Levi woke up groggily, the clock mounted on his wall presenting an astounding '2:45 am'. He left his bed without missing a beat and decidedly rewarded himself with a blisteringly hot shower. The steam cleared his senses and the water successfully loosened up his sore muscles.
The towel sitting staionary on his hips, he dragged his feet across the freshly vacuumed carpet to his closet. After a bit of self argument, he dressed in a pair of formal fitting pants and a grey t-shirt that dipped below his collarbone surprisingly well.
Breakfast was an everyday occurence of course, something like buttered toast and cup of unsweetened coffee. He left after brushing his teeth and slipping on a pair of bleached converse and a green sweatshirt with a sagging hood.
The walk was calming to some extent, the sky tinged greys and blues reminded him of his own eyes. He let out a hot breath, undisturbed by the normal waking city sounds.
The blood curdling scream was not expected, followed by awkward shuffling, crackling, then two hooded teens rushing out of the alleyway right past Levi's vision. He was hit with a wave of nostalgia as a battered boy staggered out too, bleeding from his lips and nose. His arm was bent in a horribly awkward way and his jean pockets were tugged inside-out.
Levi scoffed lamely, only concerned when he- No, it was /Eren/, he knew that mop of brown hair anywhere- collided into the ground. Gore painted the sidewalk almost immediately and Levi felt his heart turn to stone. He rushed to what he assumed was now a corpse and dragged him up by the back of his shirt.
His expression honestly shocked Levi. He looked serene and calm, torn lips slightly parted and cheeks dusted with pink that could just be his skin tainted with blood. He wrapped an arm around his midsection, other hand diving into his pocket to find his phone. He dialed 911, voice calm as he spoke of his concern.
It was 15 minutes of sheer terror and shock until the sirens were the only things he could hear. They carried him off on a stretcher, gloved fingers checking his wounds. Eren hadn't even flinched when they jostled one of his dislocated joints back into place.
Was he dead?
Apparently so, since Levi hadn't caught wind of the brat or his art in the city for days. Days stretched into weeks and blank walls seemed lonely without Eren's paint rather than his own. He cursed himself for being worried in the first place, filling the unmistakble void in his chest with measured strokes of his angled brush. The city was covered in his tendrils of black smoke and visions of Eren's face before Levi presumed him dead.
It could be considered pathetic if your first reaction wasn't one of sympathy. He was hung up on someone he barely knew, but emtions melted into curiousity and Levi did what he normally did best- forgot.
Eren had taken more of a liking to his old life, back when it wasn't real at all, just the side effects to knocking your head against some asphalt. He bought canvases by the dozen, set up stands and hung up old sketches. He painted the landscape he had first seen, with mountainous trees that could touch the sun. He drew detailed figures of him and his squad, postures hunched and cords latched onto branches and trunks.
He used pastels to smear bits of white over foreshadowed faces and carelessly sketched leaves. This one painted was followed by many others, stacks upon stacks filled his room and it was safe to say this was an obsession.
Mikasa walked in on him wearing a striped yellow and red t-shirt, a pair of overalls, and several bobbypins holding back his bangs. He smiled sheepishly at her as she walked over to him, pinching his chocolately strands between her fingers.
"You need a haircut," She crooned, nudging him to face her so she could fix up his hair with nimble fingers. She narrowed down the amount of bobbypins in his hair to three. He thanked her promptly after smudging a spot of grey paint on her nose.
She flinched back, the scooped a dollop of purple paint onto her finger and dragged it down his cheek. This became a fullblown 'paint fight' and Mikasa was definately winning, with her catlike reflexes and Eren's clumsy behavior. They both ended up sitting at the foot of his bed, knees bent up to avoid hitting the dresser, paint on eachother's clothes and in their hair.
With a small laugh, Mikasa rose to her feet and directed herself to a stack of Eren's most recent paintings. She flipped through the images, happiness faltering.
"Eren," She choked, picking up the last painting in the stack. She held it up to contrast against the light, smile falling. "Oh my god." It was him, of course, between two rows of teeth and arm outstretched. Blood covered half of his face, one leg missing and teal eyes wide with terror.
Eren politely cleared his throat and coaxed the painting out of her hands. She spun to face him, shaking her head and gathering painting in her arms.
"Mikasa, what are you-"
"You need help."
"What?"
"This isn't normal, Eren. You need help." He wanted to say, 'I'm not crazy', 'They're just paintings', or maybe, 'But it's all /real/.' But no, his lips were forming different words and syllables.