Hi there! I've given the reader a name, but please feel free to read it as Y/N :)
Everything must be perfect. Neat and organized, each tin carefully placed down with care upon the cedar planks which run from one side of the small shop to the other. Easily classified into specific categories, something that amateurs should be able to manage. Black tea all grouped together, the herbals and the greens. Of course, there are the oolongs and the infusions – which Levi wasn't entirely sure even deserved a spot in here…
Fruit. Goddamn fruit! He would grumble, wondering why in the hell people drank that shit to begin with.
However, yes – everything had its place in this world and Levi took it one step further in not only categorizing based on strain, yet also by his personal preference. Because if there was one thing in this world which he could be sure of, it was that he knew his goddamn shit about tea. Knew exactly which one you'd enjoy in the morning, which one aided the stomach when digesting a light lunch, which ones assisted in the mind being lulled off to sleep.
And hell, did he ever need assistance in that department these days. Always did, to be truthful; yet his insomnia appeared to reach entirely new levels these last few years. Something that would have been difficult to comprehend back in his early days – figuring life had already dropped to the lowest levels of shit.
Nope, there is always room for more. If Levi had taken one thing away from the war, it was exactly that: life could always get just a little bit worse than it already was. A comforting thought? Not particularly; but an honest one.
Mind back to tea. He closes his eyes for a brief moment to centre himself. Falling back into the past is an action he rarely allows himself; for there is nothing good waiting back there for him.
In here, it is neat and organized and everything has its place. Even infusion tea… his jaw clenches as he holds back an eyeroll. Blasphemous.
Never once did Levi stop to ponder the words, what shall I do with my life? Comical to even consider himself having that luxury. It just wasn't something one did when growing up in the hellhole that he had somehow managed to crawl his way out of. Wasn't something he had time to do when chasing off after Erwin's dreams for all those many years. Wasn't something he gave himself time to consider when hatred spilled over into his veins at the sight of Erwin's lifeless corpse and suddenly, he had a new mission.
A mission which he finally, finally completed five years ago.
Never having known anything else, he threw himself back into work. Threw himself back into what he knew best and returned to a life of being Captain Levi Ackerman of the Paradis Survey Corps. Yet everything felt so empty, now. Or perhaps it had always felt like that… hard to tell.
One year later, when he finally made the spontaneous decision to suddenly walk away from it all and found himself wandering the streets of the newly rebuilt Marley, staring out at the strange new land and asked himself for the very first time: well, what are you going to do with your life?
A life he wasn't expecting to still have, a life that felt burdensome if anything. But it was his, and it was still here – so might as well make the best of it.
A small shop caught his attention, a place where he could sit down and enjoy a quiet cup of tea while mulling some of this tiresome shit over in that mind of his. He walked in to find himself disgruntled at the fact that this was not a tea shop – it was a café which offered such few selections of tea, if you could even call their selections that. It was a complete and utter disgrace to the very suggestion of a tea shop and that was when Levi had his very first inclination of what he may perhaps enjoy doing with his life.
He found this place while going for a stroll one afternoon, a tiny little for sale sign thrown up in the window. After a few hours of pondering this decision, he threw caution to the wind and used the savings he had managed to throw together in order to purchase the shop.
It was quiet, not a business that would provide extravagant measures of success but that was just the way which Levi would have had it regardless. A quiet shop with a few regular customers he'd grown to gather over the last month of its opening. Mostly clueless about tea, yet open and eager to hear his recommendations. Which only made sense, for Levi was a connoisseur of tea.
There were not many things that Levi became involved in within this life yet when he did, when he chose something to throw himself wholeheartedly into – he was the best.
A large gust of wind outside rattles the windowpane in a way that reminds him to get that looked at, the cocking of the sills likely needing replacement. His eyes are pulled to the image of a woman just outside the shop, seemingly having just turned around from the door and attempting to run away in haste while frantically holding down the skirt of her dress while the wind blows wildly around her.
For the briefest of moments, he's quite positive that her face rings familiar. Attempting to place her, he notices a black umbrella looped around her wrist and all of a sudden it clicks.
The cemetery.
A strange heaviness settles as he wonders why she turned around. Wondering why he wishes that she had walked into the door of his little shop. With narrowed eyes, he pushes the thoughts away to straighten a slightly crooked tin. Rarely does he let thoughts such as those dwell within his mind.
And yet, as he unpacks the latest shipment of hibiscus, his eyes shift up to stare out the window once more. Why did she turn around?
It's a cold and rainy morning, the kind that leaves me wishing to curl up in one of the many blankets thrown across the back of the sofa or one of the armchairs which are scattered throughout our living room.
Shit.
I did it again. My living room. That rings so painfully true it's hard to bear – as obviously, this is not the exact home in which my husband lived before… before everything.
The buildings trampled, all of it brought down to the ground in a cloud of smoke and dust so that afterwards, the city made commitments to rebuilt. Blueprints kept alive somewhere, we were all asked if we preferred to have a like-for-like or something new.
Something new? That sounded terrifying when all I was trying to do was desperately hold onto the past which was so easily slipping through my fingers with every passing moment. Numb, exhausted and tired. I chose the path of least resistance, of the least work.
So that is how I've ended up with an exact replica of the home we used to call our own, of the small room to the right of the fireplace which mocks and taunts me on a daily basis – or should I say a nightly basis, because we all know that's when the pain truly seeps out and leaves your lungs gasping for air.
The nursery.
Letting out a sigh, I pull my eyes away from it and force tired feet into my boots. Forcing myself to go outside – to go for a small walk, if only. The shop, the tiny little tea shop I saw upon one of my earlier walks; that's where I'll go.
My days are filled like this: regretfully pulling myself from warm morning sheets to sit idly at my kitchen table and wander how I'll fill my pointless day. My husband… he was one of those men that somehow managed to find the delicate balance between workaholic and a man who always had time for his family. Not a large fortune by any means, but a tiny one was carefully placed into our bank account.
A nest egg. He used to call it, though it was much more than that. He was always so modest – and not in that self-deprecating way which I've seemed to master, but that is another story for another day. Enough that if I wish not to work and keep my spending to a minimum, I'll be fine.
Sort of the most depressing thing in the entire world for someone who has entirely too much time on their hands and a wish to feel even remotely useful in this miserable and lonely place. "Find yourself a part-time job." I had our family doctor wave his hand dismissively when I first mentioned the dangerously tempting thoughts of slipping away from all of this, from life, which slowly began creeping into my mind while I lay still at night. As if it could be so easy, as if that's all it would take.
For another thing I am oh so blessed to be dealing with is a complete and absolute lack of motivation to do nearly anything in life. Find a part-time job where I will be required to introduce myself to new people? To interact? To mingle? What, all with a smile on my face?
No thank you.
The thought of that is so draining I can feel the energy slip out of my shoulders, can feel that crinkle in between my eyebrows manifest – the one I used to smear absurd amounts of nightly facial cream in a desperate attempt to stop the inevitable signs of aging. Back when I cared of those things and the true irony is that as I glance upon the small, oval shaped mirror hung over the sink in my parlor room, a sarcastic and gloomy chuckle escapes my lips. I have never looked younger, though not quite in the way that I was hoping.
Lost. I look oh so very lost in life, a complete lack of any confidence in where I'm going – where I wish to go, now. A type of lost that speaks of naive innocence, that speaks of hopelessness. My eyes spill the truth, however. I think you can see the entire story of all hell one has been forced to live through when you look into someone's eyes.
It's why I usually avoid doing that – staring into someone's eyes. Not entirely having the strength or energy to recognize that same oh so incredibly painful emotion in another human. Not from a wish to feel as though I'm special – oh, no. To pretend that there are still some happy people left in this hellish world. Pretend. Because I don't particularly believe it.
What can I say? An optimist at heart, I am not.
A large gust of wind pulls my mind back to the present as I pull my jacket shut a little tighter around my neck. It's a cold day, very obvious that fresh autumn mornings are slowly slipping into wintertime. Thankfully, the shop isn't that far from my home and so I find myself standing before the front window in no time.
Wow. They really have quite the selection. I can already see the rows and rows of tiny little tins as I reach out for the doorhandle yet suddenly, I am halted in my tracks. There's a man inside, face tilted ever so slightly down to stare at the jar within his hands and so I'm doubting myself a little but I swear… I swearthat he is…
Ah. My eyes glance down to the cane placed within his other hand. He is. He's the man from the cemetery, the one who I caught staring at me from across the site. Why do I feel so uncomfortable now? So unwilling to walk in…
I don't like the idea of someone knowing something about me – something private. Yes, I realize how entirely ridiculous that sounds – he knows nothing, not of who I visit, of who I lost, but still. He's seen me in one of my most private moments and he's a stranger. It feels vulnerable in a way that has me tingly and lightheaded. Hello, my dear old friend anxiety.
No, I'll go another day. He clearly likes to shop here but I can't run into him every time. I promptly turn around, cursing a rather large gust of wind that decides it wishes to fuck with me just a little more than this world already has as it desperately attempts to whirl up the hem of my skirt. Fingers bunch at material and I hold the fabric down and shuffle away, deciding that yes – it's most entirely a day to curl up on my sofa and not move.
Another one of those days. There's been a few too many than I care to admit, these days…
I'll spare you the details of how I spend the remainder of the week. Spoiler alert, it's not so different in how I spent my Monday – with of course the exception that I forfeited my attempt at even going to the tea shop. Kind of forgotten, truthfully; I get into these moods, the ones where leaving my apartment door feels overwhelming and of course the sofa looks oh so inviting. It sets me up for failure, it does.
Sunday morning, there's always one thing I can count on to pull me from this slump. Time for my weekly visit. I throw my jacket on, the same clothing – the same ruined black pumps. Why do I spend a few moments in the car mirror applying mascara just for it to run down my tear-stained cheeks in a few moments? Who knows…
Can't a widow wish to look a little presentable for her husband just in case that allegorical bullshit of they're always watching down upon you rings true?
Soggy grass again, my heels fall down into the dirt as I carefully make my way over to the small stone. A fresh batch of water lilies placed down upon the top and I close my eyes to feel the morning air brush against my face. It's nice when the breeze works with me and has my hair blowing behind instead of pushing it all into my face in such a way that I almost consider chopping it all off that afternoon in frustration. Almost.
Just standing here, my eyes remain closed. Sometimes – more like all the time – I close my eyes and imagine that he's standing behind me with his arms wrapped ever so tightly around my waist and head resting down upon my shoulder. Always the left shoulder, that's how he'd stand. A few times, I swear I can almost feel the warmth from his fingers transferring through my jacket to the cold skin underneath and that is when I wrench my eyes open.
Not quite ready to fall out of reality that much. Insanity and delusional thoughts of false realities sound tempting, but unfortunately my mind is still a little too sharp to give in to it all. Perhaps one day when I'm old and grey, I'll stop resisting and find myself all the happier. Wondering why I hadn't given in to lunacy in my younger years.
Another gust of wind, a large one. Whips my black brimmed hat off my head and throws it across the yard with such speed that I immediately resign myself to the fact that it's lost – I'll never catch it.
Yet someone else does. I suddenly notice a stranger on the other end of the graveyard bend down to pick up the hat, which has mysteriously fallen directly before his feet. Oh shit… my heart begins to race as I recognize the cane, the raven hair. The somehow detectable saddened eyes from all this distance and then I really panic because he's walking over here. He's walking over here with my goddamn hat in his hands.
Truly, he's limping over here. Should I meet him half way? Is that the protocol? This is… oh, this is strange. I truly care not for him to read the name in which I stand before on this grave and so that is what has me walking over to meet him a few stones over. I don't like the look in someone's eyes when they find me to be a war widow… the pity is anything but comforting. It's maddening.
"Is this your hat?" His voice is a bit more quiet that I would have expected and my eyes instinctively flash around the graveyard to confirm that we are the only two standing in it. Something almost like a small smile appears on my lips as I stare back at him while slowly nodding, who else would it belong to?
He's nervous. Or not used to speaking with others, or at least not used to it in a graveyard. The realization that I'm not alone in dreading basic human interaction these days leaves me feeling a little less frightened.
"Thank you." One of my hands instinctively goes up to brush through my hair, "The wind…"
His eyes move up to follow my fingers and I realize how ridiculous of a justification that is. Of course it was the wind. Had I just picked my hat up and flung it out into the air towards him? My smile deepens a little as I chuckle at myself, so foolish.
He nods, holding his arm out a little so that I may take the hat back from him and place it upon my head. Such a silly notion because of course the wind is still present and almost immediately, it's whisked off my head again and thrown out in the same direction yet somehow even further.
Our eyes turn to watch the suede material soaring through the air, leather tassels tied around the brim dangling in the wind as it's pulled off across the field.
"Don't think I'll be able to catch up with that." He taps his cane on the ground a little, apologetic eyes as if thinking I would ever expect him to go running off after it for me.
"Oh." I startle a little before quickly shaking my head. "No, I would never expect…" His eyes glance down to stare at my shoes – likely attempting to sort out if I'm about to take off running and so I lift up a heel to show how easily the stiletto already sinks into the soggy turf. "I don't think I can chase after it, either." Shrugging my shoulders, I wasn't entirely fond of the hat to be honest.
He nods again before a silence fills the space between us, not an uncomfortable one however. "Sorry to have troubled you." I bow my head in return.
"It wasn't." His voice is deadpan, so still it's hard to detect any sort of emotion in there. Huh? My eyes flash up to him in confusion and so he clears his throat to clarify, "Trouble. It wasn't a trouble."
I weakly smile and begin to turn around so that I may make my way back to the car when he suddenly mumbles, "Were you outside the new teahouse on Pine Street the other day?"
Frozen, I glance back at him in surprise. He saw me? Shit…"I was," a nervous laugh. "How did you know?"
"I was inside." He stares ahead. Heavens, this man is difficult to read. My desperate attempt to do just that is interrupted as he speaks again, "Why did you turn around?"
"Oh, um…" Shit. shit. shit. "It didn't look like they had the kind of tea I was looking for."
He looks startled and an eyebrow is suddenly raised. "What kind of tea were you looking for?"
What is this guy? An interrogator of preferred beverages? "It just didn't look like they had a very big selection." I wave a dismissive hand, hoping to withdraw from this conversation and return to my solitude.
"I have the largest selection in Marley." He narrows his eyes.
Well, that just sounds ridiculous. How could one possibly know all of the teas offered in – wait a moment. Did he just say… "You have?" I flinch a little.
"It's my shop." Something almost like a grin appears on the side of his lip, ever so slightly curled up on one side.
"Ah." I blush – heavens yes, I am deeply blushing. So badly I can feel the heat steaming from my cheeks. "I'm sorry, I didn't turn around because of the tea. I'm sure you have a very large selection."
"The largest in Marley." His face returns to a serious stare once more. "I wasn't being facetious."
I nod my head, apologetic a little and wishing to express that I believe him yet he doesn't let up. "So why did you turn away?" His eyes stare into mine in such a way that I feel compelled to speak the truth. As though he'll know if I pull out another little white lie.
"I thought I recognized you from the other weekend and I just… I've never spoken to anyone when I come here. It felt a little… frightening – running into someone who has seen me… here."
His face softens just a small amount but it's there while he nods his head as if to say I understand. All too well, it looks. "I shouldn't have intruded upon your moment." He makes a move to turn around and retreat but suddenly I am the one clearing my throat as I hoarsely call out, "You weren't." He turns around to stare at me and I clarify as he did, "Intruding. You were returning my hat." A small smile is offered his way as I do my best to recall what it feels like to appear friendly.
"Failed in that endeavor." He tilts his head to the side and shrugs his shoulders.
"Well, you tried." I softly chuckle and find myself surprised at the pleasantness of my own voice. How very long it's been since I've heard that sound, pure and genuine without even a dash of sarcasm. It lifts my heart just a little and I notice it's appeared to impact him as well.
"I'm Levi." He holds out a hand, taking a small step towards me so that I can reach out to grab hold of his fingers as I smile back and whisper, "Lilette."
"For your hat, the first cup is on the owner." He speaks with a tiny, tiny smile. As if he owes me something for the wind, yet I find myself laughing again as I nod my head.
"If you decide to come in." He adds as my fingers drop from his touch.
"I'll come in." I nod my head in appreciation for the kind offer. "I'll stop by tomorrow morning if that works for you."
"I'll be there." He returns the nod before turning around to resume his retreat and I stand there watching as he slowly leaves the graveyard before a sickening feeling breaks out through my stomach and causes me to wince as I nearly fall over onto the grass below.
It is the first time – the very first time – I've stood in this field of graves and thought of anything other than my husband. The first time I've laughed here, the first time I've smile. The first time I've nearly forgotten where I stand.
Guilt. Panic. Disgust. I pull myself back to my quiet apartment with my dear old friends and settle in for an evening of their torture, of blank eyes staring out at that closed door before me. A morning of resuming the prior night's activities, sprawled out on my sofa well past noon. Well past the time when I said that I'd stop by the teashop… which isn't much of a surprise.
The moment the words had left my mouth, I never really expected to follow through with that commitment. Oh well, he likely doesn't care. Hopefully I won't run into him again next Sunday morning.
Well, the moment those words enter my mind… somehow, I also know them to be very untruthful; and they are. For the next weekend, I glance over to see his eyes staring back at me and wince a little in wishing I had followed through with that promise of Monday morning tea.
Shit.
Wincing and a slight cringe as I pull myself over there to apologize. Hopefully the offer still stands… hopefully I'll find the willpower to actually follow through with the commitment this time around. And so when I mumble an I'm sorry and find myself to be forgiven, I surprise myself by blurting out, "Are you free now?"
No time like the present to force yourself into something.
"Sure." He nods.
"I have my car here." I point towards the parking lot and that is how I find myself driving back into town with a stranger on our way to go share a cup of tea.
Well, not entirely a stranger I suppose. I know his first name, at least.
…Levi.