Levi starts to show up at the gym during her daily workouts. Mikasa almost hits herself in the face with a kettlebell when she sees him standing behind her as she does squats.
"Your form is shit," he says, his voice utterly lacking in emotion. "You need to stick your ass out more." She ignores him and continues moving, crouching down, then swinging the kettlebell up and out as she rises, silently counting her breaths. She hears his footfalls against the floor and then he is standing before her, glowering down at her as she exercises. "Don't ignore me. I'm doing this for your own good."
"Berating me for my own good? How thoughtful of you," she sneers. She is happily surprised she can still sound this sarcastic as she huffs with exertion, cold sweat dripping down her face.
He folds his arms. "Okay, then how's this: I don't want to look like an asshole on stage in two months because my partner sucks." Mikasa puts down the kettlebell and rises, making sure to pull herself up to her full height before approaching him.
"Fine" is all she says as she sweeps her hand out, inviting him to show her what she is doing wrong. Levi keeps his eyes, narrowed into irritated slits, on her as he takes her place and picks up the kettlebell, then crouches down.
"Look at me. Look how my lower back is pulled in and my ass juts out."
Mikasa curls her lip. "You want me to look at your ass?" she chuckles.
"Grow up," he spits. He pulls himself up, the muscles in his legs bulging as they support his weight. His movements are fluid, clearly practiced. After twenty squats in a row, he is barely breaking a sweat. Mikasa has always considered herself to be in excellent shape, has spent more time than she'd like to admit flexing in the mirror in her bathroom, but this guy is just ridiculous. Levi stands up, depositing the kettlebell on the floor as though it weighs nothing. "Your turn." Mikasa takes his place and starts doing the exercise. "No, no," he says as she pulls herself to a standing position. "In," he growls, hitting her on the small of her back.
Her eyes widen in shock: his slap stings a bit, but it is more the intimacy of his brief touch, his fingers landing millimeters above the swell of her ass, that throws her off balance.
"Don't touch me like that again," she warns him, fixing a furious gaze on him as she dips down and brings herself back up.
"Then squat properly," he tells her. Mikasa exhales heavily and stands. She makes a show of slightly arching her back, then crouches down again. "That's better. Do nine more, then rest. We'll do three sets of ten."
She has to admit, judging by the strain she feels in her lower back as she goes down and raises herself up over and over, that he is right. She hates him for it.
Ninety minutes later, drenched in sweat, her muscles weary, Mikasa furiously pedals her bike through the city streets, swerving in and out of traffic without a care for herself or anyone around her. Cars honk at her as she cuts them off. A young woman holding a toddler's hand screams at her as she barrels through an intersection without stopping. Mikasa cannot possibly care less. Her fury is so great, so boundless, that the world seems to transform around her. The drivers of all of the cars are Levi. The woman shouting at her from the corner is Levi. Her small child is especially Levi.
When Mikasa pulls up to her apartment building, she locks her bike outside and then runs up the stairs to her tiny fifth-floor walkup, slamming the door behind her. She wishes she owned something on which to take out her anger, but the softest thing in her apartment is a flat, old pillow so instead she takes the hottest shower she can muster. It calms her down to the point where she still feels the urge to punch a wall, but knows that doing so would be foolish. She can imagine Levi examining her bruised and bloodied knuckles, scoffing at her hotheadedness. Mikasa scowls at the mental image and kicks a flimsy plastic chair across her apartment. It does not make her feel better; she imagines her partner would not go flying so easily.
Back at the studio that afternoon, Levi is outside waiting for her as she pulls up on her bike, coasting to a stop in front of him.
"That's how you get around?" he asks as she dismounts, takes off her helmet, and picks up her bike to carry it up the steps and into the dance studio.
"Not usually. My horse is getting reshoed," Mikasa retorts as she follows Levi inside, setting her bike down. To her surprise, he holds the door for her.
"Funny," he deadpans, heading for the stairwell.
"Thanks," she replies, resting her bike against the wall in the lobby and following him upstairs. She smirks as she notices that he takes the stairs two at a time.
Levi looks at her over his shoulder. "I was being sarcastic."
"I know." He frowns at her, then starts taking the steps three at a time. Mikasa lets him get ahead of her, not feeling the need to match his posturing.
"Don't trip," she murmurs.
Rehearsing with him always feels so strange. Erwin has created a series of dances based upon mythologies, and their performance is one of the centerpieces of the upcoming showcase: Mikasa is Persephone, and Levi is Hades. He has been told, quite explicitly, to make his performance reptilian, to slither over and around her as he coaxes pomegranate arils into her mouth.
Mikasa looks forward to the opportunity to literally bite the hand that feeds her. She has caught herself daydreaming about digging her teeth deep into the nerve-rich pads of his slim fingers.
She thinks it is only fair for her to dream of violence. For two hours Levi alternately insults her and ignores her while they work out. For four or more hours he alternately insults her and ignores her while gathering her in his arms, running his hands over her muscular curves, pressing his fingers to her lips. She finds it unbearable on the better days, dreams of collapsing dead at his feet on days where he criticizes everything from the arch of her feet to the smell of her sweat.
Her grueling, interminable practices with a man she hates are the most physically intimate thing she's done in eighteen months. Mikasa tries not to think about it too much. Most evenings, she spends hours leaning out the narrow window in her bedroom, chain smoking cigarettes, before she can relax enough to cook herself dinner, channel surf, fall asleep, and get up the next day for more of the same.
Two weeks pass and she feels as though she has made little progress. Some nights she cannot sleep and she spends hours with her head out the window, watching cars go by five stories below as cigarette after cigarette disappears. Some days she smokes an entire pack. Levi starts calling her at six-thirty each morning to ensure she is adequately awake by seven, when he shows up at her apartment building for a five-mile run. Each morning she finds herself trailing after him, her breath burning through her roughened lungs, her sleep-deprived muscles screaming their resistance. Mikasa knows she needs to quit smoking, but after hours of Levi's barbs each day, her nightly cigarettes are the only thing she has to look forward to.
"You're doing especially poorly today," he tells her after she manages to stumble and fall forward into his arms during an arabesque penché. He pushes her away. "What is going on with you?"
She grits her teeth. "Nothing."
Levi frowns at her. "It's not nothing. You're getting careless and making rookie mistakes."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're awful right now." His words hurt, because deep down she knows he's absolutely right.
She tries the move again and falters once more. "Fuck, Mikasa, you are sucking ass today," he growls, shaking his head. He turns and walks away from her, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Frustration radiates off him in waves, but his anger is nothing compared to how much she hates herself right now.
Maybe, she thinks, if I wasn't such a failure as a dancer, Levi wouldn't be telling me how terrible I am for eight hours each day.
"I need a minute," she blurts and walks away from him.
"Don't leave," he snaps. "You're acting like a baby."
She grabs her purse and runs for the closest door, completely ignoring the enormous "EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY — ALARM WILL SOUND" sign emblazoned across it in caution yellow. She pushes the bar and winces as the alarm blares, but forges ahead anyway and steps out onto the fire escape. Her hands shake as she digs through her purse, finally locating a battered pack of Camels and a cheap orange plastic lighter with only a splash of butane inside. She feels her control starting to slip and tears starting to form in the inner corners of her eyes as the wind blows out the first flame she is able to produce. Her second attempt works and soon she is inhaling the cigarette smoke, remembering what it is like to breathe freely, briefly but blissfully away from Levi's constant criticism.
"Filthy habit," Levi remarks as he steps out onto the fire escape.
"Will you please leave," Mikasa implores him, unable to look at him, her voice wavering with unshed tears. "Ever since I met you, you've been horrible to me. I can't take this anymore."
He exhales through his nose and frowns at her profile. "Yes, you can take it. And you should want to."
"You don't know shit about me," she sniffles. She turns her body away from him, looking out at the skyline.
He pauses for a moment, sighs. "I know you're an amazing dancer."
Mikasa chokes on her anger and laughs at the same time, her back still to him. "Now you're going to kiss my ass?"
"No. I'm stating the facts. Just like when I say you can't jeté worth a damn, that's a fact too. You don't get enough lift."
This last jab at her breaks the dam and Mikasa swipes at her face, wiping tears away. "Do I have to have a fucking mental breakdown in order to have two fucking minutes without negative reinforcement?" she all but sobs, gesticulating wildly with her lit cigarette as she speaks. She presses her lips to the filter and greedily sucks down the sweet, acrid smoke. The deep breathing calms her, but the nicotine makes her nerves thrum and she starts to think today might be the day she actually tries to fight Levi Ackerman.
"Since you've been resisting everything I've said for the past two weeks, I guess I have to be a bit more obvious. I'm pushing you, Mikasa. Erwin even told you I'd do it. Look, I've seen you practice. You're really good, but you could be a lot better. That's why Erwin brought me in. I danced with Petra at her debut, too."
Mikasa's tear-filled eyes widen and she turns back around to him. "Petra Ral?"
"Yeah, and now she's—"
"—At ABT. I know." She takes one last drag of her cigarette and stubs it out on the side of the building. "That's the dream."
"Try harder and be more disciplined. Then you'll have a real shot."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. Have you ever seen me not be serious?" Mikasa twists her mouth to one side in thought, then comes to the conclusion that she has not once seen him crack a joke or laugh. "Come here." Levi holds his arms open, waving her over with one hand. "Hug it out."
Mikasa narrows her eyes at him, suspicious of his offer. "Is this a trick?"
Levi lets out an exasperated sigh. "Look, I'm not going to be this nice for much longer, so take advantage of it while you still can."
Mikasa exhales, the tension releasing from her shoulders. She slouches a bit — perhaps subconsciously trying to bring herself down to his size, to submit? — and accepts his hug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. It feels surprisingly good, mainly because for the first time in two weeks he is quiet, but it is not the stony silence of his utter disappointment in her.
She feels him shift, then the caress of his breath, hot against her ear. She is surprised to find that her heart starts racing.
"I hope you enjoyed that cigarette, because it's your last one. And if you pull any diva shit like this again, Erwin will find out." He steps back, grins at her, and goes back inside.
Levi can hear her stream of invective even through the thick metal door. "She'll learn," he tells himself.