Hi guys! I've already written this entire fic (eleven chapters; about 50k words), and I've decided to upload it here. This fic is kind of my baby, being the first long-term, multi-chapter fic I've ever written before. I figure there are people who are exclusively lovers, so why not share the love? If you spot any errors, please point them out to me because things always slip past the radar. Thanks!

Hopefully you all enjoy


6:27 AM, the bright blocky red numbers glared from the alarm atop wooden night stand. It lit up a small portion of the dark room, the natural light of the sun blocked expertly by the curtains hanging over the windows of the small bedroom. Levi couldn't sleep when outside light shone into his bedroom.

And he certainly couldn't sleep with the noisy tromping going on in the room above his.

Three more minutes. Three more fucking minutes wouldn't have hurt anyone. No, though, some useless fuckwit had decided that 6:27 on Tuesday, June eleventh, the morning after inventory had finally ended at the convenience store Levi managed, they were destined to be the noisiest and most infuriating being within a fifty mile radius. He had lived in his apartment for two years without incident; the last resident in the apartment above him had been quiet, an older woman with a soft step. The steps above him were too heavy, too clumsy and far too quick to be anyone over the age of twenty-five, where they'd realized there was no point in moving like that anymore and, really, what was the rush to get anything done ever anyway?

He lay there, contemplating life, gripping the edge of his comforter as he stared into the blackness of his ceiling. Even as his eyes adjusted, he saw nothing but black with a little hint of red from the alarm clock. Why was he about to get up? Why was three minutes of rest such a big deal? Did he really need to go to work, after putting up with this bullshit so early in the morning?

Step, step, step, step—THUNK.

Step, step, step, step, step, step, step—pause.

Step, step, step, step—THUNK.

Levi glared at the ceiling with every bit of hatred and fuck-you-for-waking-me-up-three-minutes-early he could muster. Another quick glance to the clock proved that it was still only 6:28 AM on Tuesday, June eleventh (Ah, yes, thinking is a free action), and he could very well have the longest, most hindering day he'd never experienced ahead of him.

THUNK.

He threw his comforter off, swung his body off of the bed and stalked over to his window. He drew the curtains back, light filtering into the small, spotless and perfect room. The only thing out of place that any naked eye could see was his bed, which he promptly re-made. He turned to slap the button on the top of his alarm clock at the same moment the shrill beeping started. He turned his eyes to the uniform hanging on a hook from his door, impeccably pressed, cleaned and flawless. He regarded the fact that he'd already made his bed, propelled by frustration to finish twice as fast as usual.

He left his room to start the coffee machine and regarded with little interest that the noise level had hushed and the steps were substantially quieter. That was the volume he could easily live with. The occasional movement was just fine. Stepping like you were consciously aware of your neighbors downstairs was acceptable. Maybe, just maybe, the ignoramus that had been stomping around like a newborn elephant was just a mover, and his upstairs neighbor was a nice, reasonable person with grace and manners and everything nice in the world. They would meet, maybe, and then return to their daily lives, ignoring each other and living in the peace that Levi had when Old Woman Robertson lived above him.

Calm washed over him as the machine sputtered out just enough coffee for one large cup—all he needed to get himself going for the day. Levi retrieved his mug and poured himself a cup of coffee—

A sudden string of shouts from the floor above him startled him into dropping said mug.

It bounced artlessly off the edge of the wooden counter and down onto the tile floor, black painted porcelain shattering and sprinkling the floor, dark coffee pilling every which way, drenching Levi's sweatpants. The sheer echoing sound of the not-so-clean break settled silence over what felt like the entire apartment complex as Levi stared down at the mess. There was no noise from the level above him. There were no birds singing outside. There was just the soft hum of a growl from the back of Levi's throat as the heat from the coffee sank through his sweatpants and onto his skin.

He glared at the clock on the oven.

6:33 AM.

God rest his poor morning cashier's soul.

[-X-]

The brunette froze at the sound of shattering something that was so loud, he was genuinely impressed by the sheer volume of it. Was it normal to be able to hear things like that from the apartment below you? In that case, how much of the noise that they had made on their own floor had his downstairs neighbor actually heard?

"I told you to be quiet," Mikasa mumbled, carefully placing two large cardboard boxes on top of another in the middle of Eren's bedroom. "It's not gonna be my fault if your neighbors hate you before you've even unpacked one box."

"The—The walls and floor are thinner than they should be! That shouldn't be normal!"

Eren's voice came out in a hushed whisper, now, as if he were more than terrified—which he was—that even an inside voice would be heard from the room below him. Mikasa rolled her eyes at the accusing look Eren shot down at the carpeted floor of his new bedroom. She tucked her hair behind her ear as she pulled out her cell phone to check the time, shifting a box with 'Clothes' scrawled out on the silver duct tape out of her way with her foot. Eren regarded the lack of noise from the apartment below and felt a little bit of comfort. Maybe the crash had just been unnaturally loud. Maybe they hadn't woken up his potentially very friendly neighbor at whatever ungodly time in the morning it was.

"It's six thirty-four. We probably woke the poor bastard up. Maybe I should stay here a little longer to make sure nothing . . ." Mikasa trailed off, shrugging her shoulders as she readjusted the bright red scarf slung around her neck. She shot her friend a look before placing her phone back into her pocket and picked up a box cutter.

"Mikasa, I can handle things on my own. That's the whole reason I'm moving out. Becoming independent. The only thing you'll have to worry about is me punching that dick hole from work in the face."

"Don't."

Eren sighed as he took the box Mikasa opened and began pulling out the contents and placing them around where they'd need to be in the room. None of his furniture was up yet, except for the ragged couch in the living room (he knew for a fact he wouldn't be able to handle it, himself). He'd convinced Mikasa that what remained in the moving truck would be a piece of cake for him to take care of. She had classes, and while she'd insisted she could miss them to help him out, he wouldn't let her.

"I helped you get that job, so I expect you to keep it," she murmured, moving on to a different box. She had the rest of the boxes opened in the room by the time Eren finished unpacking his one box. "Don't mess it up. Punch Jean all you want when you can actually fight for yourself."

"It's not like I'm gonna let you kick his ass for me."

"Why not?"

"Jean would pay you money for you to beat him shitless."

Eren took a moment to appreciate his joke, snickering softly, while Mikasa rolled her eyes and sighed. She tossed him the folded box cutter and shrugged, effectively avoiding the subject of Jean's infatuation altogether. It was annoying, to Eren, because being stuck at work with a babbling moron who wouldn't stop talking about his sister, and how hot she was, and about her beautiful hair, was the most testing experience he'd ever been through. Really, all he wanted to do was sell video games to slightly less infuriating teenage boys, not listen to some horn dog lust after Mikasa. If he was lucky, nine times out of ten, the manager would hit him over the head with a rolled up magazine and Jean would shut up.

Eren fiddled with the box cutter, only long enough to figure out how to unfold the damn thing, before Mikasa cleared her throat.

"I'm gonna get to class, Eren," she said, walking over to him to ruffle his hair. She turned on her heel and headed for the door. "Don't hurt yourself."

"Yeah."

The apartment fell silent after the soft shut of Eren's front door.

He smiled to himself, smiled at the apartment, at the fresh paint on the walls, at the small chip in the door frame from god-knows-what. This was his apartment now. He was by himself. Sure, maybe he had opted to work instead of college (really, his marks had never been that pleasant to the eye anyway), maybe Mikasa and Armin were smarter than him, more talented, but he was the only one, out of the three of them, who was independent. He could make his own rules. He could bring people over without asking permission, he could leave the house without giving someone a heads up, he could leave the TV on and not worry about getting bitched at. This was his castle, albeit tiny and maybe a little shabby.

He twirled the box cutter in his hands, forgetting it was still unfolded.

Predictably, it sliced him right down the palm of his hand.

The brunette dropped the box cutter to the floor with a hiss, the clatter echoing through the room. He grimaced down at his thoroughly lacerated hand, mind trying to think over where Mikasa might have put the box with the bandages, and wondering if he even had the mental capacity to get the damn box open without slicing his fingers off. He stepped toward the door just in time to hear something dully thump to what he could only assume was the ceiling of the apartment below him.

Oh yeah, he'd forgotten about his neighbor.

This is a fabulous start to my mature, entirely capable adult life.

[-X-]

"Wow, you look like hell," Hanji practically sang from the table by the safe. There were bills messily organized (which, Levi though, should definitely be a crime), kept together by paperclips, in front of her, and she was counting a particular stack of twenties. "And you're four minutes late. You're never late. Did you hit a cat on your way here? I know how you love cats."

"Incredibly outstanding observations from you as always, Hanji, it's a shame you have no idea how to keep your gaping shit hole closed from time to time," he shot back at her. She was unaffected by his icy tone. "I did not hit a cat. The bus driver might've, though, but who the hell knows."

He walked past her, to the small clock in station in the corner of the cramped little office. It was inconveniently placed, he thought, considering this meant he had to sit back and watch every dreary employee squeeze past his and Hanji's desks, past the safe and money table, past the three filing cabinets, and, lastly, past the god awful, fire-breathing combination copier, fax machine and printer, just to clock in. He'd talked to the G.O. on several occasions about getting it moved into the break room, which was a little more spacious, but they never budged. Just like they never budged on the topic of letting him move—he'd prefer to destroy—the intimidating painting of the founding father to blame for their convenience store's existence out of the office, as well.

Levi noted, as he punched in his employee numbers to clock in, he was indeed four minutes late.

"A baby stegosaurus has moved into the apartment above mine," he started casually. He sat down in his chair, giving the stack of paperwork on his desk a disinterested glance. "If you get a call in the next few days from the city jail, please accept it. I may need help talking my way out of a murder trial."

The brunette woman grinned.

"That explains a lot. Did they wake you up?"

"Already, yes. I don't see what was so fucking brilliant about moving in before six thirty in the morning. With footsteps that heavy and fast, they have to be young. Shouldn't they take advantage of sleeping in?"

"You were never very early to rise. You still aren't, unless there's promise of coffee."

"Ah, yes, speaking of which, I broke the mug you gave me for Christmas this morning."

The glimmer of amusement in Hanji's eyes from behind her glasses pissed Levi off.

"I'll get you a new one. How'd you swing that?"

"They started shouting and it startled me."

"It startled you?" Hanji raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her creaky (and probably far too old) desk chair. She let out a low whistle. "It takes practice to catch you off guard, and you're usually the one surprising the shit out of other people. I'm amazed. Maybe you should get to know this person. Go on a few dates. Adopt a cat. Move in together. Talk about getting married and having children."

Levi glared. "I can get you fired."

"You could, but you could never find a better assistant manager than me," she stated proudly, bumping her chest with her fist. "Anyway, now's about the time Krista's stalker comes around, and it's your turn to stay up front with her. It's also your week to take over the front while I'm out on lunch and we wait for Petra to get in for the afternoon. You might want to clean the bathroom today before Mike gets in there, because you know how he sometimes leaves grime under the seats—"

"Don't remind me," Levi muttered under his breath, already pushing himself up from his own creaky, old desk chair. He gave her forehead a flick for good measure before stepping out of the office.

The convenience store, to say the least, was cramped.

It wasn't as cramped as it could've been, really, like your typical 7-11. In the mornings like this, a good three quarters of their customers just wanted coffee, donuts or gas. There was a bar next to the pastry box and the rolling grill with coffee and a fresh fruit bar that needed changing out and cleaning constantly. The rolling grill had to be changed and cleaned constantly. The soft drink station had to be changed and cleaned constantly. The bathrooms were cleaned at least twice a day, any day that Levi worked, sometimes more. Then there were your regular rows of snacks, over-priced everyday items, the refrigerated section, a small area with tables to eat at, and then, of course, your checkout counter. It was equipped with the stereotypical clear counter to see through to the lottery tickets, a cash register sitting on either side of it. The displays were always kept in tip-top shape, replenished as needed. The cigarette display was behind the counter, along with signs that obnoxiously informed the customers that, 'We card!' and to, 'Smile, you're on camera!'

On a good day, one where all of the employees knew Levi was going to work, the store was kept spotless and he was kept happy. He'd been managing this particular location for four years now. He thought it was about damn time someone tried to keep him happy.

Krista, a tiny blonde—even shorter than him, Levi noted, a little more than proud—took her place behind the counter, smiling a little nervously at him. After the first time he had snapped at her for not cleaning something well enough, she'd feared him. Now she ran her head off, cleaning as well as she could at any given time. She was never quite sure when he'd emerge from the office.

Levi slid behind the counter with her.

"Lover girl should be here soon," he said absently, picking up a duster—one of those Swiffers that picked up dust instead of just pushing it around—and regarding the immediate redness to Krista's cheeks. "You know, you could always just tell her no. Fuck letting her down gently, she can handle her own, I'm sure."

"But . . . I—I just don't know," the blonde choked out, wringing her hands nervously. "She's nice."

Levi let her response soak in for a moment, running the duster over the shelves behind the counter. Very little dust came up.

"Then give her your number?"

Krista's cheeks darkened. His words startled her, and she even straightened up a little, but she didn't put up a fight for that one. Levi's interest, of course, was immediately captured. He turned his body and attention over to Krista. His expression remained dull, but his eyes brightened.

"Oh? You're entertaining the idea. You're interested?"

"Levi, your gossipy elderly woman is showing!" Hanji's shout from the office tethered his attention to Krista, and he growled. "You're not allowed to give the poor girl a heart attack so early in the morning. I bet she's thirty shades of red right now."

As if on cue, or maybe planned, the door chimed as it opened. A tall woman, a good five inches on Levi, with dark hair and tanned skin made her way into the convenience store. She shot Krista a little look, before resuming any regular bread and butter customer's routine of wandering up and down the aisles until she found what she was looking for.

Levi hummed the wedding march under his breath just to watch Krista squirm.

[-X-]

"Aw, fuck."

Eren scowled at the coffee table in front of him, gracefully wedged between the handrail of the stairs, the wall, and, well, the stairs. He wasn't getting it to budge. Mikasa had offered to help, and he had declined. Now, he faced the consequences with a stuck coffee table and so much regret. There were two more cuts on his hands from the heinous box cutter and he had simply resolved to wrapping his hand in gauze and taping it up. He'd contemplated going to the emergency room for stitches, when it had taken an entire three hours to get the biggest of the three to stop bleeding.

He'd even reduced to texting Armin about medical advice. He was majoring in medicine. He should know, and he did. He'd at least saved Eren a trip to the hospital.

The brunette sat down on the edge of the third stair and rested his elbows on his knees. He clasped his fingers and rested his chin on them, scrutinizing the dreaded coffee table. He concentrated heavily, stupidly, hoping maybe it would lift itself up the stairs and into his living room, but it did no such thing. That's right, coffee tables don't levitate.

Except the coffee was damn well levitating.

It rose up into the air, above Eren's head, above the handrail, above—

"The fuck is this just sitting out here for?" the man, now holding Eren's coffee table (with one fucking hand) demanded. "You're blocking the way to my apartment."

Eren shot straight up, readying a retort or a mumbled apology or an excuse, but his eyes raked over the other man and his words fell short. He was shorter than the brunette, substantially so. His black hair was slightly disheveled, probably much to his displeasure, as it looked like it was very particularly taken care of, undercut just so. His features were sharp, though, and intimidating in ways that Eren was not willing to admit. His eyes were steely in both senses of the word, his mouth drawn into an irritated, tight line. He wore a uniform for a convenience store line that Eren vaguely recognized, his nametag reading 'Levi', with the word 'Manager' in blue bold down below. He was definitely holding Eren's coffee table above his head with one hand.

He even took in miniscule details, such as the plain silver ring on Levi's right-hand middle finger, the man's finely manicured fingernails, the spotlessness and gleam of his boots, the fact that it very well looked like he had his own eyebrows plucked professionally.

"Please, dear God, tell me you're not deaf," Levi muttered, tone cold and frustrated. "Jesus, I'm not gonna stand here and hold your fucking coffee table forever. Actually, you know what."

He stepped past the hand rail, and propped the coffee table on the stairs.

The man turned to regard Eren with that same cold, unforgiving look. He looked like he was expecting more than Eren gracelessly stumbling over his words but that was all Eren was giving him.

"I—D-Damn, I'm sorry, I thought—I swear that thing was stuck, I couldn't get it to move out of the way, sorry." Eren grappled with his words, but he'd already been intimidated into babbling. "Uh, well, my name's Eren. I just moved into the apartment in the floor right above this one."

Recognition, or maybe just simple acknowledgment, lit Levi's eyes, but only for a fraction of a second. That light was immediately replaced with a darkness that would've made Eren flinch if he hadn't been so excited and nervous to meet his neighbors. Levi glared at him, and the brunette felt a surge of anxiety, exactly what Levi was aiming towards getting, hit him like a Wal-Mart bag full of stones.

If only looks could bitterly dismember you.

"So you're the baby stegosaurus," Levi mumbled absently, quietly, and Eren might've missed it if he hadn't been paying attention. "Kid, would it fucking castrate you to be a little fucking quiet at six in the morning? Did you forget that people might be living below you? People who have shitty day jobs working with an already shitty public? Fuck."

Eren, of course, was aghast. His jaw hung slack, lips parted as he stumbled to catch up to Levi's words.

Did he call me a stegosaurus?

The man's voice was quiet, but his words were clear. His face displayed disinterest, but his eyes showed his emotion. His voice was deeper than expected, and, despite his stature, very terrorizing. His analytical gaze was captivating in some ridiculous sense, demanding Eren's attention and respect.

Eren decided that if he were to die young, Levi would be the one to kill him.

"Shit," he breathed out finally. "I—I'm so sorry, you're in the apartment below me, right? Shit, we—" He paused. "—I—probably woke you up with the noise in the bathroom . . . Christ, it's probably right above your bedroom or something. I am really sorry—"

"Alright, alright," Levi muttered, holding up a hand and making a slicing motion to shut Eren up. "Good enough, you can stop now. Just . . . Keep the noise level at a bare minimum before six thirty, except on Sundays and Thursdays. Make all the damn noise you want after that, alright?"

Even though he said that, Eren was already petrified into making as little noise as humanly possible for the rest of his life. The brunette figured, after a tiny flicker of sympathy flashed across Levi's eyes, that his fear probably reflected on his face like garish neon strip club sign. Seeing something other than negativity or neutrality in the man's eyes was a little bit of a relief—maybe he won't want to slit my throat in the middle of the night after all—but only a minimum. Eren thought over the possibilities of what he could do to make this up, before lighting up with an idea.

He tugged a well-used pencil and a receipt from his minor grocery shopping from this morning out of his pocket. Levi watched him, still scrutinizing his every move, as he scribbled down his cell phone number before holding it out to the smaller man.

"Here!" he said, trying to smile. It was hard. "My name's Eren. If you need anything, just call my cell, alright? I work on weekdays from eight to four, but other than that I'm usually free."

The way the black haired man simply stared at the disheveled receipt unnerved him. Levi finally accepted it, though, and looked it over, before turning his eyes back to Eren. He looked like he expected something, Eren noted, who, with another hit of sheer panic, realized he had nothing else to offer. He'd already used up his brain power for the day, and it was an extra ten cents per minute that he wasn't willing to cough up.

So, when nothing was offered, Levi crumpled the receipt in his fist.

"Thanks, kid, but I seriously doubt I'll need this," he stated. Eren noted, though, that he still held the receipt. As an afterthought, he added, "Please don't be a grunter, by the way. If your bathroom is right above my room, I really don't want to wake up to the sound of you shitting in the middle of the night, holy fuck."

Eren's mouth fell open again, but nothing came out.

Levi must have taken that as his cue, because he turned rather sharply and stalked down the hall with as much as a goodbye. Eren watched, silent, as he pulled the keys out of his pocket, unlocked the door, opened it, stepped into his apartment, and slammed the door behind him. It was uncomfortable, staring at the closed door, so he turned his gaze downward. Turquoise eyes stared down his coffee table as he processed everything that had just happened.

What an asshole.