Notes

Hello FFNET, welcome back to my crib
How's life peeps, thank you so much for your patience! This chapter was a labor of love, HAHA! I hope you guys will have a great time reading this chapter :D
Thank you so much guys for following this story! *throws confetti*

Once again, a big thanks for the AMAZING proofreader LunaAzul788!

TW: Drowning

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DISCLAIMER:
Shingeki no Kyojin / Attack on Titan belongs to Hajime Isayama

CHAPTER 13: LIQUOR CABINET

Inside the servant's hall, there was this old antique liquor cabinet, and Moblit knew the contents like the back of his hand.

Usually, the task of organizing the liquor was done by the butler. In the Ackerman household, there is only one butler, Mr. Dunbar, who was considered a familiarity because he has served the family for three long generations. Mr. Dunbar was a tall man, taller than Moblit, with a bald head and white moustache that would glisten like silverware whenever he went outside. His face certainly fit his seniority, albeit the way his blue eyes twinkle expressed that he was still young at heart.

In the past two years, unfortunately, age had also plagued Mr. Dunbar with various noticeable mishaps. He would often forget where or when the last time he placed something, and he would often miss a thing or two in his weekly household report. On his better judgment, he relieved some of his duties to Moblit, the first footman of the household.

Moblit took the job optimistically, quite more so because of the extra payment that came with it. More than that, he also learned some interesting information regarding the family. For example, he learned that the current Ackerman was not very keen on alcohol. Once, Mr. Levi had said that he "would rather drink pig piss than liquor." He would only drink alcohol—or maybe wine—if there were guests, yet he hardly invited anyone around. It was also rare for the master of the house to purchase liquor, except for one particular brand of gin that he purchased each month, the Gordon's Special Trost Dry Gin. Although, as far as Moblit knows, it was never used for drinking.

These account for the reason behind the relative scarcity of spirits lined in the cabinet, and if there were any—which was usually a gift from someone—those would usually be left in the dust. That is why most of the time Mr. Levi would let the servants enjoy the liquor. Still, as the Ackerman's resource was maintained a conservative luxury, the servants would save it for special occasions such as birthdays or holidays.

Hence, for the other, the liquor cabinet was the treasure of the servants' hall. To steal even a singular content from it would be unthinkable, some would even regard as one of the greatest crimes that anyone could commit. Up until this time, no one had stolen it.

Well, until that night.

Clink.

In the dead of the night, Moblit was uncouthly disturbed from his slumber by a noise that came from the servants' hall. He wanted to go back to sleep, thinking that it could merely be one of the staff wanting a midnight snack.

Step step step.

Yet his senses incessantly bedevilled him, and his gut was demanding that he investigate. Something was wrong, he just knew it! With a grunt, he rose up from his bed and dressed an old brown robe that he hung on his door over his nightshirt.

Down the cold, and vacant hall he went with a lone light from the candlestick to aid his vision. He waved the candle as he scanned across the room in search for any signs or clues. He noticed that the long wood table was empty and there was no indication that any of the chairs were used. He looked at the fireplace on the right side of the room, it was clear of wood or ash. He also examined the open shelves that stored the servants' tableware, glassware, and eating utensils. He counted and found nothing out of place. Even the line of boots near the fireplace were stacked as neatly as he had remembered them to be. However, he did notice a spillage of oil near the door that was connected to the kitchen stairs. It was most likely Arlo, the new hall boy, who had used some shoe oil to clean the boots.

Other than that, he had found nothing queer there.

Was he finally going crazy?

Moblit almost gave up on his search, quite so that returning to his bed was keenly inviting—only until his superb sense of vision caught something in the corner of the room. There, he saw the tall liquor cabinet and the exquisite collection of liquor bottles glinting in rows behind the glass. He squinted, standing silently as he pondered to himself, then slowly, he began to approach the cabinet. He opened the glass doors, the hinges squeaking eerily across the stillness of the hall.

The perfect memory of every bottle in its place led Moblit to an immediate answer.

One bottle was missing, leaving only five stunning bottles inside. Moblit could not find the bottle that should have been in the upper right shelf of the cabinet, in the space beside the brand new 1871 Macallan Scotch Whisky.

The missing liquor was the amber bottle the John Schenley brand Pure Rye Whiskey. He remembered that this particular spirit was a gift that Mr. Levi got from an American business partner who visited the manor last year. But there was little time to reminisce of when or how the bottle came to be for there were graver matters to use his head on. Who could possibly have stolen it? Was it one of the servants?

No, that was unlikely to be the case. He had met no one on his way to the servants' hall nor had he heard any of the bedroom doors in the quarters being opened or shut—which meant that the person was not from or is currently in the servants' quarters.

So, who exactly could be the suspect?

He closed the cabinet's door and hummed. His eyes caught the oil spillage near the door again, he considered that he might as well clean it while he was here. As Moblit came closer to the spill, he spotted a footprint—no, several footprints.

He lowered himself and inspected the marks closer, discerning the figure of shapely bed slippers. Moblit followed the footprints and it led him to the liquor cabinet before being smudged by his own bed slippers. Fortunately, the suspected footprints were smaller than his, so he was able to distinguish it from his. From the liquor cabinet, the footprints returned to the door, indicating that the said person left the hall.

"Huh, not bad detective Moblit," he muttered to himself with a satisfied grin as he opened the door and ascended the narrow stairs to the kitchen.

When he arrived at the kitchen, the situation was almost the same as the servants' hall. It was dark and cold, and the light from the candlestick illuminated the varying line of copper pans that hung on the wall and of copper pots that settled on the shelves.

Yet unlike the servants' hall, the kitchen was not in absolute silence—Moblit could hear a rustling sound coming from the long kitchen island in the middle of the room. There was something familiar about this situation, like he had experienced this before.

Could it be?

He took steady and slow steps toward the source of the sound, determined to seek out who was responsible for the missing liquor.

As he slid meticulously, searching the edge of the surface for as far the candlelight allowed, he unfortunately stumbled against a leg of a person—or something similar of sorts. It appears that the culprit had chosen to seek refuge on the floor, leaning her back against island counter. In the dark, he could only make out her unruly dark hair and the white night gown she wore, and he feared that he might found himself face to face with a ghost. But in his certainties, he knew a ghost could not drink from a big bottle and he knew that ghosts did not smell of the pungent Dutch courage. It took a moment for him to realize that the culprit, his ghost, was actually…

"Miss Hange?"

Hange pulled the mouth of the bottle away from her lips which were pink, numb, and buzzing from the spike. She turned her head towards him and squinted her eyes, and Moblit quickly noticed that she was without her signature spectacles. He could only wonder how she paced triumphantly through the dark without those.

Moblit left the candlestick on the surface and lowered himself next to her. Under the faint light, he could see that beyond the bags underneath her eyes. Her back was arched, and her long shapely legs were sprawled over the floor—of which the glimpse of bare flesh that a man of his decent stature would have accused an act against propriety. But he was a mere man, and even he would have agreed that she had a lovely pair of knees…

Moblit bashfully glanced away and cleared his throat, "Uhm… What are you doing here, Miss Hange?"

Hange did not respond immediately, instead, she left her gaze where they were for another minute, then she spoke in a tone that was soft and bouncy, "Ah, is that you Moblit? I'm sorry I can't see you very well." She let out a hiccup before raising the bottle to the air. "What am I doing? As you can see, I am drinking whatever this is, do you want to join—? Oh no, I don't have any glasses with me… but I guess we can share the bottle, though."

Moblit took a deep breath. On the bright side, he had finally found his thief though it was not someone he had expected it to be. He glanced warily at her before uttering, "Are you not cold, Miss?"

"Cold? Ah, now that you've mentioned it, my legs are kind of cold. Maybe I should tie this…" Hange turned to her waist and began wrapping the robe tightly around her body and knotting it into a ribbon. "Oh, that feels better. Thank you, Moblit."

"No, I'm the one who should be thanking you," Moblit thought before responding, "you're welcome, Miss."

She hiccupped once more as she looked back at him, "Where was I—? Ah yes, do you want to join me Moblit—! Hey, come to think of it, your name sounds funny. Moblit… Moblit… Moblit... There is a mob and a lit… Moblit… It rhymes with goblet, too! Moblit is drinking from a goblet… Oh! Moblit is drinking from a goblet in the sunset!" She teased and laughed gaily at her own jest before taking another gulp from the bottle.

"Okay, that's funny but also quite embarrassing," Moblit huffed privately as he gently snuck the bottle away from her hand. There were still three and a quarter left inside the bottle, and he saw that the woman whose face was noticeably redder than her usual warm glow began to whimper. If there was another thing that he knew about her, it was that she gets intoxicated easily.

Moblit sighed as he proceeded to sit down next to her. "That's enough drinking for you, Miss," he asserted.

Hange quickly tried to grab the bottle back from Moblit. "No! Give me!" she cried out, resembling a child lashing out for a confiscated toy.

"I'm sorry, but no!" he said firmly, assuring the bottle was away from her reach. He was able to easily block her movements as she was too drunk to give him a real fight. After a series of weak and aimless punches, Hange groaned as she sat back to her original position.

"Fine. It tasted like horse piss anyways," Hange mumbled with a grouch.

Moblit could only chuckle at her demeanour, unbecoming of a young woman let alone a governess yet very humorous. "Well, that's why I prefer vodka. It has a subtler taste. Rye is renowned for its spice and intensity, so it's not something I would grab when I'm stressed." He gave her a teasing smile, "Besides, if you did want to steal liquor, you should at least know which one you like best, Miss Hange."

Hange looked at him with the most menacing frown she could muster, but failed as her cheekbones began to rise and her lips let out a charming giggle. "Alright, I'll keep that in mind on my next raid."

"I don't think so, I will not allow it."

Hange shrugged with a sly smirk. "Just you wait."

Moblit quite glowed with pleasure at this light-hearted exchange with the governess, and stored it up to repeat it to himself whenever he would be downcast. Both chortled and sipped and hushed one another when they thought they were too raucous. Moblit's bashfulness wore off, for Hange's candidness had always amused him and set him at ease, even when she was delightfully drunk.

He stole another glimpse of her face, and she seemed calmer now. "Never occurred to me that I would find you here again like before, Miss Hange. I thought you were scared of the ghost," Moblit said, breaking the stillness.

"Wh… what are you talking about, Moblit? I'm not scared."

Moblit noticed the subtle shift in her voice and the way the shimmer in her brown eyes moved about. She shook her head, trying to appear unconcerned but failing as her eyes refused to look directly at his.

But she definitely was scared of the ghost. Ever since their previous encounter in the kitchen a few months ago, she had never taken another step into the kitchen alone at night again.

"If you say so," Moblit answered. "But if you're here, drowning yourself in alcohol you find unsavoury, means that something must be bothering you, right?"

Hange found herself suddenly sober up after Moblit uttered those words. She wanted very much to suggest that they talk about something else, but his eyes look so kind and genuine that it made her feels vulnerable under his gaze, so she turned away from him instead and hugged her legs close to her chest.

To his credit, Moblit did notice that Miss Hange had been acting a bit differently since her return from Nedlay, and she was acting even more different since the unfortunate arguments that involved the Master and the Young Miss three days prior. Indeed, she and Miss Mikasa still carried out the routine of activities as they should, but everyone, including him, could sense that the recent circumstances had unmistakably taken a toll on both of them.

They were noticeably more reserved in their activities. They never leave the manor, which was unusual, because normally they would walk around the estate, visiting the local farmers and inhabitants, or the would be play some boisterous sport in the backyard. Even the joyful melodies of the piano that regaled the mansion halls every afternoon have not been heard ever since. It was almost as if the manor was gradually returning to its dismal state, and it reminded Moblit of the first time he had worked as a hall boy, five years ago.

Moblit asked, his voice as gentle as his gaze, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Hange inhaled deeply as she closed her eyes. A faint whisper of breath escaped her as she allowed herself to return her gaze onto his, straight into his sympathizing hazel eyes. In the dark of the room with a single candle for light, Moblit sadly watched as her eyes glistened with the tears that she had been struggling to keep at bay.

"I don't know where to start… I don't even know what exactly it is I'm feeling."

Moblit frowned at this, feeling as if there was some form of contortion within his chest. It was unbearable for him to see and think how this ever-merry sunshine of a lady could slowly wither into a miserable mess. He worried that the manor had been doing her more ill than kindness and merit; hence, he determined to revoke of what was worse to come, as something so beautiful should not be allowed to be left destroyed.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he whispered, "perhaps, you can start by telling me what has been bothering you the most."

As when she heard him say so, her mind begun to wander to that day.

The rest of the day that followed the dreadful Sunday morning was occasioned with Hange and Nifa at the constant shoulder of Mikasa; notwithstanding the young miss' protests that she was fine being by herself. As her governess, Hange had come to learn of Mikasa's unrelenting fighting spirit. Nevertheless, she's still a child, her tender heart could only bear so much no matter how much she tried to concealed it so reassuringly.

That evening, the sun had yet to fall when Mikasa had already retired to bed. Nifa, who no longer slept in the same room as Mikasa, accompanied her for the night at the young miss' request. Mikasa said that she might need a friend, and Nifa was pleased to comply.

Mikasa even asked her governess for a little tale, in which Hange was happy to oblige. Hange sat comfortably next to the laying girl, narrating in vivid and colourful accounts of a pair of canaries called Chikatilo and Albert that she had once owned when she was eight years young. The governess talked and chirped and talked some more until Mikasa had grown tired and succumbed to a deep slumber.

Carefully, Hange brought herself away from the bed and pulled the linen covers over Mikasa's small shoulders. She regarded Nifa, thanking the kind young woman before she left the bedroom.

When she had left, Hange, chose for her intention to visit her employer. Truthfully, she wasn't even sure herself whether she wants to have this kind of conversation with him. However, for she had delayed enough, today would be her only chance as there was no telling whether he would return the week after or the week proceeding. Not after all that had happened between him and his little cousin.

It was now or never.

Hange descended the stairs and managed a very slow walk toward the oak door. Speaking of his study, the room was arguably situated on the most strategic place in the manor. It was located far from the main entrance, thus making it a perfect secluded place for a man like him to retreat. Furthermore, it only took a few steps from his door to arrive at the double oak-framed doors that lead straight toward the backyard and garden.

She was about to knock when she noticed that the double oak-framed doors was slightly left ajar.

Has someone forgotten to close the doors?

An icy breeze wafted through the doors as if it was rushing inside the room and making her shiver. With a hurried foot, Hange turned away from her actual destination as she walked toward the double doors to close them. Her movement, however, was halted when the evening sky, through the clear glass door, coloured across her countenance. It was as if stars were all out at once, sparkling like small diamonds, and in the centre of it there was a full moon.

Hange wanted to linger, to immerse herself under the air of serene beauty before her, but as she opened the doors wider and walked further, she found herself staring at the most magnificent lake she has ever seen. Underneath the blanket of stars, the lake was a looking glass of the night sky's perfection.

While marvelling, she was suddenly roused by a movement near the lake. It's a well-known fact that her eyes weren't always reliable for looking at a far away object. But, for once in her life, she knew immediately whose silhouette that belongs to.

She made light yet confident strides forward, her eyes focusing at his back. There was an air of vulnerability about him, standing languorously underneath the bright moon, as he appeared before her now. Hange felt her heart begin to thump uncontrollably within her chest as she drew closer and closer with every measured step.

The symphony of chirping nocturnal insects and lapping of the lake waters were disturbed by his deep and stern voice.

"What are you doing here?" he said before turning around, his eyes a solemn grey.

Hange stopped in her tracks yet kept her stare forward. She was looking at him, studying him, noticing that his customary prim attire was nowhere to be seen—for in place of it was a white button up shirt which he had rolled the sleeves up to his elbow, a pair of black slacks, and suspenders. He was standing there with his hands tucked in his pockets.

She managed to conjure a believable smile, replying as she maintained it, "I simply wished to see the lake, sir."

He scoffed, "You are a bad liar."

Hange chuckled and moved forward, feeling his eyes on her. "Am I now?" she asked, stopping short five feet of his left.

"Yeah, I know why you're here…" Levi returned his gaze to the lake.

"Really?"

"…I know that you're to accuse me of my being such a horrible person and that I should let my cousin do whatever the hell she wants," Levi stated without as much as a stutter.

"...Yeah, that's true," Hange replied, feeling a little shameful, twitching her fingers together awkwardly.

They both fell into silence and from Hange's peripheral, she could make out that he was staring down to the ground.

"And you probably want to know why I did that," he continued.

Hange nodded. "That is also true, sir."

He made a slight movement with his legs before letting out a sigh. "I have my own reasons," he said, "I might have sounded like a heartless rotter, but in truth, all I have ever looked for was what was best for her; I believe that it's better for her to keep learning here than somewhere else."

"But what if she thinks that it's not the best for her?" she quickly interjected.

He sneered at her reply, "what does she know? She's only a child."

"Well," Hange responded in a softer voice, "that is precisely why she has to go—so she would finally know."

Levi lifted a brow; he would not dignify such with a response.

Hange craned her head to his direction, gazing into his grey ones and returning them with those of a similar fervour. "Mikasa is her own person, sir. You cannot keep her in this place forever like a caged bird."

He averted his eyes from her and grumbled, "I know."

"Then, why do you still oppose her?"

Levi pondered at this, staring into the horizon. He closed his eyes before answering, "because she'll be safer here than wherever she wants to go."

Hange replied with an understanding smile, "I understand what you mean, sir. Although based on my experience, I can assure you that you don't have to fret about her safety or welfare."

"I don't think so. I'm sure that she'll be safer here."

Hange narrowed her eyes, slightly insulted with how immediate his retort to her personal inputs were. "How are you so sure about that?"

"I just know," came another indignant riposte, that left her no room to forestall.

To say that Hange was perplexed by him was an understatement; deep down, she now acknowledged that this conversation would not end as positively as she had hoped. She felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she tried to the utmost to regain her composure, and so she sat down onto the cold damp grass, a peculiarity that earned her a befuddled look from the insensible man. When he said nothing, she took to watching her reflection on the surface of the lake. Gradually, her reflection faded and was soon replaced by a much younger face. They shared the same hair colour, but the young one had fairer curls than what she had now.

"Have you ever drowned, sir?" She suddenly asked, taking her eyes from the reflection.

Again, his colours were not quite obvious; but he looked at her with an expression of mingled curiosity and disconcertion. "No," he answered simply.

Her fingers searched beneath her, finding a smooth pebble which she threw to the lake, and the pebble skipped on the shimmering surface three times before falling into the dark waters. "Well, I had."

She was only six and it had been, more or less, sixteen years ago; nonetheless, she still remembered the event vividly in her mind.

Hange told Levi the accounts of when she had asked her father and her grandfather to bring her along their annual fishing outing. Once, on a midsummer noon, they had gone to a lake in Nedlay, inputting that it was very much like this one and was a mere hour distance from her grandparents' house. Not many people had gone to visit or fish that day, so it was almost like a private affair.

Then, Hange, the ever curious one, who was fascinated by the pretty fish that swam playfully here and there, desired to capture one and bring it home as a gift for her mother. In her misfortune, however, as she attempted to reach for a fish, she slipped on the rock that she was standing on, and fell into the lake.

She clammed her eyes shut and continued in very gingerly recollections, "as soon as I fell into the dark water, I felt a painful stinging in my eyes, and I couldn't see anything except this green blur. In spite of my struggles for air, it was so hard for me to breathe; then when I finally did, my body was aching all over. The waves never stopped, torrenting into my nose and my throat until I was left with a burning sensation in my chest. My hands kept reaching for the surface, but the odd thing was, it didn't feel that I was in control of my own body. It was as if I was outsider watching my own consciousness slipping deeper into the darkness."

Hange paused, relishing a deep breath to calm her nerves and palpitating heart. "Never have I felt so helpless…" Her voice was faint and raspy, betrayed beneath a smile.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Levi replied almost inaudibly.

"Well, it went less worse than expected," she said with a titter, grabbing another pebble to be thrown at the lake. "Not long after that, I felt a pair of strong arms lifted me to the surface. It was my father."

"That's fortunate."

"Yeah." Then, a solemn mug superseded her lovely smile. "And yet, not everybody could be as fortunate as I am. Some were never saved. They couldn't do anything as they were pulled into the suffocating water. I never would have thought that it would feel so painful."

Without waiting for his answer, she continued, "it has always been a hope of mine that Mikasa would not end up as such."

This time, she was waiting for his reply, but he merely patted the soles of his leather shoes against the soft earth and said nothing, so she searched for another pebble to peeve instead. Her fingers had found one, a queer one, and she inspected it under the moonlight taking notice that it was the shape of a heart. She brushed her thumb lightly against the smooth surface, and proceeded to ask, "what of her education, sir?"

"Huh? Isn't that obvious? She has you."

"Me?" She raised her head to look at him with the same confusion, "But I can't provide Mikasa the proper education that a school could do so more excellently."

"Nonsense! Of course you can. You are more than enough."

In spite of her befuddlement, she wasn't sure whether she wanted to take the compliment of such a man's regard, a man no less than her own employer, and though her feelings did not vary for an instant, she was sorry to put her own pupil's happiness first. "But she desires to enrol in a much higher education, thus she needs a formal education…"

"Don't you wish for stability in your job?" Levi daresay so albeit uncertain it was the most fitting argument.

Stability, as he had said, was one thing she did not disagree with. What could she possibly do to survive without a constant income? What about her mother? Furthermore, she could not help but wonder if anyone would hire her after she retired from such a prestigious household like this.

But still…

"But still… what if I wanted to leave?"

She was sure she had whispered, yet as soon as she pronounced those words, Levi had quickly turned to her with an altered face. "What?" And further raising his voice, he declared, "no. No, you can't leave."

Hange tilted her head, baffled. "Why not? Of course I can, sir."

Levi furrowed his eyebrows. "I thought you like working here?"

"I do! However, you know... there are circumstances that do compel me to."

"Then, whatever those circumstance may be, I won't let those happen."

"How?" She asked, her hand clenching around the pebble. There was a desperation that painted each of her words, "I'm genuinely asking you, sir. Pray tell me, how? You have no to little knowledge of what these circumstances entail."

Levi gnashed at his teeth and looked away once again, away from her face, away from those pair of spellbinding brown orbs. It pained him no less that she, underneath the starlit sky and tender light of the moon, glowed like an angel.

Hange exhaled softly. "You must know and comprehend that, sir, I do not belong here, regardless of my relative closeness to your cousin; I am only a governess, and whether I am fated to stay here forever is a choice beyond yours or perhaps even mine."

Levi fell into another silence. He pinched the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes very tight. "I still won't fucking allow it," he muttered stubbornly. When he opened his eyes, he made certain that he was looking at something else—anything that was not her. He tilted his head towards the sky, his eyes naturally drawn to the moon.

"What—?"

"I still won't allow you leave the estate. Not even a single step."

Her patience was growing thinner by the moment, and if she had no sensibility of composing herself then she would have thrown the pebble, which had now disappeared completely inside her palm, at him. "Now I see why Mikasa was wholly upset with you. You act as if you own us! Your misfortune, however, is that you don't. You don't own us," she accused, inflicting animosity in every tone.

"What the fuck are you talking about? That's not what I meant."

"Explain, then, sir," cried Hange with energy.

Levi, who was standing still with his eyes fixed on her face, seemed to catch her words with no less resentment than surprise. His complexion became pale with incredulity and mortification, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He pressed his lips into a tight line and his body struggled for composure.

Hange lowered her head in silence, feelings dreadful. In a voice of forced calmness, she said, "forgive me for lashing out as I did, sir. Believe me, it was not my intention to disconcert you. I enquired only because I… I plan to retire next spring."

"What?!" he shouted.

"So, if you still wish to… to keep Mikasa here, it would do you less of an inconvenience if you were to search for another governess as early as possible, sir. But my hope stands that you would change your mind, she—"

"No!"

Hange raised her head, her jaw almost fell on the grass. "Huh? Pardon me, are you serious? I… What—?"

"Are you going to leave me?"

The subtleness of his emotion put into those words were so delicate or precise as to be difficult for Hange to describe. But he reached her, and she felt him. Beneath his callous façade, she saw the turmoil that dismantled the fibres of his equanimity. Any traces of the imposing master known as the great Levi Ackerman had disappeared.

In place of where he stood was merely some man; a man she knew named Levi Ackerman.

Hange realised she was in debt of a response, but finding the fitting words to say were near impossible. What would she have asked of him, of this man, in this vulnerable state? At length, she managed to convey her confusion saying, "I'm not sure I follow…"

"I want you to stay here forever."

She bit her lower lip and shook her head slowly before she answered firmly, "we've already discussed that such thing is impossible, sir." She looked at him with knitted brows, and continued, "moreover, I don't understand why are you being so stubborn? Why are you so adamant that I mustn't leave? I am no one to you, sir. You are under no obligations to me as I to you. So, why don't—"

"That is because I care for you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you!"

Hange's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, flushed, disbelieved, and was silent. There was nothing affectionate nor romantic of his proclamation, he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than of cynicism. The clutch on her heart-shaped stone slackened, and whether it was her aching bottoms or the keenness of escaping the overpowering circumstance she found herself in, she rose from the ground quickly with shaky legs. She stumbled clumsily, then stepped backward, the stumbled again, and before she knew it, she was falling with her back to the lake.

Hange shut her eyes and held her breath, expecting the chilling waters to engulf her person. However, the cold and damp never came. She felt emboldened enough to slowly open her eyes. When she did, she was pulled forward swiftly by strong arms. He had grabbed her hand just in time, and she found herself within his embrace, the same strong arm that had pulled her now resting gently around her waist. Her free hand had landed on his chest and her fingers trembled against it.

Her colour deepened. She has never been this physically close to a man; this close, where she could smell the fresh linen and iris fragrance of his shirt, sense the warmth of his body against her, feel the sturdiness of his muscles beneath the fabric. It was enticing, intoxicating, and overbearing.

The tumult of her mind was now painfully great. She knew not what to do or what to say, and from anxiety she pushed herself away from him, from his warmth. Her disconcertion, as she reflected on the sensation of being close to him, was increased by the way he looked at her with earnest grey eyes.

She hated that.

"NO," shouted Hange as if that was all that she could say. Her own hands draped over her shoulders, and in stammering cries continued, "I… I'm… No! No, no, no, no!"

The world around her spun with the stars and the moon all but a glowing blur. She could no longer bear the sight of him and the affections he harbours for her.

So, she ran away.

-Chapter 13 End-

Replies:

AckerZoe: AWW, thank you so much! I'm so happy that you enjoyed the past three chapters! What's life without any surprise, huh? :D Cheers for more chapter to come!
CristalyKuronuma: WOW! That's a dedication! Thank you so much, I'm very honored for that! I'm glad that you like this story. I know right? Hange as a governess in Victorian era? PERFECT!

Notes:

*peace sign* *dissappear*

I felt so dirty when I wrote this chapter HAHA.
The ~tension~ baby, GOD!

Moblit is THE perfect bf/husband material, we (me and LunaAzul) accept no criticism.

THANK YOU ONCE AGAIN FOR READING! I'LL SEE YOU GUYS ON THE NEXT UPDATE ;)