Disclaimer: I don't own Shingeki no Kyojin.


Idealism

They lie huddled together, cramped in a single-person bed, and wouldn't have it any other way.

Her head is tucked safely between his sharp jawline and bony shoulder and she draws lazy shapes and patterns on his chest with a single finger. She can feel his lips caressing the crown of her skull and she's sure he's focused on the rays of moonlight streaming in through the window.

"Levi," she calls his name, voice light and laced with slight traces of sleepiness, and she can feel the questioning hum from his throat, "Would you ever fall in love?"

"No." is his firm answer and she understands the reason perfectly. She lets her lips curve up a little.

"Then, what is this?"

"You tell me."

A tiny laugh dances on her tongue. "Well," she begins, "This is as close as we can be without being too close."

His arm wrapped around her waist pulls her in just a little closer and she knows she gave the right answer. "It's hard to be something when one or both of us may die in the next hour, day, week, huh? We can't be anything without heartbreak." She hates to be pessimistic, but how can one not be with such a threat in their lives?

"Levi?" She beacons his name again, "If we lived in a better world, better than within the Inner Walls, with no fear of immediate death, would you fall in love?"

"... Maybe. It would only be natural," is his delayed response, "If I were an average guy, with an average history, and an average life, sure."

Her smile grows a little wider, "So, in that ideal world, Levi," she returns to languidly tracing shapes into his chest, "Would you make this something?"

"In a heartbeat." is his immediate reply. His free hand gently grasps hers, effectively halting her doodling. He traces his fingers over hers, kneading her knuckles and landing on the slender digit next to her pinkie.

"In that ideal world, Petra," his lips haven't left the top of her head, "This finger would have a ring on it."

Her smile is a grin reaching from ear to ear, and hand in hand, they sleep.

Yet, however close they are, they never keep their hopes up for something more. They never try with the little time they have. They never exchange those three important, special words.

And when he sees her body limp against the tree; when he sees her corpse tossed out of the cart mindlessly; when her father speaks cheerfully and unknowing with him, about fondness, about marriage, about her; he regrets it. He regrets it all.