Okay my dearies, let me explain exactly what this story is about. So, this is a modern AU, where Levi dreams of Eren and his past life, but can't remember any of it; they are just merely dreams to him. For this story, Levi is a pianist and aches to meet this green-eyed boy he dreams of, but he doesn't even know he exists. Meanwhile, Eren remembers everything and is desperate to find Levi, but he's been trying to for years with no such luck; so he's reached a point, where he's on the brink of giving up. He's found everyone else that he was close to, or knew quite well, except Levi.

This story is rated M, because there will be a lot of mentions of abuse, self-harm, depression, anxiety, suicide and the likes. There will also be some sweet, sweet smut thrown in here and there. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

I felt the urge to write this fanfic when I was watching a video on YouTube…I wish I could remember the name, or link it, but I can't, but I still give credit to whoever created it.

And so, without further ado, please enjoy~.

-/-/-/-

Far away from prying eyes, beyond two great, gold gates, in the midst of a large, secluded forest lay a mansion of impressive stature. Glass made up most of the length of its walls and the front door was made of the most exquisite, polished mahogany, with two large brass handles shaped like snarling lions' heads. In front of the mansion lay a garden, immaculate and kempt, with trees shaped like recognisable animals and a graceful fountain spurting out water into the air every-so often. Aside from these, rose bushes lined the garden, the water droplets on the flowers glistening in the summer sun.

On the top-most floor of the mansion, overlooking the garden was a room with its curtains drawn. Slipping past these offending curtains, a bedroom can be seen. A simple room. A pleasant room. A large king-sized bed was pushed against the wall, with rich, maroon curtains draping from its four posters, tied back by a thick, gold rope-like sash, along with other things necessary for a normal bedroom, such as a bedside table and a computer desk. However, aside from the necessities, nothing else gave away this room was inhabited by a person; therefore nothing gave away what sort of person inhabited this room. Heading through this person's doors and going down the corridor outside it lay a door to the right, only slightly opened. In the room, a male of small stature, sat on a piano stool, with his head bowed. His eyes were tired and his aura passive, as if he had given up on life. In his hands were scores, most empty. However, perching on the music rack and on the sleek, black lid of the grand piano, were many other scores that were filled with handwritten music notes and annotations. As the man stared down at the scores in his hand, it was evident from his glazed eyes that he wasn't focusing on what was in his hands.

In his mind, he thought about the boy with eyes the colour of the ocean. In some dreams, the two of them would be flying through the air, and in others they're looking out towards the vast, endless ocean. The sun would be slowly creeping behind it, causing it to change to shades of oranges, golds and orange- pinks. He would turn to him, with a guilty smile on his face, tears brimming in his eyes and he would say something, but the man was never able to decipher what the boy was trying to tell him. The boy with the ocean in his eyes… He wished to meet him; he craved him, even though he's never known him. It was strange to for him to know that his heart, his mind, his every part of his body craved him. The feeling was so foreign to him; it always was, even though he'd known it for a long time. This was love…wasn't it? As a child, the dreams he had were a just a jumble of confusion and conflict; he couldn't understand them, because he was too young. In all honesty, he still couldn't understand most of them; weren't dreams supposed to be memories, or hidden desires? Weren't they supposed to only contain faces that one had already seen?

The man rested a hand on his head, it hurting due to excessive thinking. It always caused a headache when he thought about his dreams for too long. It caused his heart to hurt too. It physically hurt the small man to think about the bright-eyed boy. He was so beautiful and yet so intangible; there was nothing more he wanted to do than properly gaze into the boy's eyes. To admire them for what they looked like when they were physically right in front of him. He dreamt of him and his eyes the colour of the ocean and it just was not enough. It never was.

There was one particular recurring dream that was so memorable, because in the dream, the boy was crying. He would be looking up at him and he'd be crying. It hurt him…it was as if the ocean that had been continuously swirling around in his irises was escaping, seeping out and staining whatever it landed on. The boy held onto him, burying his face in his shoulder, his expression pleading and he didn't understand why. He had thought more times than once that, perhaps it wasn't him that was being held by the boy. Perhaps it was someone else's memories that invaded his dreams; he couldn't imagine being looked at like that by anyone. Whoever this person was meant the world to the boy; that was clear to see.

The small man ran a hand through his hair, shuffling the half-empty scores around, as a thin piece of paper fell out, gently floating to the floor. He leaned down to pick it up, holding it in his hands, as he looked over it, taking in every detail of the pair eyes that he'd attempted to draw. He wasn't able to help himself, even though he knew that he knew he'd never be important to this boy (if he even existed). He had drawn the boy's eyes, the boy himself and a monster that looked vaguely like him. He had drawn him again and again; in some pictures he'd be grinning, in some he looked passionate, as if talking about something he cared deeply about and in others he'd be angry. He'd be furious beyond belief and even then the man couldn't help but think that the boy still looked so painfully beautiful.

The small man stood up, leaning forward to sift through the completed scores on the lid of the piano, before finding the one he was looking for. He placed it on the music stand and sat back down, leaning down to rest the empty scores he'd been holding on the ground. He placed his fingers on the white keys of the piano, looking at the music score and started to play. This…green-eyed boy. Whilst thinking about him, he'd written pieces upon pieces in dedication to this boy; his imaginary love. Most pieces were powerful and moving, leaving the man breathless once he'd finished playing them. And today was no different. The small man's thin, slender fingers flitted from key to key, filling the room with melodies and harmonies that he himself had created. The dynamics heightened, then dropped, heightened, then dropped, heightened and heightened and heightened until, once he had reached the climax of the piece, his door slammed against the wall, an angry man vaguely resembling him storming towards him.

Immediately the small boy's keys were off the piano, the golden music that vibrated and resounded around the room abruptly stopping, being replaced by the metallic, hollow noise of his father's shouting, before the back of his hand connects with the small boy's cheek, the force throwing him of his piano stool. The boy held his cheek, sprawled on the floor, as he looked up at the man in resignation, as the older male curls his hand into a fist. The boy only had time to notice the man had worn his wedding ring today, before his fist connected with his jaw, causing his head to hit the floor with a dull thud, making red spots to burst into his field of vision. The boy remained silent, as the man grabbed his neck with both hands, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing. And all the boy could focus on was the look in his eyes. The look of pure rage. And he thought back to the boy with the ocean in his eyes, wondering how his rage could be so starkly different to the one in front of him. His rage…the rage that lit a fire in his eyes, making him seem more vivacious, more alive, more beautiful and the one in front of him. How could the two be experiencing the same emotion, he thought, as the grip around his neck continued tightening and tightening until he could think no more, until he could feel no more, until he was no more.

-/-/-/-

Darkness surrounded him; it was so familiar, so comforting…and it was then that he saw him again. He was pleading; begging. His lips moved, but no sound came out…or perhaps it had and he just hadn't listened closely enough. Without thinking, he reached an arm out; the boy's bright, sincere eyes holding some sort of promise. And soon, they boy reached out his arm as well; the two reached and reached, but despair started creeping into the small boy. They wouldn't reach each other, it whispered into his ear. He looked at the green-eyed boy to rid himself of his fears and it did. His fears left him as he gazed into the boy's determined, passionate eyes; it strengthened him, allowing him to continue reaching out. They were so close, he could almost feel his fingertip brush against the other boy's and suddenly he was no longer with him. He was no longer surrounded by the darkness with the boy's ocean-filled eyes serving as a lighthouse. He was lying on the floor of his music room, his body aching from having fainted on the floor. It was difficult to breathe, or swallow, but he did so in hopes that he would be able to get used to the feeling once more. How long had he been unconscious? He didn't know, but the room was dark. It always was. He never turned on the lights, since the wall on the other side of the door was made of glass, so he didn't need to. The wall allowed him to look outside to see the raindrops falling heavily, as they stained his window, causing him to think of the green-eyed boy's tears. They hadn't pattered heavily like the rain was doing right now; they had silently slipped out, though the boy's mouth wasn't as silent.

He wished to find him. He prayed he would be able to find him. He prayed the boy existed. And, though it was a far stretch, he prayed the boy knew him. He prayed the boy knew more than he did, that the dreams he had weren't meaningless fantasies that he couldn't even understand properly. He prayed the boy was doing better than him, surrounded by friends and family that loved him. He prayed he was okay.