2 Centimeters
She was stuck indoors making dinner again while the men had gone out to collect more firewood. Not minding the gender roles they were setting against her, she was glad not to eat anything the boys tried to make, 'tried' being the operative word.
Cooking was the only thing she had done at home that she was good at. With her mother gone, her father constantly attempting to marry her off – though he would be helpless without her – and no other siblings, she was left to do everything herself, failing in the meanwhile, except with cooking.
She wasn't exactly proud of the extremely simple meals she made given the little supplies they had in the castle, but what she made definitely hit the stomach well, and leftovers were non-existent. Though, creating one extravagant dinner one day in celebration would be her dream present to the rest of the team.
Which was why she was saving up, little by little, a couple of supplies for that day. A spoonful of salt in a hidden container everyday; a piece of cured meat tucked away in the cabinet; uncooked pieces of penne lisce popped into a box every so often; any non-perishable supply the Scouting Legion sent out to them, she would take minute parts from it and add them to her celebration collection.
She had started dong this since they had first been to the castle, where, after Erd's insistent on making his mother's famous Bratkartoffeln failed miserably with a small fire, empty stomachs, and the lance corporal forcing the man to run all night with no stop, she had been appointed to being the main cook of the castle. Happy that her commanding officer had trusted her with such an important duty, her collecting began immediately.
And though, her intentions were set towards the man who was but two centimeters taller than her, as the weeks together with the team past by, she couldn't help extend her feelings to everyone. So when they would finally return from the fifty-seventh expedition, she would finally reveal her celebration dinner to them.
Though, at the moment, she was struggling to get some sugar down from the top shelve of the hanging cabinets. Eren had decided to help her make some Butterkuchen after lunch, and unfortunately, had forgotten to account for her twelve centimeter difference from his height when he put the supplies away. The lance corporal had considered it filthy for anyone to place their dirty feet near the furniture after Auruo tracked mud into the place and put his feet up to the table, so a chair was off-limits.
Cursing the mud-tracking incompetent man's name out in a whisper, she tiptoed and stretched her arm higher, reaching the very edge of the shelf but only to the edge. From where she stood, only the lid of the sugar container could be seen, meaning it was pushed in the cabinet fairly deep. She cursed out another Titan-turning incompetent man's name out as both soles of her feet touched the wood floor. She leaned over the counter in front of her, the cold stone cooling her small, pale hands, and sighed heavily.
"Here."
She jumped, nearly hitting her head on the cabinets up top, and then spun her head to the side and froze.
Two centimeters.
She pulled her head back and grabbed the counter before she could trip back.
Thirty centimeters.
Levi stared at the girl in front of him, her heart-shaped face colored like a red flame and wide, round eyes colored like a blue flower. He was holding the sugar container in his hands, ready to drop it anytime soon given his dislike for sweets. "Is something wrong?" He had his usual disposition on but was sweating from his hairline and neck, meaning he and the team had just gotten back from their wood gathering. "Petra."
Surprised from her name rolling from his tongue, she stood up straight and shook her head, unable to manage a word from her lips as if afraid that that last word spoken would disappear out of thin air forever.
They stood in silence for seconds longer before the lance corporal handed her the glass jar, which was taken immediately.
"Don't make it too sweet, alright?" he said, taking her by another surprise.
"Uh, of course! La-Lance Corporal," she managed to get out before her neck started to burn a bright pink.
Staring a couple seconds longer, the officer stalked off towards the kitchen's exit to attend to the firewood he and the rest had finished collecting.
She closed her eyes and let out a sight sigh, loosening her tight grip on the jar.
"Too far."
She turned again to her superior, who had stopped at the door frame and had his back faced to her. Her pink lips were slightly open in confusion and body stiff from the panic. She tensed even further as the lance corporal looked at her over his shoulder.
"Just two centimeters left." With that he was gone.
Petra nearly dropped the jar.
２ｃｍ
She moved onto making the Gaisburger Marsch and sliced up the potatoes, and then accidentally her finger.
"Ouch."
She stared at the warm, red liquid dotting the cut, memorized by its flow out of the wound.
Blood dripped down and continued even after the white sheet was thrown over the bodies. It was quickly soaked a deep red and spread like a fire across the linen.
He stared at the wagon, ignoring the flies buzzing around it and the iron stench burning the back of his nostrils. Her hand still peeked through, palm faced up, fingers curled as if beckoning him. He reached out for it.
"Let's get going!" Whips cracked near the horses' back, making the purebreds whinny as their reins were pulled tight.
He caught thin air.
Just two centimeters left.
Written two years ago.