"This doesn't change anything."
Sophie rubbed her forehead as she remembered the events of that night. How, despite the tenderness of the moment, Levi had abruptly broken their kiss and whispered those words. He was now on his way to retake Wall Maria like the hero he was, while her hangover had prevented her from bidding a proper farewell to the Scouts like she was supposed to. Maybe she was not as fit for the Corps as she had initially thought. But she also was not the esteemed woman everyone thought her to be.
She wrinkled her face as the sun shone on her way through Mitras. She didn't regret her behavior that night, but she did regret feeling so heartbroken by Levi's piercing words. Despite not having any grounds for it, she still hoped that the kiss would've meant something to him. His words indicated that it hadn't, and maybe that was for the best, given that he was now her superior. In the end, not even Sophie was sure that it had changed anything for her either.
The loud noises from the people on the street made her grunt from the discomfort. It had been a while since she had drunk that much, and despite her prominent relationship with alcohol, she still had trouble managing the after-effects.
She opened the manor's grand door clumsily, trying to avoid more sounds banging in her head. The darkness of the hall, in contrast with the annoying light from the street, eased her sight and headache. As she moved forward, she looked at the bottle of rum on the entrance sideboard. It was no coincidence that the alcohol was there; she always needed a drink before entering that dreadful building. She poured herself a glass and drank it one gulp. She slowly recovered some of her faculties, and the sound of her footsteps didn't rumble in her head anymore, but the drink was still not able to mask her uncoordinated movements.
The numerous staff greeted her as she moved around the house, to which she simply responded with a smile. The hall was grand, filled with portraits and expensive vases decorating the impeccable white walls. A large, golden chandelier hanged from the painted ceiling, and the perfumed scent of its candles filled the air.
She climbed up the staircase, leaning on the marble handrail to avoid tripping due to her condition. She paused her walk for a moment and looked with despise at one of the bigger artworks hanging on the wall. The painting depicted none other than herself, covered in jewelry and dressed in an exquisite deep blue dress, sitting on a chair, with a calm and confident expression. She hated that painting.
She finally arrived at the living room; a large, apricot-tainted area with elegant windows and multiple bookshelves populating the walls, centered with a dining table and a set of couches surrounding a fireplace. As she entered the suite, she moved towards the next carefully placed drinking spot, ignoring the male figure writing on the desk at the back of the room. Sophie reached out for a tiny bottle hidden in one of the cupboards, next to the dining table, and consumed it before hiding the vessel back in the cabinet. The figure finally decided to acknowledge her presence, without pausing his labor.
"Good to finally see you around the house, dear."
Sophie scoffed and dropped herself on one of the larger couches, without even attempting to be graceful about her movements. "Dear, what an insult," she thought as she lied down, facing the ceiling.
The man put its quill back in the inkpot and leaned back on the chair while crossing his arms, giving Sophie a judgmental look.
"You look like you had an interesting night, may I ask the name of the gentleman? Or was it one of the regular ones?" he said with a sarcastic tone. She turned around with upset, finally facing the man. His blue eyes were locked on her as he frowned with a tender, yet critical expression. Instead of simply looking, he was evaluating her. "Ah, so you chose the booze this time."
"I thought we agreed on not doing this again," said Sophie.
The man smirked at the comment and stroked his brown hair. He slowly stood up and approached the couch with an imposing gait, while still evaluating the lady. He was wearing an elegant sky-blue shirt matching his black trousers. One needn't be a tailor to appreciate the quality of the attire. For him, being important was not enough, he also had to show it in every way possible. He was far too powerful and ambitious to be perceived as a regular businessman.
"I've heard that you are joining the Survey Corps." Sophie's first instinct was to ask him how he knew that information, only to realize that there was no point in the question. If walls had ears, they were his. "Alcohol is too slow of a killer for you? Have you decided to take a faster route instead?"
She didn't respond to his provocation, and simply stared at him with menacing eyes. Still, the calmness of his expression made him look stoic and composed, whereas hers was just resentful. Instead of breaking the silence, he walked towards the cupboard and took out the small empty bottle, placing it on the table as if he were exhibiting the evidence of her state.
"It wasn't as strong as I had hoped," she said with disdain, referring to the drink. The man simply scoffed and walked back to the couch.
"Quit that Survey Corps nonsense, Sophie. Dying won't change what you've done. What we've done."
The man kneeled in front of her, and Sophie looked away in response. She didn't want to face him. In the end, he was the vivid image of everything she had done.
"As if you cared about my death."
He wrinkled his forehead, visibly hurt by the comment. And yet, he still answered with a calm voice, "If you truly wanted to repay your actions, you would've sold me off a long time ago. But you are too scared of the consequences. You still want to cling to the power that you've always been deprived of, and you think that turning into a martyr will make up for that."
Sophie slowly lifted herself until she was sitting in an upright position, facing the man.
"I have the chance to make a difference now, to fix the damage I've done," she said with determination.
"There is no point in being kind to a world that has never shown you kindness. Otherwise, you would still be a slave to the Military."
She rubbed her face. She hated to admit it, but he was right; no matter how much she despised him, he knew her better than anyone. He knew that it had been her greedy soul that had led her to that point. If she had played a fair game from the beginning, she would've never become who she was. There would've been no manor with all kinds of luxurious objects, no fancy parties, no expensive dresses, no excessive amounts of alcohol, no power, no recognition.
Just like a flash, she remembered that night in the basement, back when she was just a lonely and dirty kid in the Underground. How despite her aggression, the gang took her in. How they had protected, fed, and befriended her. It was naïve to think that the ODM units and her skills hadn't influenced their behavior, but they had still trusted her. She remembered the candlelight burning her cheek, the rusty knife, and Levi's words: I would never hurt you like that.
"You are wrong," she finally said. The man took a deep breath and stood up to go back to his desk. A moment later, Sophie also stood up, but she headed for the door instead.
"No matter how hard you try, I know you don't hate me. We are the same, after all," said the man before resuming his writing, not even bothering to look at her.
She grabbed the handle but hesitated to open the door. She wanted to leave without even caring to reply to his provocation, but something in his words prevented her from doing so.
"Why are you so sure about that?"
The man looked up from the desk, silently staring at her for a moment as if he were deliberately tensing up the situation.
"Because you always come back."