The Piercing Sound of Silence
His chest is aching. It's like a weight has settled itself on there, leaving no room to breathe. His vision blurs for a moment, but he bites it back. No, stop it!
He's sitting on his bed, still fully dressed in his muddy clothes. His cloak and gear are in a sloppy pile on the floor amid dirt and wet footsteps. But it doesn't matter.
His fingers grip the mattress tightly. So tightly that it hurts, but he doesn't care, the pain he's experiencing leaves no room for anything else. He gasps, lungs struggling for air.
He squeezes his eyes shut, and suddenly he feels ill. Imagines of the past hours play backward on his eyelids. No! And he opens his eyes again. He can't. He just can't. Maybe later. But not right now.
A soft knock on his door pulls him out of his thoughts. He immediately knows who it is. Of course, he knows, who else would come looking for him. Especially at a time like this.
And she opens the door and hesitates for a moment before stepping into the room, closing the door behind her.
He stares at her before opening his mouth. "Hange." His voice is rough like he hasn't spoken for days, and he winces inwardly.
She moves forward until she's standing before him. She's also still fully dressed in her muddy clothes. Her hair is standing up in every direction and dirt streaks her face. She's a mess, but he doesn't care. And he assumes he isn't looking any better.
Heh.
A chuckle escapes him, although there is nothing funny about any of this. No. There is nothing funny right now. Nothing is alright. He's sitting on his bed in his muddy, wet clothes, among his messy gear and muddy footsteps on the floor. And Hange is looking at him like he can break any moment, and maybe she's fucking right because he doesn't remember the last time he wanted to cry so badly.
"Levi," she breathes.
Suddenly she moves, the next moment her hand has gripped his shoulder with a force that has him grimacing, and she hauls him forward.
"What the-"
He wants to pull back, but her voice stops him. "No, don't. It's okay."
And maybe he isn't the only one who's close to losing it because her words are trembling. So he stays still, leaning against her, the faint scent of sweat and mud prickling his nose.
"I'm sorry." She says. But she doesn't need to. He already knows. He's sorry too. Everyone is sorry. But that doesn't bring them back. It's meaningless.
Tears are meaningless too. They don't bring back their fallen comrades. But still, they are standing in his eyes, and they are close to spilling over.
His chest heaves, making his breath hitch.
She brings a hand up to the back of his head.
"Fuck," he says. Because usually, he wouldn't allow it. This. But right now is not usual, now is full of pain and tears and anger, now is full of muddy and wet clothes you can't make yourself to shed and of messy gear on a dirty floor that you don't want to touch.
His chest heaves again, and he bites his trembling lip.
"It's okay." She says.
And fuck, he hates it, detests her understanding and soft voice, and he curses himself for it too, but he can't-he just can't. Maybe later, but not now.
His eyes spill over against his will. Tears trail hotly down his pale cheeks, sliding through the dirt and crusted blood, and he grips a handful of the back of her jacket.
She says nothing.
She remains silent.
Because there are no words.
There never are.
Another sad aot fic. But what can I say... aot is 95% suffering...
Still, hope you enjoyed. Tell me what you think of it :) and maybe next time, I'll try to write something happy :)
All the mistakes are mine.