Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin or any of its characters.
Edit: This chapter has been edited, just like the first chapter. If you read these before 4/03, then I suggest going back. I said this in the last chapter but I really advise you to do so. Again, there is spoilers in this note so if you're new, please skip over this. I'll summarize what I changed, though. Basically, I added more dialogue in this chapter as well as details, just like the first chapter. I like to think that Levi is nicer, but he won't stay that way for long. I also added a brief section that was from Mikasa's perspective, which is pretty important. The major difference is the word count doubled from the first draft. I guess that's all you really need to know.
A/N: It's the second chapter and things are going to get interesting fast. I have tons of twists coming up that I think will surprise you – or at least I hope so. I won't tell you which character plays what, but Eren Jaeger will be making an appearance later on as well as Grisha and Carla. I'm not entirely sure but I'm also thinking about adding in Petra Ral. But that's only an idea as of right now, so that might not end up being the case. I'm thinking of changing the title in the future, too. I couldn't think of anything when I submitted the first draft of this story, so I just typed the first thing that popped into my head. I won't change it for a while, though. At least not until I get the overall feel for this story.
Another note is that Mikasa is eighteen years old in this story while Levi is twenty-six. I just thought I'd clear that up because I have no idea if the rating will change later on. Probably, though, because I love me some smut. So if you're twelve and reading this, make sure you know what a diddly dong and boobicus floopies are. Otherwise, you'll be very confused. Actually, if you're twelve, you probably shouldn't be reading fanfiction in the first place, but I'm not your mom. I hope you like this chapter and please let me know what you think! Thanks to everyone who left reviews on the last chapter. I'll do my best to keep updating regularly.
This chapter was inspired by When Will My Life Begin (Reprise 1) and the ending from Flynn Wanted, more songs from the Tangled soundtrack. Up to you on whether you listen to it as you read or not.
ii: i could go running and racing and chasing – and also hitting strangers with frying pans
Mikasa woke up to the feeling that something was off. Not in the sense that she forgot to put her paint set away like last time and found it'd dried out overnight, but in the sense that something was really off. Occasionally, she would have these feelings before something strange happened. More often than not, they were simply feelings of anxiety. And so, she brushed off this particular one as she began her morning routine.
Crawling out from underneath her covers in the king-sized bed and pushing aside its curtain, her bare feet made contact with the tower floor. Running a hand through her hair and stumbling across a knot – actually, more than one – she realized that her hair needed a serious brushing. That alone would take an hour, at the least.
At times like this, she wished that her hair wasn't so long – long being the understatement of the century. You see, she had seventy feet of hair. In all the books she'd read, the average person had hair that barely went past their shoulders. In other books, she learned that hair would stop growing after it reached a certain length. Not hers, apparently. It wasn't all bad having insanely long hair, though. In fact, her hair could be defined as an extension of her arm sometimes. If she couldn't reach something, she would just throw her hair. If she was cold and had nothing to cover herself with, she'd simply wrap herself into a hair cocoon. Still, having long hair like hers was a lot of work – effort that she'd rather not put in.
As she looked around the tower, she remembered that she had some creative outburst the night before and regretted it. She loved to paint – really – but sometimes, it felt so pointless. All she ever painted was of things that she could never see herself, like things she'd seen in books or from her own imagination. Beautiful flowers, courageous dragons, and even some of her leaving the tower. It was the same with all her other hobbies, like reading and cooking. What's the point of learning new information if you can't confirm it yourself or share it with others? What's the point of cooking if you have no one to share your recipes with? At this point, she was resigned to believe that she was never leaving. This tower would be her coffin.
Her paint set had been put away but she'd left random brushes covered in red, green, and yellow splotches everywhere. Sighing, she quickly began to collect them in her arms before dumping them into a pail of water to soak. As the paint began to dissolve and transform the water into a blackish color, she turned around and analyzed the rest of the tower, then realized that she didn't care if it was a mess. She didn't care – period. Some of her many blouses were thrown all over the place and one of her perfume bottles at her vanity had fallen over, its liquid making a puddle on the floor. Well, at least the tower will soon be smelling minty fresh, she thought with a grimace.
Walking over to her vanity, she took a seat and stared at her reflection. How long had she lived in this tower? It had to be at least ten years, maybe more. All she would dream about were her parents and what it would feel like to bask in the sunlight instead of watching it rise from afar. The tower itself was composed of vines and brick and concrete, a single room inside - but it was a hundred foot drop. Even the titans guarding it couldn't reach half of its height, so escaping was nothing more than a dream, something that she could never make come true. If she ever wanted to leave, she had to wait until she was set free or someone came to rescue her, although that last part greatly annoyed her. She didn't need anybody's help.
As she continued to stare at herself, she took in her hollowed appearance. It wasn't like she was starving to death – because she was fed on a daily basis – but there was something deeper that was missing. Probably had to do with the fact that her parents were dead and she'd been held captive in a tower since she was eight years old.
Opening the vanity's drawer more roughly than she planned, she pulled out her brush and began to brush her black locks of hair. There were knots everywhere from tossing and turning, but she was thankful that her hair was naturally straight. If she had curly hair, like some girls did in the books she read, her hair would look like an absolute nightmare. Then again, there was no one here to see her have a bad hair day in the first place.
As she continued to pull and grab at her hair, squeaking at the pain, she paused at the sound of the titans outside the tower. Instead of being quiet like they usually were, they were growling at something. She slowly set the brush down on the vanity and looked in the direction of the window. That window felt like it was the reason she was stuck there, even if she could open it whenever she wanted. And so, when it shattered into a million pieces and a figure flew into her room with amazing speed, it felt like she had hope again – like her dreams of an escape weren't completely useless. In that moment, nothing seemed useless, even if the figure in question was nothing more than a part of her vivid imagination.
Maybe I've lived in the tower so long that I'm starting to hallucinate, she thought. But as the shards of glass flew across the room, some landing in the pail of dirty brushes and others sliding all the way towards her bare feet, she realized that it was real. Pulling her feet more towards the vanity as to not touch the glass, her eyes zoned in on the figure laying on the floor, groaning.
At first, she'd assumed it was just some bird that had seriously miscalculated its flight patterns, but when she noticed that the figure had black hair and was wearing clothes, she realized it wasn't a something but a someone.
Standing from the stool, she walked towards what appeared to be a man. If he wasn't, then maybe the trend of undercuts had become really popular among the female population while she was away. Her bare feet walked over the shards of glass on her way towards him, but she didn't care if they were cutting into her skin. This was the first time she'd seen another human being in years and it gave her so much joy, even if her face revealed nothing. Keeping a blank expression had been an automatic response she'd learned, after all.
The man had been covering his head on his way into the tower and as her feet stopped in front of him, she noticed how big his hand was in comparison to her own. Holding her hand directly in front of her face, she realized that she'd completely forgotten the little details about a person, other than the fact that people existed. Taking in his puffy pants and sleeves, she noted that he had no sense of fashion whatsoever. What was he wearing anyway? And what was that metal contraption wrapped around his waist?
As the curiosity was beginning to get the best of her, she dragged her eyes back to his face and watched as he slowly opened his eyes to reveal dull, blue eyes. Underneath, there were dark circles, but she could relate to that after having nightmares every night for the past ten years. She almost laughed at his cute, button nose, which was a serious contrast to his harsh features. It was only when he began to mutter to himself that she pulled away.
Should she talk to him? Would they even speak the same language? Waiting to see what he would do, she watched his bangs fall into his eyes and admired the dirt that layered his face as he began to sit up. She could make out a few choice words that he was muttering to himself as he leant on his elbows, then realized that she had no idea who this man was. Her fingers stretched towards her bed and wrapped around her lucky frying pan that was leaning against it. Holding it with both hands, she slammed it down on his head, expressing an apathetic apology as he did so. He immediately clocked out and slumped back down to the floor. Her head pulled back in surprise and she could only hope that the blow wasn't enough to kill him so she could ask him what the deal was with his pants. She lifted up her arms and looked at her own outfit, a white dress decorated with a pink sweater, and realized that her choice of dress wasn't any better.
Why do I hurt all over? And why do I smell mint?
Those were Levi's first thoughts when he opened his eyes for the first time. Well, he couldn't remember opening them when he first crashed into the tower – thanks to the blow to his head – so technically, it was the second time. His eyes widened a fraction at the realization that he was in a different position. Instead of lying on the floor, he was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room with his hands tied behind his back by some sort of rope. It had to be good quality because he could barely move his hands. As he looked behind him, he realized that it wasn't rope but hair instead.
That's just gross.
How long had he been laying on the floor before someone moved him? And more importantly, who had moved him in the first place? His muscles needed to stretch or something because he was aching all over.
He began to struggle against the rope – or hair, he remembered with a shudder – and the chair squeaked against the floor in the process. He paused, though, as a female voice said, "Struggling is pointless. Who are you and how did you get in here?"
He squinted through the darkness and tried to locate whoever had said that. In the shadows, he could make out a person as they slowly walked towards him. Foot by foot, she walked into the light and his eyes immediately zoned in on the frying pan in her hands. That was probably why his head hurt so much. She was talking to him, though, because her lips were moving. He couldn't concentrate – or bring himself to care – because of the bump on his head that was causing her to transform into a white blob for seconds at a time. Blinking for a few moments in an attempt to clear his vision, he nearly jerked back at her several feet away from him. Had she been holding that frying pan so tightly before? Honestly, he didn't want to know.
"I said..." she began, her lips turning into a snarl, "...who are you and how did you get in here?"
"You first," he said as he took in her appearance. Her hair was the exact same color as the rope and he quickly made the connection that it was her hair that tied him up. Again, he shuddered at the thought. "Well? I don't have all day."
He was being incredibly immature, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Her eyes had narrowed into slits and he took notice of her clothing, which looked like rags in comparison to his own. She was wearing a simple, white dress accompanied with some sort of pink sweater. It looked soft and warm, but not nearly as warm as the red scarf wrapped around her neck. The single piece of hair that hung between her eyes bothered him because how could she possibly see with that thing in the way? Her hair was layered all over, though, not just in her bangs. His eyes found their way to the frying pan again and he took note of how pale her hands were, along with the rest of her skin, and he realized that she had to be an Oriental. As he made that conclusion, he realized she was talking again. He hadn't been listening again, but whatever.
"I asked you first."
She grabbed the back of the chair, roughly pulling him forward. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, wondering which one would break under the pressure first. Levi's expression remained neutral as he said, "I asked you second."
It was strange but she didn't seem to be afraid of him in the slightest. Her hands weren't trembling under his stare and she was holding herself in a way that was confident, elegant even.
"Levi," he said after a long silence.
She let go of the chair and he immediately fell backward, which made him grunt in pain. Her eyes seemed to wander across his face for a moment before she began to circle him like a vulture or something. She had to pull her hair with her, though, otherwise it would've gotten caught around the chair's legs. The strands that were tying his hands together were held delicately in her hands. "Levi, is it?"
His eyebrow twitched in annoyance because he'd literally just said that. He had no reason to lie, but as he once again found himself staring at the frying pan, he reasoned this girl had trust issues.
She stopped her pacing and gazed over at him with a cool expression. "My name is Mikasa. Now, how did you get in here?"
"With my maneuver gear," he replied in a flat tone, annoyed at where this conversation was heading. As he took in her confused expression and slow response, he continued, "The two canisters around my hips. They dispense blades to kill titans with and you use these levers..." He paused to direct her attention to the identical levers at his sides, then continued, "...to shoot out hooks to attach onto a sturdy surface, like a tree or building."
He wasn't sure why he'd told her that in the first place, or even gone into such detail, but was rewarded with silence either way. She swapped the frying pan from one hand to the other and allowed it to dangle from her fingertips. With a flick of her wrist, the strands of shorter hair that had fallen into her face were flipped over her shoulder. She made a few quiet noises to herself as she tried to piece together the information that she'd just been given. After a few minutes, though, she seemed to understand.
"The average titan isn't big enough to simply reach into this tower, so I suppose that makes sense," she slowly said, as if coming to some sort of conclusion. "Then, you could use that to leave this tower?"
He nodded and her eyes immediately lit up. He almost felt bad about telling her that he was almost out of gas, but then he felt the silky sensation of her hair against his hands and the fact that she was pointing a frying pan at his face. As she took in the information, her shoulders slumped considerably and the frying pan nearly clattered to the floor. As she bit at the inside of her cheek, he looked into her eyes and realized for the first time that they were a truly unique color, reminding him of the metal placed around his hips.
Metallic and powerful.
His lidded eyes widened a fraction, remembering that geezer and how he was hiding from the Military Police. If she hadn't hit him in the first place, it wouldn't have taken him this long to realize that the girl in front of him was the little girl in the photograph.
"Mikasa?" he said, more to himself than to her, but she looked at him nonetheless.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, crossing her arms and tucking the frying pan under one of her armpits.
"Untie me."
Her mouth dropped open and she struggled to form a coherent sentence for a moment before looking towards the shattered window, then back at him. "Why should I?"
"If you want to escape, untie me. My blades from my maneuver gear are on the floor..." he started to say, indicating with his head that they were collecting dust near her mirror, "...over there." He hadn't told her about the knife tucked away in the confines of his pants, but what she didn't know wouldn't kill her.
As she narrowed her eyes once again, he could tell that she was trying to determine if he was lying or not. She glanced over at the mirror and saw the blades, and reasoned he wasn't. She carefully walked towards them, setting her frying pan down on the vanity and then picking them up, sizing up each blade individually. He could tell she was impressed as she mumbled to herself.
"Fine," she said after a few moments.
Her cool gaze slid over to him once again and she untied her hair from around his wrists. Almost expecting him to go on a rampage and strangle her, she took a few cautious steps back.
The uncertainty was evident in her expression, but it didn't appear to be out of fear. Carefully, he rubbed at the red marks that had formed on his wrists and tried to make no sudden movements. He didn't like the way she was holding his blades, like she knew exactly where to cut him.
Placing his hands on the chair's arm rests, he slowly stood up but nearly fell on his ass as pain shot up his right leg. It wasn't broken but it was something. Must've been when he broke through that damned window. At his new position, the sun was aiming directly for his eyes and he slowly raised his hand to partially block out its rays. It was so fucking bright that he wondered why he'd wanted to see it so badly all those years. That yellow blob was nothing but annoying to him in that moment.
He looked over at her and she seemed to be more relaxed, which was annoying in itself. With great reluctance, he hopped towards her. Her grip on his blades lessened with each hop. He didn't know why but he had this feeling that she could kick his ass, if the way she'd expertly held his blades and that frying pan said anything. He stood directly in front of her for a few moments before rummaging through his ripped trousers' pocket to pull out the photograph, which had crinkled and ripped somewhat on his journey.
As he turned it around and held it up for her to see, he asked, "Is this you?"
Though, he already knew the answer to that.
She swapped one of the blades over to another hand and she stepped closer to squint at the photograph. With her newly freed hand, she went to grab it and accidentally brushed her fingertips against his own, but she didn't seem to notice. She was silent for a few minutes as her eyes took in every detail that it had to offer. There was a look of recognition on her face, though.
"Where did you get this?"
"Some old geezer cornered me in my own damn house to demand that I find his granddaughter. Apparently she'd been kidnapped when she was five years old and he'd been looking for ever since," he said, crossing his arms and maintaining a nonchalant tone. He glanced at her but she'd only frowned in response.
"I don't have a grandfather," she said, furrowing her eyebrows, "but I think that's me. I recognize some of the plants in the background that my father used to grow."
He raised his eyebrow at that but decided not to push her. He snatched the photograph and put it back in his pocket, then outstretched a hand for the blades. At her unease, he said, "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you."
With his leg injured, he hadn't the slightest idea how he was going to get her out of there. Still, he would die trying if it came to it. His hands went to grab at his maneuver gear, just to make sure that everything was still working. Nothing seemed to be jammed, though, so his luck seemed to be good. He'd never been this lucky in his entire life. Actually, his life was full of nothing but bad luck.
As she seemed to be lost in her thoughts, he decided to take the time to look at her bedroom again. In comparison to some of the living situations in the underground, it wasn't bad. It had that feeling of being a person's home, but he realized that probably wasn't how it felt to her.
He grimaced as he took note of the shards of glass scattered across the floor and how messed up his body must look underneath his clothing. You could hardly tell that there'd once been a window instead of a gaping hole. His eyes continued to look around and he admired the vanity and stool a few feet from the mirror. There appeared to be an entire collection of perfume bottles scattered across its surface. How did she bathe anyway? Or did she just spray herself with perfume instead? He did recall that the first thing he smelled was mint and it dawned on him that it was coming from one of the bottles.
His eyes continued to sweep over the bedroom and they stopped at a small, wooden table near the window – again, gaping hole would be more accurate. A basket was sitting on it and a quaint napkin was peeking out from the inside. How the fuck was she getting food in the first place?
Breaking the silence, he said with a sarcastic tone, "Sorry about the window. I'm sure it was nicely crafted."
She gave him an amused look before stepping forward and standing beside him, then said, "Hardly noticed since I spent most of my time looking out of it."
He was trying to decide if he should say anything at all. Tightening his hold on the blades, he was about to walk towards the window when he heard the sound of a titan's footsteps. The ground shook beneath them, even up in the tower. Mikasa grabbed onto the bed frame to steady herself as the sound grew closer and her posture stiffened.
After it stopped, she turned towards him with a horror-struck expression. He didn't have a chance to ask what that was before she was roughly shoving him towards her closet, then shoving him inside. It was almost embarrassing to realize that with his size, he could perfectly fit underneath all her clothes.
"Oi!" he shouted, just as she was about to close the door on him. Her hands were delicately holding onto the door and she was peering at him with a confused expression, as if she had no idea what he was going to say. He opened his mouth to continue but she quickly looked over her shoulder and a shadow seemed to loom over the tower.
Turning back to him, she brought her index finger to her pink lips, indicating that he should keep quiet. And with that, she was already shutting the door on him and engulfing him into complete darkness. With a scoff, he leant more into the closet and sat like a good boy for a moment. He crossed his arms and found that his boot was nervously tapping against the wood. The silence was impossible to take and with that, he felt around for the door, just to get a good look of what was going on. However, when the door opened a crack, he nearly closed it again from what he saw.
It was a titan, all right.
That single window wasn't even enough to show its entire eye, only the pupil in the center. Mikasa was leaning out the window and gesturing with her hands, as if she was having a conversation with it. It was strange because it didn't seem to be aggressive, which was the common trait of a titan. In fact, it was almost as if it wasn't even a titan at all or a person in a titan's body.
The conversation to finish and its eye pulled back from the tower to reveal its grotesque mouth. He didn't know how many humans had the bad luck to fall down its throat, but he couldn't even understand why she was acting so friendly with a titan of all things. He nearly jumped out of the safety of the closet and scrambled after her as she began to climb into its mouth, but his pounding heart eased into its once steady rhythm when she slid back down and into the tower – though, she was coated in its saliva. The titan pulled away from the tower again and then let out a mighty roar, causing chills to spread across his body.
And like that, it was gone. The ground continued to shake as its thunderous steps began to fade, but after a few minutes, he shoved the door open and nearly fell on his ass. The whole situation was terrifying and he hadn't the slightest idea why she climbed into its mouth of all things, then he noticed that she was placing loaves of bread – among other things – inside the basket on table. Placing all his weight on his hands, he managed to stand up but placed his palm on the closet as he struggled to stand upright. His head snapped to hers at the same moment she'd finished cleaning herself off – or in his case, not at all.
It was silent for a few minutes as his mind struggled to form a coherent sentence. He managed to regain his balance and stumbled his way towards the window. Peeking his head out of it, he concluded that the titan was long gone. His mouth opened and closed for a second as he turned his head in her direction.
"What the fuck is going on here? And you better answer me in the next five seconds if you know what's good for you, you brat."
A/N: And thus ends the second chapter. I really struggled with keeping these two in character. I have no idea why but this chapter has been especially difficult. I'll write something and wonder if that's really something they would say, then spend the next two hours re-writing one sentence. I decided I won't worry too much about it since I can just come back to it later. I mean, I've edited these chapters enough as it is but I think editing never ends when you're a writer. Anyway, let me know what you guys think! Honestly, anything would be cool. I love hearing from everyone.