I clung to my bed like it was life support, face damp with tears and sweat. I was a stupid mess. If somebody walked in and discovered me like this, I will have to lie about it.

Slumber could not wait to overcome me. When noon came, I closed my eyes once and when I opened them again, it was night. This was strange, but could only mean one thing. That my transition to sleep was instant.

Levi's world was never night when I manifested in it. The only exception was the night of his birthday. I thought to myself that maybe this was in part because of me, even though the idea was somewhat conceited. A little self-centered, but rational conclusion.

I've tried to pinpoint the feeling of being in this world many times, and I think I've finally figured it out. My memories of being here didn't vanish from me as soon as I woke up. I was experiencing things, not just dreaming of them. That was because this place was not a state of mind, but rather a state of being. That's why if Levi overdid my stay-over, seeing Mikasa when I woke up would have felt like seeing her for the first time in months, or even years.

I stayed in bed, fearing a next encounter with Levi. The relief of not being in front of him lived short before it was overthrown by a reminder that he was my key back to reality.

I slept. I did know for how long. Even if I checked the clock, it would've been frozen. I knew that because I once brought my phone to the tree and the time never changed. Time could not comprehend this dimension.

I left my room through the door, my hands flying around in search for a light switch. The stairs were quiet. There were no creaks, only the faint drumming of my feet as I traveled down. The chandelier that hung above the staircase poured generous light upon my living room. I stopped at the bottom, not yet touching the floor.

Everything was visible. From the novelties in the corners, to the furniture against the walls, to the dinner table off to the side. Lastly, the figure that sat there, facing away from me.

I held my breathe, and pictured the first time I ever met Levi. I remember mistaking him for a normal man. This time, the sight of him felt distant, in the sense that we were two different beings, not meant to be on the same plane. I wanted to flee then and there, but what choice did I have?

I stood behind him. He was slouching, ever so subtly. Over his shoulder, I saw that he balanced the bottom edge of a corked bottle on the tabletop. As he rolled it back and forth, glass rattled against glass very quietly.

I wondered what kind of expression he made back there. If he was at ease, or if he was bitter, or if he took a deep breath before he said, "Why did you come here?" Talking back felt optional, as if I was seeing him through a television screen. When I didn't say anything, he finally untilted the bottle to let it stand alone. He rotated in his seat with certainty that I was there.

Once our eyes stopped on each other, it was enough. There was no need for 'hello' with him. Even in this moment, it was my favorite thing about us. Even if he was regarding me with indifference now.

"I fell asleep," I said.

My nose recognizes the sweet smell of mead that made its way to me. It suggested to me he was drunk. The paleness in his cheeks and the clean whites around his irises both insisted that he was not.

"This is a weird time to be asleep," he remarked, folding his arms on the chair's back and resting his chin on top.

I thought back to my near-death. Was Levi able to understand the trauma it brought?

"Yeah," I said it to the floor, like I found it unfortunate. He blinked, pausing to leave room for continuity, if I intended to say any. I did not.

I stood with my mouth sewn, not knowing how to drive the conversation from there. I hoped for him to take the wheel, and then he did. He glanced back at the chair behind him, on the other side of the table. "Do you want to sit?"

I hesitated before walking around and lowering myself. Levi had the courtesy to not follow me with his eyes. He waited hear the screech of floor and chair legs to turn around.

I was glad for the overdose. It was now the white elephant in my mind. Nothing about this interaction will be able to shake me more.

Levi looked down at the table. One side of his body caught the ambient light that spilled in from the moon through the backdoor. From behind him, the chandelier embraced the edges of him with thin strokes of artificial light. He ran his fingers on the tabletop as if to doodle. "I know I'm not a good person. I've known about this for way longer than you have. I compensate by surrounding myself with worse people."

His eyes jump to the bottle, then to me. "I theorized that maybe you wouldn't feel like you hit rock bottom if I went lower than you, and then I saw the opportunity. You were right to say that we're different."

He might as well have been talking to a statue, with the way I didn't react. I didn't know how to. But I nodded absently. At the very least, I think I was smart enough to understand what he was saying. It was his fucked up attempt at empathy, or something like that.

Levi puts his elbows on the table. "You're the only man to ever get away with hitting a god, you know."

I searched his eyes for sarcasm. There was plenty. I felt free to smirk just a bit.

"I don't plan on taking it back," I said, careful not to sound hostile.

"I know," he momentarily drops his gaze as if to think to himself. "Sorry I disappointed you."

There I went, feeling ease again. As though deep down, all that I needed was an apology. I wanted to tell him off, still, but my courage was sputtering.

Levi caught the pinch between my brows and said, "You don't have to hold back if you have things to say."

I could hardly bring myself to it. I pulled and twisted at my shirt under the table as I spoke, "You also made me feel like shit when you said that thing about, 'If I was her.'" Anxiety bites my tongue. I searched his eyes once more. He was completely present. Such measure of heed felt foreign to me. "I was her. At one point. I joke about it, but nothing can change the fact that I hurt two people at once."

"Three," he interjected. I asked him 'what?' with my eyes. He leaned against the back of the chair, "It's not selfish to know that you're hurt too."

Was he right? Depended on who you asked. My answer was, "My hurt doesn't matter."

"It should. It matters to me," he spoke lightly, for some heavy words. "I don't want you to feel like scum because you're not."

"The fact is that I am scum." Why would I forgive myself if I was against what he and Petra did?

"So you're going to die on that hill?"

"I will have to."

And I almost did. Twice, now.

I understood his expression barely. It was a hybrid of many things. Pity is all that I deciphered. Then, something gleamed, but he blinked it away.

"I will pluck you off," he said. "That, is a fact."