"Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes." – Carl Jung

When I was a young girl, my mother stressed the shared importance of understanding others as well as understanding oneself; she told me this was balance, essential in all aspects of life. She'd grip my shoulders firmly and pull me into the musky security of her bosom. My mother told me compassion and empathy were the default healers of the human spirit, ingrown and natural. The ideas behind them were rooted in an alignment-of-self; balance. And with that, mama claimed, everything else would fall into place.

Bullshit.

…

I wake with a start, body pitching forward until my forehead swiftly connects with the wooden underbelly of the top bunk. I sink back down with a deep grown, clutching my temple. I'm now wide awake with the onset of a horrifying migraine and no privacy. With this, I whine internally.

The dormitory for nursing students is placid in the night, as was expected; with the stern Nurse Snyder just a door down, no one dares to make a peep, let alone sneak off to the infirmary to "comfort" an injured sweetheart. No, teenage girls and their subsequent hormonal imbalances were not to be left monitored by any less than that of the hawk-like gaze of Nurse Snyder, even those just shy of graduating from the nursing academy; like me.

I'll admit, I have many a classmate in this to catch a husband; preferably a high-ranking officer with digs in the interior. To be honest, Trost was quaint enough; the nursing academy top notch, shopping district not too shabby, but you can't knock someone for shooting for the stars, I suppose.

I sigh, freeing my bare legs from their blanket-y confines and dangling them over the edge of my bed. It's early June, just a week or so from graduation, and it's hot as hell. Truthfully, I'm not one for excessive heat, especially humidity. Also, the fleece covers don't help that much. I sit up, careful this time to avoid another head injury, and pad down the narrow hallway towards the shared bathrooms.

I pour lukewarm water into a basin and proceed to splash some on my face. My back, neck, and face feel absolutely sweaty, greasy, and gross. I dare to look up into the mirror, and cringe at the expected monstrosity; cheeks flushed and ruddy, puffy eyes, long auburn hair in a state of disarray, and a massive red bump in the shape of a goose egg beginning to form smack dab in the middle of my forehead.

"God," I groan, sardonic as ever. "A gem, a Goddamn diamond in the rough is what I am." I laugh at myself, because there's not much else you can do when you've officially become the embodiment of a hot mess. I clap my hand firmly on my disagreeable visage and continue the pity party inwardly, until another laugh catches my attention; one that is not my own.

It's coming from outside, this much I gather. I cross the room and stand on top of a vacant toilet, climbing from there onto a ledge to get a good look out from a tall window into the alley two stories below. The laughing turns to low, girlish giggling as I crane my neck to get a better view below; my eyes widen when they are met with the image of two figures intimately intertwined up against a wall.

My eyes widen even more when I realize the identity of one of the figures: my best friend, Natasha.

"Fuck," I curse under my breath. "If Snyder catches her, she's done for." So, as any good friend would do, I put on some pants and charge outside to save Natasha's future.

…

"Ew."

Natasha's big eyes snap open with a complimentary yelp, and her panicked gaze settles on me as she deftly spins out of the stranger's large arms.

"Juliet!" She squeaks, and I cringe at the shrill accusation ingrained in her voice. Upon gaining a closer view of Natasha and her partner, it's obvious he is a soldier. And hell, he's big; at least six feet in height if not more, body laden with thick muscle and a shock of pale blonde hair on his head.

"J-Juliet," Natasha repeats my name, slowly now, yet still stumbling over her words. "This, um, this is… Reiner."

"Mhmm." I make a low noise in my chest, crossing my arms and scanning Reiner up and down with a critical countenance. His expression is unreadable. "And just how long have you two been… Acquainted?"

Natasha's cheeks burn a furious shade of red as she clasps her hands together and fiddles her fingers anxiously. "Please, Jules, don't tell Sny-"

"Just be quiet and get inside before Snyder finds out on her own," I grab her hand and begin to pull her back towards the door, but she digs her heels into the ground.

"Wait!" Natasha frees her hand from mine and quickly turns back to Reiner, throwing her arms around his neck and planting a firm kiss on his lips. It is brief, but this kiss holds an untold meaning; I wonder, this time devoid of sarcasm, just how long this has been going on. And then some other feeling burns upward in my chest, my brain; something like… Jealousy.

I distract myself by scoffing at Natasha once more, which gets her attention; she wriggles away from Reiner's embrace with a final kiss on the cheek, and begins to follow me back to the dorms. She can't stop smiling, the lovestruck idiot; her cheeks are still tinted pink as she giddily begins to fill me in on the affair.

"He's so sweet," Natasha coos, legs curled up under her like a child. "We met that day when I was running an errand in the market for Snyder –Remember?!- I tripped like the klutz I am and fruit went everywhere, but there was Reiner already on his knees helping me pick it all up! Then, he offered to walk me back… How could I refuse him? He's absolutely dreamy, don't deny it! I saw the way you looked at his body… God, his body." She trailed off, looking as if drool was about to seep out of her mouth.

"That's… Great, Natasha. Really cute." I smile and pat her on the head before crawling back into my bed. "I'm happy for you, truly."

At this, Natasha snorts. "Oh Jules, you can't expect me to fully believe that, can you?" She rolls over in her own bed and props her head up with her hand, eyes sparkling as she faces me from across the room. "You're not even a little jealous?"

Now it was my turn to snort. "Jealous of not being able to make out in a nasty alley with some random guy who helped me carry my melons home one day? Please."

"Reiner's got this friend, you know," Natasha's whisper becomes almost inaudible. "I was telling him about you, and he said something about maybe, possibly, introducing you to said friend…?"

"Do I look like a charity case to you? I don't need handouts, especially handouts that are, you know, human males." I stick out my tongue at her.

"Oh hush, this is not a handout! Just… A push, perhaps… in the right direction… A cute boy's arms…" Natasha's lips curl up into a cat-like smile and she raises her eyebrows suggestively. "Plus, how do you even know he's human?"

"No, Tash!" I moan and roll over, stuffing my face in my pillow. I swear, that girl is the worst kind of romantic: One that is hopeless as well as passionate about playing matchmaker.

"You're gonna die alone, Jules," Natasha sneers. "I just don't want you to die a virgin!"

I sigh, so close to giving in. I roll back over and stare into Natasha's eyes, my own countenance etched with exhaustion.

"Fine," I grumble.

"Hmm?"

Just then, I hear rustling from down the hall; a telltale sign that Nurse Snyder was awake before the crack of dawn. Of course.

Voice hushed, words hurried, I whisper: "His name - what's his friend's name?" Natasha's eyes widen and then narrow, lips stretching into a satisfied smile.

"Eren," She breathes, ever so softly. "Eren Jaeger."