The bar was dimly lit, and the buzz of muddled conversations saturated the air. Most people were enjoying their Friday night after a long week of hard work. Lively conversations could be heard, interspersed with loud laughter. Every once in a while, cheers erupted from the counter, where a small group was celebrating something.
Levi hadn't even been here for half an hour, and he'd hated every single second of it.
He'd been listening to the conversations around him without taking part. Still, he tried to look like he cared about what these people said. He didn't, but hurting anyone's feelings would lead absolutely nowhere. Levi didn't want to alienate his coworkers any more than he did on a daily basis thanks to his abrasive demeanor.
He didn't know what had compelled him to finally agree to come along tonight, and he was starting to regret that decision. The bar was too noisy, and he could feel the first signs of a headache rearing its ugly head. He'd only been there for half an hour, and he was still nursing his first and only glass of alcohol – some whiskey-based beverage whose name he couldn't be arsed to remember. It tasted like shit, but it was at least better than beer, because beer tasted like piss. He'd only ordered it because everyone in his group was drinking something.
Playing along would benefit him in the long run – not that he cared. It would make any future interaction at work less stilted, for one thing. He was aware that his social skills were poor, so he would gladly take all the help he could get to make things easier. He wasn't dumb enough to underestimate the hassle his coworkers could subject him to if he didn't try to socialize every once in a while. He'd already experienced it at the shitty pizza place he used to work for as a student.
It wasn't like he could avoid his coworkers, anyway. If he complied now, they would leave him alone later. Most of the time, anyway, and at least until the next Friday night.
"Are you listening?"
Gisele was sitting next to him. She was glaring at him, looking disappointed.
He shook his head, raising his glass to his mouth. He'd tuned her out when she'd tried to talk to him earlier.
"Sorry. I was spacing out."
They'd been working together for a few years now, and she'd learned to leave him alone when what she called his "moods" struck. Most of the time, Levi trusted her to respect his boundaries.
She was easily the most tolerable among the people he worked with, though he didn't care much for the way she could become a real chatterbox with people she felt comfortable with – Levi included. She seemed to have taken a liking to him for some reason he couldn't comprehend. They had so little in common. And yet, it would be easy for him to get closer to her, because she obviously liked his company despite his relative youth. He was pretty sure she would like that.
But Levi had never done anything about it. They never met outside of work, didn't ever call or text each other. And yet, she was probably the closest thing to a friend he had.
He'd once wished for friends, but he knew better. At least, he tried to be nice to her, though he didn't always succeed.
"Is everything all right?" she asked, looking mildly concerned.
He drained the last of his drink and raised a questioning eyebrow. He didn't care much for the way she would sometimes turn all mothering on him either. It always felt like she was trying to coax him into socializing like he was a reluctant teenager. Just because she had a good ten years – and a couple centimeters – on him didn't mean he liked being coddled.
"Just tired. Why?"
She hesitated, scrutinizing his face.
"You look terribly pale."
Levi snorted.
"That's my default state."
"I know," she said, "but you really don't look well."
She was frowning. Levi looked at his hands, resting on his lap.
"My sleeping schedule's been all over the place lately," he finally conceded. "This place is too noisy. My head hurts. Satisfied?"
She made a noncommittal noise. The problem with working with the same people for several years was that even when you weren't close to them, they started picking up on small things. Obviously, she wasn't buying his explanation, worrying her lower lip between her teeth as she watched him instead.
"What," he said when she kept staring at him thoughtfully.
He held her gaze until she gave up on their staring contest to drink some beer. He thought she'd drop the subject, but she leaned towards him and spoke in a quiet voice, so quiet Levi knew he was the only one to hear.
"For a moment, your face was doing that thing where you frown, and I never know whether –" she started said, but stopped, frowning at her glass. "I thought – you looked sad," she started again, hesitant. "I even wondered if you were going to cry."
She wasn't looking at him, as if unsure whether she was overstepping unstated boundaries between them. Yet her voice as she spoke had remained perfectly even.
If anything, her concern for his well-being was the thing he disliked the most about her. He sometimes wondered whether he might even hate her.
He heard her huff when she realized he wasn't going to address her concern, but she didn't comment on it, redirecting her attention elsewhere instead.
Levi leaned back into his seat. What had possessed him to believe that coming here, against his better judgment, would be a welcome distraction? Being nice to others didn't come to him naturally and required an effort on his part. Too easily annoyed, he didn't even like people, didn't know how to deal with them. He couldn't be bothered to make conversation. Assholes, in particular, bored him out of his mind.
She was talking to one right now. Levi couldn't even remember his name, but that guy was unequivocally disliked by everyone. Since Levi hadn't been listening, he didn't know what had been said with any kind of certainty. But the smug air on his face, in contrast to the tense smile that was barely hiding Gisele's frustration, was as good an indication as anything.
Levi hadn't signed up for drama, and he couldn't be bothered to deal with it. Not tonight.
"Gisele," he said.
She turned to him, and he saw something like disappointment in her eyes.
"I'm tired, actually. I'm going home."
She looked worried, and maybe there was something else there, like the tiniest amount of panic.
The asshole offered a small jab at Levi's lack of tolerance to alcohol but was woefully ignored.
"Are you okay?" Gisele asked. "Want me to go with you for a bit, just in case?"
Her though, Levi wasn't going to ignore.
"Yeah, sure. If you don't mind."
He caught the asshole's eyes. He was surprised to find what looked like jealousy there.
This made no fucking sense. Levi fancied himself as inept at romance. Dating was also the least of his worries, so he just plain didn't. But even then, he was goddamn sure that being an ass to someone wasn't a good way to woo them. Especially when Gisele had been seemingly just as uninterested in dating as Levi for the few years they'd worked together. And even if she was, a single woman trying to have a baby on her own wouldn't settle on the first guy who seemed willing.
He glanced at Gisele, who was putting her coat on. She wore round glasses with a thin, golden rim, which emphasized her round face and made her eyes – a pretty hazel – look smaller than they were. Her long, wavy brown hair was nice, but she didn't try too hard when it came to clothes or makeup.
If she was ready to become a parent on her own, she had to have higher standards than that, right? She should be able to do better than this asshole.
They were out of the bar a moment later, assholes left behind. The relative silence of the streets was refreshing.
Gisele glanced at Levi. "Thanks," she said.
He'd heard people at the office calling her an airhead, but he was sharper than people gave her credit for. Levi didn't reply. Instead, he silently headed towards the subway station which he knew she could get home from.
When they got there, she paused by the station's entrance.
"No need to walk you home, huh," she said, a bemused look in her eyes.
Levi glanced at her and was surprised, not for the first time, to find that she was a little taller than him. It wasn't exactly hard, as her height was fairly average, but she always felt shorter to him for some reason.
"I feel better now."
She hummed pleasantly, and bid him a good night before disappearing into the underground stairway.
The temperatures had dropped the previous day, so maybe it wasn't surprising that the streets on his way home were empty and quiet. It felt uncanny, like he was the only one left alive in town. He liked the quiet, finding it peaceful and comfortable. But tonight, it only made his headache worse.
By the time he leaned back on his closed apartment door, he wanted nothing more than to sleep the weekend away.
He sighed and removed his shoes, placing them neatly side by side on the door's left. His headache spiked. The change in temperature between his moderately warm apartment and the early November cold outside wasn't helping.
He didn't even bother to turn the light on. There were painkillers in a small pharmacy box that was stored in the kitchen – his bathroom was far too small for a proper cabinet. He drowned a couple with a big glass of room temperature water and dropped face down into his couch. Suddenly exhausted, he almost convinced himself to sleep here.
He turned his head to the side and opened his eyes. Immediately, they fell on the scrap of paper which had been lying on his coffee table for the past week. Eren fucking Jaëger's number. The kid had said that he could trash it, and that's what he'd decided to do at first. But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to actually do it.
Pushing on his forearms to get up, he grabbed and scrunched the scrap of paper, intending to throw it into his bathroom trashcan.
It was only after brushing his teeth, putting his dirty clothes in his laundry basket and getting into bed that he realized the damn piece of paper had found its way onto his bedside table. What, had he kept it in his hand all along, while he was getting ready for bed? He could've sworn he'd thrown it away before grabbing his toothbrush.
It was seriously time to sleep. He dropped the paper into the small trash can by his bed. He fell back onto his hard mattress and watched shadows shift on the ceiling above.
The surrounding smog, a combination of steam, smoke and dust, flying in all directions because of the ongoing fight, was making it hard to see. There was a strong smell everywhere, like something was burning – something that really shouldn't. The air, clammy, was sticking to his clothes, his hair, his skin. He hadn't felt so dirty since leaving the underground city, years ago.
Everything was made hazy by the surrounding vaporous air. He couldn't see a thing beyond a meter away, at best. And yet, there was a strong wind blowing against his ears. It drowned any sounds of the battle, dust in motion the only indication anything was happening at all.
He couldn't see what remained of his squad. He wondered if any of them was still alive.
He was alone, and it was hard to breathe.
He was wary of his surroundings, but the hand on his upper arm still managed to catch him by surprise. His own hands, always steady on his blades, tensed on the hilt, but quickly relaxed when he realized that the hand brought no threat.
He hadn't noticed the young man, but he must have been following him closely for a while. He always followed, like the good little soldier Levi knew he was.
Said young man was trying to talk to him, his voice lost in the gale, and Levi couldn't hear it for the most part. But the wind was whimsical, and he somehow managed to pick up the last sentence.
"This doesn't look too good, does it?"
The young man's whole attention was on Levi instead of the surrounding battle. He was frowning and barely blinked. His eyes seemed huge, rimmed red because of the foul air around them, and they were peculiarly green. In the muddled air of the storm, they were the only thing Levi could see clearly. Amidst the tepid warmth and whirling filth, they looked untainted.
Levi had nothing to give these steady eyes, but the truth.
"No, it doesn't. I'm sorry."
He couldn't even hear his own words. The wind was too strong.
For a long time, Levi had lived his life putting aside any concerns regarding his choices. He knew they would slow his hand and heart, possibly halt them altogether. But here, nearing what was probably the end, he was unable to push those thoughts away completely. Foolishly, he wanted to tell the young man to save his own life and run. He had a better chance than most, being able to disguise himself to escape notice, or fight when needed. But the young man only had months left, at best. A mere few months weren't that big of a sacrifice – especially not months spent on the run, alone with his deteriorating health, until the inevitable end.
The young man wouldn't run. He was brave, fueled by righteous anger, and his eyes were determined. He would see this through to the bitter end.
He trusted Levi not to tell him to give up and flee.
"I'm sorry," Levi said again.
The young man's lips moved again. Like before, Levi couldn't hear, but he knew what the young man was saying.
"What for?" the young man was asking.
He seemed disconcerted.
Levi didn't know where to begin. There was so much he was sorry for. That he couldn't save the young man. That he was powerless to stop anything. That their mission would end up in failure. That life robbed the young man of everything he held dear before he was even an adult. That the young man's friends were gone. That he was unable to save them, unable to save anyone. That the young man had to die alone like this.
Levi didn't say a word, but the young man seemed to understand. He shook his head, stepped closer and put a hand on Levi's shoulder. His eyes were filled with determination, intense green like a beacon in the chaos.
"I'm not alone," the young man said, and the wind brought the words to brush against Levi's ear like a secret whispered in the deafening silence. "I'm not alone, and I'm not dead yet."
There was fear, but no regret in his eyes. His steady gaze, as well as the pressure of his hand on Levi's shoulder, were grounding.
Never breaking eye contact, the young man slowly raised his closed fist to his chest, until it covered his heart.
Levi stared, forgetting the turmoil around them, his entire focus on the young man before him, fist over his heart and determination in his eyes. It was quite a sight. The gesture was informal, different from what decorum required from a soldier. It was almost intimate, like a promise or an oath offered in secrecy. Levi was oddly touched.
He knew the young man had never failed to fulfill his duty. He'd seen him recklessly put his life on the line more than once. He'd always listened to what Levi told him, and at times, Levi had even suspected that the young man had gone out of his way to humor him. Like Levi's opinion mattered to him.
I'll follow you to the end of this, his gesture said. He was dedicating his heart to their goal, and had entrusted Levi with it. He was ready to die trying, and Levi felt unworthy of such unfaltering trust.
He tried not to think about the fate awaiting for this admirable young man, when he knew he deserved so much more. Levi would have given that to him, if he could. But they were most likely going to die today. They would die here, together. Levi thought there was a kind of romanticism to that.
The young man was right. There was no room for feelings or regrets now. Levi could mull over those after he died. Hah.
Levi didn't believe in a life after death.
His only regret – but this one wouldn't get in the way, not anymore – was that he'd have to die without telling the young man how this meant to him. How it made him feel. He had no words for this now. All he had to offer was his trust in return for the young man's own. He knew the young man understood.
Levi nodded at the young man, who left his arm fall at his side. He was ready.
So was Levi. Not alone, he thought. It wasn't much, but it was everything.
Without looking back, knowing the young man would follow, Levi walked into the fire.
Levi's awoke to the light of some nearby street lamp, painting formless shapes on his ceiling that he could barely see. His eyes were burning from dehydration, and his throat was tight. He breathed in deeply, windpipe fluttering oddly, as if previously deprived, when the air filled his lungs. He felt too warm, sticky, and he realized that he was quite sweaty. He didn't remember falling asleep, but fragments of his dream stuck to him like dirt on clammy skin.
When he sat up, his throat closed up, and he gritted his teeth. He was going to be sick.
He peeled off the sheets from his feverish legs and ran for the toilet before kneeling in front of the bowl and violently heaving. He barely had the time to breathe before he retched again, but his stomach was empty and nothing came out but bile.
When his stomach felt stable enough, he carefully sat down against the wall, still trying to catch his breath.
It had been a while since he'd remembered a dream with such clarity. It had been even longer since the last time he'd woken up sick from such a dream. More than a decade.
There was a reason why he was glad for dreamless nights. The few dreams he could recall were rarely pleasant, when not downright horrific. Whenever it happened, he tried his best to ignore it. He'd been having them for so long that he'd gotten quite good at that.
He stood up and proceeded to brush his teeth. His reflection in the mirror looked pale, and his dark circles were a worrying blueish color. In the pallid light of his bathroom's shitty overhead lamp, he looked like a corpse.
He rinsed his mouth and poured himself a big glass of cold water. He needed a shower, but he still felt somewhat faint. Besides, his sheets needed a good wash now that he'd sweated all over them. Lying in filthy sheets for a few hours wouldn't kill him. Not that he believed he would be able to go back to sleep.
He sat on his bed, and was putting his second glass of water on his bedside table when he noticed a small, crumpled ball of paper on the floor. He picked it up, unfolded it and paused.
Again, it was Eren Jaëger's goddamn number. He was sure that he'd thrown it away, but he must have missed the trash can. He closed his eyes and sighed.
Even if he didn't sleep, maybe he could at least try lying down and rest for a bit.