Yellow and orange light pierced the glass window of his tea shop. Morning in Marley was brighter. More blinding. The sun seemed to glare at him every time it rose after dawn. And while it fucking irritated him to the core, Levi had learned how to live and bask in the sunlight. The dark epoch of his life was long gone. Now, he was used to waking up with luster and going to sleep as the glow of sunset (which was fucking too bright and orange as well) kissed his crusty skin.
But he wasn't entirely light. Light wasn't meant for Levi. He's a combination of light and darkness.
Before, when he thought of light, his mind immediately drifted to Erwin Smith. Because of his fucking blonde hair. The man had always belonged to light, to greatness. The yellow sun in Paradis seemed to follow him wherever he goes, and his shadow would touch the ground, and every single thing in the world just made sense. Even being under the man's shadow was a big achievement.
Now, when he thought of light, his mind flashed an image of her.
Maybe it was Marley's sun. Its light was more orange than yellow, and it reminded him of her hair. The morning rays were a balance of yellow and orange, but at eight am, the orange appeared to be devouring the yellow. And orange it was until the sunset. Sometimes with a dash of red. But it's still orange. With a bit of red. Red-orange. Or orange-red. He didn't know what exactly.
Why the fuck does the sun have too many colors, anyway? Fucker's too flashy, okay.
For now, Levi enjoyed the plain yellow and orange light touching the tables and chairs of his still closed tea shop. It was still six am.
He anchored his wheelchair to the table near the entrance, and the light dampened his skin. The brats told him that the sun was good for his body, especially now that he's old. Eighty fucking seven wasn't that old. For him, at least. He could still lift things. His eyes, and senses still as sharp when he was in his thirties. In his prime.
Anyway. He wanted to argue that the sun wasn't good for his body. Or maybe for his heart. As far as he'd known, two suns came into his life and left him. And the loss pained him until today. Like how a middle-aged man reminisced at the sad thought of a childhood dream that he'd failed to achieve, he thought. The ache of not achieving the dream lingered. But the pain of what could've been if he tried and took a risk as a child scraped until the depths of his bones as a grown man. That made sense? Levi Ackerman was shitty with comparisons.
But as he said, it pained him.
Levi shuffled inside the shop; the wheels of his wheelchair scraped the marble floor. One by one, he checked to see if the tabletops were tidy.
"Oi, it must be neat and spotless if you want to work here", he told the two brats.
"Mr. Ackerman, your version of neat and spotless is unattainable by an average human. What do you think of me and Falco, a broom-shifter?"
They used to check the tops before. All three of them. But now that Falco and Gabi have a family of their own—one that he wasn't specifically included—he did everything all on his own.
(He has two helpers. John and Madie. Good kids. Energetic and loud as fuck. Levi thought that they'd be like Falco and Gabi in the future. They'll build their own family. Maybe. Eh. He doesn't know. He cannot see the future. He cannot even see with two eyes.)
And now that he's too old (according to the brats), they moved the opening of the shop from seven am to eight.
The Grices had made it clear that Levi is, and will always be, part of the family. He is family. The moment their fates intertwined fifty years ago at the battle of heaven and earth, Levi Ackerman was already a parental figure to the kids.
But still, he knew the unspoken fact that Falco and Gabi would soon have a family of their own. Father, mother, their own little brats (they have two), and maybe some pets. When they planned to move houses, Falco had insisted for Levi to come.
"We have a spare room, Uncle Levi. We specifically choose a house with an extra room." Falco said in-between packing their clothes, his last attempt at swooning Levi to come with them.
Extra . Of course, they needed to find a house with an extra room. A family consists of parents and children. An old man like him has no place inside a home . Levi knew he wasn't included in that warm little space.
Instead, he lived in a small, lonely room on the second floor of the shop. With no family of his own, most days were spent tending to his tea shop, cleaning every nook and corner, and succumbing to the reality that at the end of the day, he was, and always will be, alone .
When he's done being a dramatic old bastard (old age can make him fucking emotional), his body forced him to sleep. Levi knew he abused his body in his youth. Sleepless nights and rigorous training were taking a toll on him, on his old body, now that the Ackerman abilities were gone.
As his eyelids drooped, he dreamed.
His dreams were usually the same. His dead comrades, smiling and looking down at him the same way they did after the battle of heaven and earth more than fifty years ago. The image of them was starting to get blurry, so he secretly visited a retired artist in Paradis, commissioning the man to draw the former Commanders of Scout Legion. Erwin and Hange.
"Y ou don't have a deeper blue?" He asked, looking at the portrait as the man colored Erwin's eyes. The artist flinched. Even with his one eye gone, and some of his fingers rotting somewhere out there thanks to fucking Zeke, his presence was still intimidating.
The portrait turned out good. Erwin was on his horse, mighty and high. His deep blue eyes (the artists made it deeper, colored it to his liking) were looking at the horizon. Outside the walls. And there was a look of determination and bravery that only Erwin Smith can project. It was the same look he had when he convinced Levi to join the Legion, the memory etched on his brain and will haunt him for the rest of his fucking life.
Hange's was a little different.
If you asked Levi what he thought of Hange Zoe, he'll tell you many things. Brilliant. Fucking filthy. Visionary. Doesn't take a fucking bath. Crazy, both in a good and bad way. Selfless. Rational. Fucking loud. Titan-crazed scientist. Genius. Can't take a fucking hint when people don't want to talk to them. Shitty glasses.
A good friend.
Dear friend.
When Erwin died in Shiganshina, some questions hung in the air. Levi knew, even without Hange telling him, that they wanted to ask 'Why?'
Why wasn't Erwin chosen? Why did Erwin have to be the one to die?
In a sense, Erwin's death was what made them more connected, because as the questions of 'why' remained unspoken and slowly ate his conscience, there was also a quiet promise between the two of them.
Levi, you're the last one left. Let's see the end of this for our dead comrades.
Hange. Don't die.
In the end, Levi was the only one left.
Hange's portrait was Hange . Hange's portrait was what exactly Levi defined Hange: indefinable, lots of things at once.
They were at the top of the wall, their titan-crazed expression on their face, but there was a light in their eyes that's just...Hange. Hange remained indefinable until today.
Levi kept those portraits in his room. Always polished, and not one speck of dust in sight on the glass that protected the piece of paper. Those were his treasures.
On some occasions, Levi Ackerman dreams of the Underground.
For some reason, he always dreamed the most fucking random scenes on that filthy place. He didn't see famine, or death, or prostitution, or abuse. No, he dreamed of that one time he and Kenny were in a pub.
The place reeked of alcohol and man sweat. And the familiar stench of carnal activities that Levi learned to be 'sex', according to Kenny, filled the air. When he was eleven, Kenny offered him to try one of the prostitutes. He discovered not too long ago the nature of prostitution, of women selling their bodies to men to survive. Horrible. Shitty. Only assholes would take advantage of women like that. Levi had vomited for two days and three nights.
Kenny's laughter boomed inside the pub. Levi flinched. He was always afraid of Kenny's voice. It sounded maniac, evil.
"Oi, shortie! Come 'er!" Kenny's saliva flowed to the face of the man beside him as he snagged another cup of beer.
Levi shaked his head. An act of defiance. Usually, Kenny would snap at him, punch him in the face until he fell on the ground and cough blood. He wouldn't stop there, he would kick his stomach, his ribs, until the only thing that came out of his mouth was surrender. But today, Kenny was drunk.
And drunk Kenny meant that Levi abstained from abuse no matter what he did and didn't do.
Levi exited the pub. His worn-out shoes hit the cold musty floor of the Underground City, and he sat beside a garbage bin. The stench was enough to make his skin crawl, but Levi had smelled far filthier things. Rotting flesh, dead bodies. Too many to count.
He had never thought that this city was big. Dangerous. It was a cruel world.
The version of world in Levi's head was a tiny, suffocating room. Grey thin walls with peeling paint that was more ancient than Kenny. A creaking door. A cupboard doubled as a kitchen at the corner. A small bathroom with limited, dirty water. A small bed. And a wooden closet that was his safe place.
He never knew of the world outside. He had never seen people other than his now-dead mother. He had not seen any kid like him. And it was then that Levi believed that he was meant in small spaces. He was meant to be small.
Because if he became bigger than what he intended to be, he'll stand out. He'll become someone , which he was not.
Levi, just Levi, was meant to be small and an extra.
He would never admit it to a living soul, but seeing dreams of his times on the underground made Levi Ackerman alive. Visions of Kenny, the filthy place, the faces of people he knew were dead by now, made him feel things. The pain, the desperation to live, the adrenaline, the Ackerman powers commanding him and telling him exactly what to do in a perilous situation. All of it made him alive.
And finally, on much rarer occasions, it was Petra Ral in his dreams.
Of all the dreams he could have, he dreaded the one with Petra the most.
He hoped to see her beautiful smiling face even once, but what he saw was a bloody woman. He heard screaming. Sobs. Cries of desperation, of agony.
He saw a decaying body, worms, and snakes preying on Petra's once beautiful and youthful skin. He saw crows picking at her eyeballs. Deers devouring her flesh. And a single fly resting on her once rosy cheeks.
Those nights were the worst.
But still, Levi closed his eyes. If it meant seeing Petra again, even in her dead rotting state, he'd do it. Let the nightmare fucking kill him in his sleep, he wanted to see her. If tomorrow Falco and Gabi and John and Madie saw him cold and dead in his bed, that'll be fine.
Sometimes Levi wondered how he would die. He didn't care when. He's too much of a thug to die early, his concerns were on how. Robbers entering his shop at night and killing him in the process? Sure, why not. But as a former soldier, Levi could still kick an ass or two. Give him a cane and it'll be a bloodbath. Dying of disease? What fucking disease? He ate viruses and bacteria for breakfast back in the underground. Dying of old age? Eh. Not bad. Peaceful and lonely. Story of his fucking life for the past fifty years. That can do.
But .
Dying in the middle of the night by a nightmare caused by his ginger subordinate that he secretly loved and bedded more than fifty fucking years ago? Hell yes. Petra Ral could kill him. They'll find his body cold, and his dick hard. That ginger just had that effect on him.
'Screeeeeech!'
A loud car outside made Levi snap out of his little 'what's the best way to die wheel of fortune' reverie. Thank fucking God. He'd wanted to see his lover, but he didn't want to remember those horrible images of her right when he's about to open his tea shop. He has a reputation for being the best tea shop in Liberio. And he's not planning to taint that.
Levi glanced at the big brown clock on the wall. 6:15 am. Soon, John and Madie will arrive to open the shop. All tabletops were tidy, as they should be. For now, he'll check the kitchen.
As his wheelchair scraped the floor once again, Levi's eyes wandered. His eyes pierced the world outside his tea shop through his glass window. A blackboard stand sat near the entrance. Paradis Tea Shop , it said. Daisies and baby's breath planted on a small soil box decorated the outside windows. He had refused to put flowers outside before, but Gabi insisted.
"It's for aesthetics," She said.
He saw people buzzing outside ready to start their day. A woman running with her dog. Children dressed in their uniforms. Middle-aged men in khakis and polo and polished shoes. Elderly like him gossiping at this bloody early hour. A ginger cat cleaning its paws. He tried feeding it once, tried to woo the feline, but it ran away as soon as it saw him.
Time seemed to be flowing differently outside and inside of his tea shop. The world outside was fast-paced, meanwhile, Levi sat at his quiet tea shop, the gears of time slowly turning, slowly passing.
He glanced back at the clock. 6:17 am.
Levi took a moment. He breathed, closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he saw his reflection on the glass window instead of the world outside.
His once black hair was now a mix of grey and whites. His hardened face in youth sagged, but the scowl stayed. His deep, black under eyes a testament of his sleepless nights. Then and now. Until maybe his last breath, Levi would be a fucking insomniac. Good luck to the mortician guy on keeping his eyes closed till they bury him six feet below the ground.
Levi's right eye had healed thoroughly. Probably the last remnants of his Ackerman powers. Although his eyesight didn't completely vanish, it was blurry. Even when the world advanced in medicine and technology, Levi refused to make an effort to correct his lost eyesight. Let it stay like that. It served as his memories from the war.
There is smoke everywhere. His back rested on a huge rock, his legs spread wide, and Levi stared in awe at the image of his dead comrades that materialized before him.
Erwin. Hange. Mike. His former squad. The dead veterans. Recruits he had failed to save from the terror of titans.
Her.
All of them were looking down at him. But she was the only one with a smile plastered on her face.
Humanity's strongest soldier saluted, a tear escaped his eye, and for the last time, he dedicated his heart.
He saw his dead comrades with his almost-blind eye. No eye doctor can fucking touch him.
As he strolled past the counter that connects to the kitchen, the chime on his door rang, signaling that someone had entered the shop. He didn't bother to see, he knew it was either John or Madie. Or maybe Falco and Gabi opting for an early visit.
"Er, no booze? Chel, where're the booze?"
Levi's back stiffened, his hands froze on the wheels of his wheelchair. He knew that voice. Something he always heard in childhood. It was a voice he associated with abuse and violence.
Kenny.