipped over and the engraved words indicating the shops closure on display. But you didn't want to be rude, or perhaps you didn't want to come across as rude to them - and you didn't want to turn them away. So you keep the sign in your hands, looking back up to them with a respectful smile.

"Not yet." Which wasn't a lie, and it also wasn't the whole truth.

They sigh in relief, letting go of the door and allowing it to enclose them inside. The smile that comes with their relief is one that you find yourself having to rip your eyes away from.

"Thank goodness," They chuckle, "It's been a week, correct?" You keep still as they walk into the shop, heading straight for the counter opposite the door.

You become flustered at their inquire; you knew exactly what they were referring to, a week had passed since they'd last step foot into your building. But you didn't want to come across as eager. And this fact in and of itself confused you, as to why you'd care in the first place if the Commander knew you had kept track.

"A week since what, may I ask?" You try to remain proper as you turn to them, following their back with your eyes as they come to a stop and meet your stare, a smirk curled up at one corner of their mouth.

"Forgive me for presuming, Y/N. A week since I last came by."

It's now that you realize the self proclaimed idiocy of your false forgetfulness. Coming to the peculiar acknowledgment that Commander Hange had themself remembered and kept track of the days.

"Oh," You breathe, "Yeah," You curse yourself in your thoughts for using such casual phrases, "I mean, yes, Commander. It has been a week." You bow your head apologetically, missing the smirk that creeps into a smile as they watch you.

"No need for all that," They reply, lifting a hand towards the vase of roses on the counter, only a few left that have remained somewhat fresh in the nutrient rich water, "Well, I have a request of you." They pluck out a stem just as you lift your head back to face them. The Commander lifts the rose to their nose, taking in a breath of the floral scent and meeting their eye to you.

"I'd be happy to assist you."

They bring the rose back down, twirling it in their hand.

"Would you be able to make me a bouquet?"

"Yes, that would be no problem at all, what are you thinking of for the arrangement, Commander?" Your fingers begin to nervously pluck at the stray threads coming off of the long skirt you wear.

"Surprise me." They pull out a satchel of clinking coins, one black the same as the pouch they had given you on your first meeting. Without warning, they toss the payment to you, your arms barely quick enough to catch it in awe. Just as the first time, the amount had been much larger than your commission fee.

"I-I'm sorry," Your brow furrows as you feel the coins in the bag, "May you elaborate on that?"

"Surprise me," They repeat, that smirk reappearing as they watch your confusion, "I'll come back in a week to pick it up, is that alright with you?" They begin to walk back to the door you still stand next to.

Though your mind begs for reassurance, to continue asking questions of which flowers, what type of vase, simple or exquisite, your heart begins to thump too fast at their growing closeness for your words to keep up with.

"Yes, that's alright."

"A week is about the lifespan of the roses," Their voice takes a dip in tone, one laced with suggestion, "Correct?"

Your eyes sink down to the flower in their hand, their arm slowly outstretching it towards you.

"Just about." You answer, the petals brushing just along your bust.

"Lovely." And with a perch of an eyebrow, they gesture for you to take the stem, but your lungs feel as if they're on fire from the breath you're holding in. You're arms feel stiff as you stare into the bud, your eyes trailing over each fold of the petal, each vein of deep maroon that snakes inside its skin.

"I'd just take it if I were you," The Commander says, "I can stand here all night. I don't tire easily."

Your eyes flock to theirs, and hesitantly they graze the black eye patch adorning their face. But you finally breathe, exhaling through your mouth and taking the rose in your hand, holding onto the stem tightly as if it could aid your raging nerves.

"Atta girl," They smile, placing their once outstretched hand into the pocket of their coat, "Well, have a good night." They open the door, and like a repetition of the last time you had seen them, they glance back just before they exit.

"Until we meet again, Y/N."

"Good night, Commander." You reply as they exit.

Just like a repetition of the last time you had seen them, you bring the rose to the tip of your nose and inhale the sweet scent they had gifted you with.

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

And just like Commander Hange had told you, a week had passed, each day you counted, until they appeared under the door frame of your shop.

Early morning. The sun not even peaked over the Walls. Yet there they were, bright eyed and a smile on their face. Dressed the same, and their presence had now become a joyful encounter as you awaited their return.

"Morning, Y/N." They greet you.

"Good morning, Commander," You reply, tilting your head in respect, "Your bouquet." You gesture a hand out towards the small table, towards the arrangement you made for them.

Pink and white dahlias, red tulips, vines of matching sweet peas, all mixing together in a clear vase; an added ribbon of white lace at the spout of the glassware.

As the Commander's eye meets the arrangement, your palms begin to sweat as they remain silent and expressionless.

Is it too much?

Perhaps it's too pink.

They had said to surprise them, but being me...

"What are these ones called?" Your focus whips to them, noticing that they've moved to the table, now pointing at the large flowers, in the midst of your thoughts.

"Those are dahlias."

"Do they have their own hidden meaning?"

And like instinct, your lips begin to recite the information you had grown an admirable interest towards, "People tend to relate them with wealth, elegance, and," The next word is more difficult to come out, though you spit it from your tongue even as their eye makes you want to swallow it down, "Love."

Their expression turns to a reassuring joy, a soft smile cracking their hardened face. Your cheeks threatening to blush with a warmth before you look away.

"I hope it's to your liking." You hear their steps approach, nearing the opposite side of the counter you stand behind.

"It's beautiful," The warmth now spreading across your face, "Thank you, Y/N."

"It's my pleasure. Thank you for your business." You try your best to keep yourself professional, but the tingling feeling fluttering in your stomach as you feel their stare on you flusters you even further.

"My only problem is," You look up right away, fearful of their potential complaint, their potential criticism, "It'll be a little difficult for me to carry such an arrangement on horseback."

"Oh, I can exchange the vase for you." You motion towards the bouquet, ready to switch out the glass with a paper bag, but their hand grips your wrist, a firm yet gentle touch.

"I was thinking, instead, would you be kind enough to look after it for me? Change the water. Let it get some sun," Their smile still on their lips, the flesh pink and plump on the bottom, "I'm not entirely sure how one takes care of a beauty like that. But I'd bet quite a lot that you'd do a wonderful job at it."

The pad of their palm runs warm on your skin, almost as warm as your cheeks now steaming with a rush of red.

"Are you sure, Commander?" You ask, frozen in place as you look up to them.

"Quite certainly," They finally let your wrist go, turning towards the flowers as they admire it once more, "It'll give me another excuse to come by."

But before you can question them - if only you had enough confidence to do so - they turn towards the door.

The same repetition of words exchanged. The same goodbyes. The same promise of another meeting. And you watch as they mount their horse and ride down the street. Turning back to the arrangement they left in their wake.

You wonder if they had ever planned on taking it with them in the first place.

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

The feeling in your chest as the days passed and still no sign of the Commander was an odd one. A feeling or emotion you couldn't quite grasp. And as the days passed, as those days turned into a week and then another, and as both the rose and the bouquet they had left you with had begun to lose their petals, the hope and excitement of their returned appearance soon began to wilt with the flowers.

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

⋄ ⊱ ONE MONTH LATER ⊰ ⋄

After a long day, you take a sigh as you sit in the back room of your closed shop; the room concealed with an arched entryway that leads into a kitchen and narrow staircase up to your living quarters.

Everything was just as it should be as you tried to wind down from your day. But even though you try your best not to, your eyes can't help but to gravitate towards the dead remaniants of the bouquet on your kitchen table. The once green stems now a dry brown color. No petals remain, and the buds that once grew with a vivid yellow now droop over the sides of the glass vase. The only aspect remaining in tact is the white lace bow still tied onto the spout.

You knew it was time to toss the dead foliage out, but it felt wrong. As if the moment it hit your garbage pail your memories of the Commander would be thrown out with it. Their brown eye. Their matching sleek hair. The green bolo. Their pink lips. The way they called your work lovely. The way they never complained and only praised you.

You had become so used to them, their promise of another meeting always being kept. Except for the last time.

But they're the Commander of the Survey Corps. They're busy. And I'm me.

Small. Replaceable. Incompetent. You.

Those derogatory words and more shuffled through your mind as you stare at the dead flowers. Those derogatory words spoken by your family once again being proven true.

Then a knock at the door sounds.

A loud and urgent knock that makes you jump in your seat, sending your head to fly back towards the archway leading into the dimly lit shop. You watch as the candles you left ablaze on the other side of the wall flicker against the walls. And then another knock sounds.

It had now been forty minutes after closure, and the knocking now runs an uneasiness through you as you stand from your chair, peeking a head into the archway. And it's now that you wish you had installed a window into the front door to be able to see who awaits on the other side.

After another knock, this one becoming softer, you push yourself to answer the call. Meeting the door and pressing a hand to the lock, but before you undo the latch, you call out to the late night caller.

"Who is it?" You ask, and the voice that replies makes your heart drop in your chest.

"It's Hange," You're taken aback by the causality, "I know it's late, but I..." They trail off, your head moving to the door and pressing your ear against the wood as if you could hear their hesitance better, "I wanted to see you."

It wasn't a favor. A funeral order. A need to purchase. It was you that brought the Commander, Hange, to the door of your floral shop.

You slide the latch open, moving to open the door, and the sight that greets you is truthful. The Commander dressed just the same. The smile on their mouth as you appear in the doorway just as it had been all those weeks ago. A smile that almost pulls one to your lips, but you push it down in order to keep formality.

"Commander," You bow your head down, "How may I help you?"

And before you can lift your head up, they reply, "Have you eaten yet?"

Your eyes lift up to them, wide as you take in their inquire, "Excuse me?"

"Dinner. Have you had dinner yet, Y/N?" They rephrase.

You're stunned, confused, yet you shake your head in reply.

They lift a quick smile, "I apologize for taking so long to return. I'm still getting used to the whole 'Commander' thing," They use their fingers to jokingly quote the title, "I know this may be absurd, and feel free to tell me no, but I'd be honored if you'd join me for dinner."

Your lips split apart. Your heart picking up from your stomach only to beat erratically in your chest.

"I'm sorry if this is out of the blue," They continue, clearly nervous of your reaction, "I would just. I'd really love to get to know you."

You had never been a romantic. You had never been one to go out to dinner with others. And the thought of it makes you more than nervous, especially when the one on the other end of the meal was the Commander of the Survey Corps.

But is it romantic?

They hadn't specified. Perhaps it's just a dinner. Just a meal. Another waste of their kindness and gratitude.

And who am I to decline their generosity?

"Yes, I'd-" You choke on the smile they give you at your acceptance, "I'd like that as well."

"Perfect!" They glance over their shoulder, their brown horse awaiting in the background, "Well," They turn back to you, "Shall we?"

"Yes," You offer a smile back, "Allow me to change and close up here. I'll be back in a few minutes." You bow your head once more, Their smile turning into one of amusement with the gesture.

"Of course, I'll be here." They bow their own head to you, their eye staying locked on yours as they do, and this time, a genuine smile is pulled straight from your heart strings at the mirrored motion.

⋄ ⊱ ❈ ⊰ ⋄

CIRCLE

ACT ONE

FORGET ME NOT

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the full story is available on ao3 and wattpad under the profile misaaot <3 hope you enjoy!