"Eren, why don't you go outside and play?" my mom asked me during breakfast that morning. At that, my eyebrows almost kissed each other. Adults never seem to understand how different the generations after them are. People my age tended to meet online or somewhere that forces them to be near one another, like a school. We don't immediately click just because we're of similar ages. Ironically, it was entirely my parents' fault that I had few friends. I was ripped from each school before I got the chance to make long-term buddies.

I sipped my clam chowder. "I'd rather not." My answers were always curt when it came to mom and dad. I still don't know what it was about my relationships with them as a child that shaped me this way.

Mom didn't bother with my coldness and shifted her focus to Mikasa instead. She was always more talkative than I was.

I sat there and thought about the man in the tree. I wondered who he was. If I didn't remember every detail so clearly, I probably would have shrugged it off as a regular old dream. But his face was so vivid. And the feeling of his hand against mine was still memorable. I wondered if I would see him ever again.

"Eren, Mikasa. I want you to familiarize yourselves with your new environment. We're taking you two with us to get groceries," my dad says in an absolute tone. He was not going to accept 'no's.

Mikasa loved shopping. She enjoyed picking ingredients because she knew a thing or two about cooking. She enjoyed picking clothes because she knew a thing or two about fashion. She loved gathering decorations because she loved a good-looking environment. I didn't know shit about shit. I loved to sing and that was it. I didn't feel like much else was important to me other than the instrument I had in my throat.

I watched out the car window as I was driven away from home. I reckoned this area of the country was about to be layered with snow. The sky was platinum white, so all things below it were lightly bleached into a less saturated version of their original colors. Depending on who you asked, it may be described by some as "depressing," and by others as "aesthetically pleasing." I thought it looked depressing, but in turn, made it strangely pretty.

There was no heating in the car. I was late to unbox much of my clothes, so I dealt myself only a thin long sleeve. I bent myself inward like a cooked shrimp, flexed all my upper muscles, and held the position until my biological heat manifested from within. Both of my hands stayed cold, taking turns enveloping each other to keep warm.

No one spoke but Mikasa and our father to each other. They exchanged many sentences which I tuned out, still recalling the bridge and the tree-house. With every few passing trees, I would imagine a wooden floor cutting through their leafy big heads in the same way as the tree across my window. My mom was observing the same scenery as I, and surely drew something completely different out of it.

Other cars were scarce. Clearly, no tourists were interested in this city. It freed up space on the roads, which I know everyone in the car appreciated.

"You want my gloves?" Mikasa offered. She had already taken them off by the time I looked. I shook my head no. She clicked her tongue. "Take them. I'm hot so it's fine."

I took the woolen gloves and accepted her help, reluctantly. Even under a new layer, my fingers never thawed. I acted like they did, even as they continued to freeze over.

Apples were going out of season. They were my favorite fruit. Ultimately, I brought back to the house 4 apples and a store-made sandwich. Dad was slightly upset that I didn't buy much because it meant that he would have to drive me again soon.

When night fell, I lay in the middle of my room waiting patiently for slumber to come. I did not want to admit to myself that I looked forward to revisiting that place, but I did. I silently prayed to God that I would go back, and I was an atheist.

If there was in fact a god, he answered with utmost clarity. That familiar golden light came pouring above and steeped through my lids. I opened my eyes slowly, scared it would not be true. But it was. I felt that passive thirst again and saw how the dull brown of my cardboard boxes reacted with the light, reflecting back as a subtle amber. The corners of my room were free of cobwebs. In fact, the house seemed to travel back to a time when it was recently built.

Instead of exiting through the window, I escaped downstairs. When I stepped foot into the living room, I was swallowed by the color of brass. The residual light from the sun was palpable; it was warm and almost had weight. The house was as my family left it; well-seasoned with boxes. But this time, every inanimate object seemed to be brought to life.

I shamelessly barged into Mikasa's room. She was not in there, though her things were half-arranged. I rushed up to mom and dad's room. Neither in sight, but like Mikasa, they got started with putting things in their new places.

The bathroom was polished all over and the glass on the mirror and window was shiny and spotless. An intrusive thought of mine told me that taking a shit here must be heavenly and that it was a shame I didn't have to go right then. I shook it away and went back to my room.

On the other side of the window, the wind did not blow as harshly as it did on my previous visit. The breeze was somewhat stuffed, thick with humidity. I trod carefully along the bridge, my steps now clad with a little more confidence.

He was lying on his back this time. So his eyes, sharp and refined as an eagle's, drifted to me as soon as I entered. I held my breath. No, this was not deja vu...this was a second encounter.

There was a pause between us when I come to stand in front of him. He, too, seemed to put together what I had already connected in my mind: We were going to have to know each other. So he asked me, "What is your name?" His voice, to me, felt like it came from all around. Every word was like a pluck of a cello, heavily laced with bass and tranquility.

"Eren." I considered giving a different name but decided to be honest.

"Eren," he thoughtfully tapped his lip. Then, ever so subtly, a smile adorned him. "Are you religious?"

I wasn't, but I did not want to offend him if he was. "No. Sorry."

"Just curious," he assured. Maybe his own way of saying, 'It's okay, there's nothing to be sorry about.'

He sat up on his hammock. For the first time, I was able to fully analyze his proportions. Not an impressive size, but he wasn't that much smaller than me either. He wore a flowing long sleeve that concealed his body well. I could not tell if he had much muscle.

He patted the spot beside him on the hammock. "You're welcome to sit."

"Uh," I hesitated, fidgeting my hands a little. "I don't want it to be weird."

His mouth twisted in consideration before saying, "'Weird' is only in your head."

Perhaps he was right but I don't think I cared. I lowered myself right there and sat on the floor. It wasn't displeasing. The wood was warm and so soft, I bet a thumbtack could make it butter and pierce right through. This action of mine seemed to fascinate him. I watched his brows lift in curiosity. "I could bring you your own hammock," he offered.

"No," I said.

He gestured at the floor below me with only his gaze. "That surely can't be relaxing."

I shifted to make myself more comfortable. "I think it is." Please stop suggesting to help me.

Mirth escaped from him in a short, almost child-like, laugh. It sounded like he was about to follow up with another two cents. He could've added something playful like, "You're funny," or, "You're weird, but I like you."

What actually came out of his mouth was, "I think...your ego is weak."

Confounded, I mildly fixed my posture. A small part of me wanted to ask him to repeat himself, but most of me had heard him loud and clear. He thought my ego was weak. I couldn't find it within me to be hurt, because his words were not jagged nor thrown with malice. They were birthed by honesty; naked, vulnerable, and unarmed.

"Elaborate?" I tried not to sound offended. Because I wasn't.

He stared up at the sky as if it helped him put together sentences. "My assistance would've cost me virtually no effort, but you declined anyway. Then you try to convince me that the floor is preferable to a hammock." He then looked at me, expecting some sort of reply.

I blinked. "Bringing a hammock up here would take a lot of effort, though."

He shook his head. "It wouldn't." He signaled with his hand for me to look behind.

I turned around. Lo and behold, there magically appeared another hammock that was equally as roomy as the first.

"Rest," he said, "please."

As I replace myself onto the hammock, the cloth pulled at the chains that held it up. Its hinges were easily manipulated and it was easy to swing.

The obsidian-haired man looked appeased. Almost proud, like I'd just done him a favor. "You know, Eren," He tucked his legs into a criss-cross formation. "My first words to you were to ask for your name." I knew what he was going to say next. "You have yet to ask for mine."

I forced myself to look up from my twiddling fingers. Like it was a jump scare, I saw that he was already watching me. He spoke immediately again before I could begin to ask him. "I'm Levi. I'm a god. I have the power to enter dreams." He pointed right at my forehead. "Right now, I'm in yours."