June 25th. Levi and Petra.
Prompt: day-off, routines and constants
He stayed inside on his day-offs.
He preferred to work in his office. There was always a ton of macabre paperwork to do for the Survey Corp's dead. When he felt like it, he stepped away from the obligation reports and routine.
Rare times. But even he needed to inhale fresh bites of the tainted air in the vicinity of his posted area. Or when Erwin, Hange or Petra insisted on disrupting his regular routine for some reason.
He avoided going out to town unless he had to. More so after that one odd day he unconsciously accepted Petra's casual invite and came face to face with his shitty temptation. He didn't want a rehash of those feelings harping on his heart. No room for them in this ugly world.
But Petra was cute. Irresistibly so.
He was keenly aware of the fact for a while now. And made a practice of practicing resistance once he realized he wasn't immune. Feeling that mind-numbing break in his internal composure and the clean, sharp crackling of heat in his insides for her was the last fucking thing he should be doing as her Corporal.
Not to mention their shitty reality had no place for shitty aches and emotions like these and from the likes of him no less. So he rejected the irregular beat of his heart for her and warm curl of desire knotting the hollow of his stomach without a second thought.
Blood and gore and screech of mankind and titans and his goddamned soldiers was all his world was about and must be. At least until the end of war; if they ever managed to survive it.
He wasn't made for it too.
For holy whispers and brave litanies. Or kind prayers and sweet nothings that couldn't be. Not in the damning, unholy shit of his past or the unforgiving present of his reality.
And he reminded himself of it every-time she made him feel things he shouldn't.
The only luxury he allowed himself with her was the tea he often had privately with her in his rooms.
He had decided a long time ago his feelings for her were only a liability if he gave it weight. It was near damn inappropriate of him anyway. He was practically an old man, almost thirty five. And she was so young, about nineteen or twenty?
No matter the weight of maturity in fierce doe-eyes that grazed over him with an emphatic, repressed longing that resonated with him at his core when she thought he wasn't looking.
Even if she was adult enough to know her mind. Even if she had lived through the many hells he had. Even if she didn't mind his sordid past, his clean-freak, irritable personality or his social inadequacies. Even if she understood with every beat of her heart that they were soldiers first and foremost, their heartbeats on hire for humanity, no exceptions. Even if she was petite and small and the perfect size for an irritatingly pea-sized soldier like him. Even if she had the resolve to embrace him at his weakest and vulnerable, humanity's strongest or not. Even if- he paused, refusing to go off on that veritable tangent any longer.
She could just do so much better than him. Period.
He was just an ugly shorty, an embittered, cynical thug off the streets turned Corporal who started out dedicating his worthless being to the cause of mankind only because he had nothing else better to do with his life. Only because he hadn't wanted to die. And Isabel and Farlan.
He had wanted to find a clean, worthwhile existence for all of them.
And Erwin Smith had offered him a way out of their muddy existence.He had done a fine piece of work on him by enlisting him into the Survey Corps. His worthless life had a semblance of meaning now. Even if his two charges were gone.
Orphaned like him, and rotting in the tainted streets of the underground city, he had taken them under his inadequate care. The sweep of his clipped, broken wings hardly able to shelter them; but they had looked up to him, believed in him, like he had believed in them, and he had failed to protect them. The only friends and family he had before the Special Ops Squad, his Mother, and Kenny Ackerman.
Before he became Lance Corporal Levi, humanity's strongest at Erwin's bidding.
He trusted the man. He felt strongly like he owed Erwin for giving him a new lease to life despite everything. He had lost men under his command countless times since that first time; every loss strengthening his resolve, and giving the mission of his life a stronger purpose.
He said he wouldn't become personally responsible for lives aside from Farlan and Isabel. His Special Operations Squad became his first new exception. He chose them carefully and wisely, one important reason being their knack of living through countless hells and staying strong through it.
They weren't invincible though and neither was he.
The titans were an unpredictable and incomprehensible enemy. The odds were always going to be stacked against them. He told himself he would do well to remember his place and not seek out more meaning in Petra's existence than he could afford as humanity's strongest.
Petra herself was dedicated to his cause.
She understood that humanity needed humanity's strongest to remain focused.
He was careful she didn't detect his interest or attraction and become creeped out by him. Petra was the kind of girl you want to marry as much as you want to sex her up, and even if she was willing to appease him sexually, he didn't want to take advantage of her. Not yet.
He liked her a bit too much for that. He wasn't even sure what she wanted from him exactly?
She admired him with a sincere ferocity that dazzled and baffled him. Bright-eyed kids in town, bitten by the hero-worshipping bug and eager to enlist looked up at him with a similar awe that he found disconcerting already. But Petra was different.
She was just as bright-eyed, and eager to be of service to him as the rest of his squad. And his special squad all knew him well enough by now. Their admiration for him in the context of titan killings or otherwise hadn't waned in the least. But Petra was still different. Still special somehow.
And he suspected most of it had to do with Petra herself and his own growing partiality for her company. Because stepping out of the underground and into the survey corps, she was something unfathomable and unexpected. He had never anticipated finding somebody like her.
He had never expected his own soul to want to meld into hers.
Because nobody looked at him like Petra did.
And she looked at him good. Like he was beyond all he was; and more than all of it and he was drunk on that and her and felt compelled to look back at her. His heart had never felt that odd tug of desire and ache it did for anybody else but Petra. And it almost undid him.
Something about her pulled at his heartstrings and he was caught.
Petra, for him, was indescribable. There was an indefinable crackle of something heavy and potent between them. He could tell that much, and it was both, humbling and pleasing to him.
She could do so much better, and yet, she had chosen him. He couldn't understand her attraction even as he secretly indulged in it.
He was nothing special aside from being an un-typical sort of Humanity's Strongest.
She, on the other hand was the stuff of dreams shitty soldiers in barracks sighed after.
A nice, clean girl, with a pretty face who looked sexy as shit in her soldiers trappings and leather boots, and understood the demands of a soldier's life to boot. He knew there was more to her than that inadequate description, and he liked all he saw and knew.
He couldn't imagine what she saw in him that she liked. He cut an almost entirely opposite figure to the expected image of Humanity's Strongest and knowing him personally, she'd embraced all his quirks spiritedly instead of shying away from him or finding him uncouth or weird.
Maybe she did think him all of that, but she didn't misunderstand him and keep her distance from him regardless. And she liked him; really, really liked liked him.
A girl like that had never happened to him before. And it was overwhelming. She was the closest thing to decent in his life and he hadn't seen a lot of decent in his lifetime. Contrary to his resolve, he didn't want to let a good, sweet, clean thing like her slip away from him. He'd be damned if he did.
Because she wanted him. And he wanted her back. That sort of thing just didn't happen to him often. That sort of thing just didn't happen to him. Period.
But he had to know more. To what extent did she care for him? To what capacity was she interested? Auruo's obnoxious teasing suggested, but it wasn't enough to detect… How head-over-heels-starry-eyed was she for him really? What were her expectations?
He had to know. Because he'd make do with all or nothing, if she told him what she wanted.
She didn't let on that easily though, because Petra was always at her most professional around him.
She didn't cower. She said her piece and her mind about him without fear. Nor did she slip into daydreams or blush and giggle mindlessly like a school-girl with a crush. She was an exemplary soldier and rarely let her feelings get in the way of her duty. And he liked these things about her too.
If he hadn't been watching her as closely as he had, he probably wouldn't have been able to tell.
He just wasn't sure what to do with his knowledge.
He would commit all of his shitty self to her if that was what she desired, but… despite all his brave feats on the titan battlefield, he was a socially inept, coward.
He didn't want to taint her aspirations and admiration for him with his own shitty feelings and cloud their reality by stepping out of the boundaries they had set for themselves. What if Erwin demanded she be shifted to another survey-corps squad because they were indiscreet about their affections or outright broke the military relationships protocol?
He didn't think either of them could stand that. He had already become too damned attached.
Whatever this was between them, they had to keep it discreet for as long as they could. Whether his feelings were mutual or not, and he suspected they were, they weren't feelings they could pursue or act upon in their current reality.
Not yet anyway. They weren't ready. They weren't prepared for the consequences.
Maybe when they won the war and they survived it. Maybe behind closed doors, between the tangled spaces of their cherished tea-times, and his awkward courtship. He scoffed. Maybe if they were more than emotional cowards bound to the shitty rules of their shitty reality.
The lingering glances and accidental touches and them leisurely sipping tea together in private was all he could afford for the time-being. He hoped that would suffice.
They would have to figure out the nuances of their mutual attraction slowly, and head into unchartered territories when they felt ready for it. It wouldn't be an easy task to explore the depths of what was between them. It was unusual for him, but he felt a strange, almost painful excitement pulsing through him because of it.
He had already determined for himself that he was fool enough- that he liked her enough- to want to marry her. If she so much as gave him a sure indication she did…. if she so much as gave him her beaming-without-a-doubt-I'm all yours-no exceptions smile… If she so much as gave him a simple Okay…
He would fuck all objections, and marry her in a heartbeat. But he knew her military standing meant something to her. She had joined the survey corps and become a member of his squad for reasons of her own. And it would be selfish of him to expect her to give it up for them.
A marriage could bring about complications and consequences neither him nor her were equipped to deal with as soldiers on hire for Humanity's cause. Not now.
But someday… maybe they could find a way to work around it… Until then…
Until they could get there…
He had to make sure survival was etched on the wings of their freedom.
In any case, he was digressing.
Aside from genuinely preferring it that way, she was why he had taken to staying indoors outside of duty lately. He couldn't, and didn't go out of his way to avoid his squad. They tended to prefer hanging around him when they didn't have anything better to do anyway, so that was hard to do regardless. More often than not, if they didn't have family to visit or some errand to run, they naturally drifted back to their shitty headquarters, with shitty four-eyes dropping in from time to time.
He wondered sparingly if it was because they felt sorry for him and his lonely, irritable grump of an arse.
He carefully folded his fingers around the rim of his cup and sipped the coffee Petra made for him that morning. Even though it was her day-off, he noted quietly and his heart clenched as it always did when he thought of the little things she did for him outside of duty that she simply didn't have to.
He didn't remember when she had taken on the task more regularly.
But she made his morning coffees now, (and his men's as well, he reminded himself), anticipating his need for it before he got to it on his own. Before he knew it, the knots on his shoulder unknotted a bit and he relaxed into the new rhythm and constancy of her presence. Despite his caution, he had already allowed her to become more of a personal constant in his life than he intended.
He breathed a long, frustrated sigh, and inhaled as he sipped the last dreg of his coffee.
As he struggled to push all pretty musings of her away, he remembered her mentioning something important and he stilled. His favorite brand of tea was running out. He had made a mental note of it during their last te tate, intending to visit town when he had the chance, but had forgotten about it.
He blanched then. Fuck, this meant he had to go to town to buy some.
It was unavoidable. Restocking his tea and coffee supplies was an absolute must. He couldn't survive without it given the insomniac he was. He was not sure in the least if he was referring to his need of tea or the pleasure of her company. He inhaled and exhaled quietly.
It should be fine as long as he didn't run into Petra. He knew she liked to grace the town with visits once in a while, especially her father's place, but she had also taken to randomly staying in at times. He couldn't quite know which of the two she would choose to go with today.
It wasn't any of his business anyway that she would inform him before she left.
It was her day out. The one day he wasn't her Corporal and she wasn't his subordinate. The one day she didn't have to wait on him or his orders or ask his permission or be at his beck and call or anticipate his needs or need of her specifically.
He would just have to risk it.
His tea was a priority he couldn't waive off. He simply couldn't get by without it. Tea that she made and shared with him, he grudgingly acquiesced silently, grimacing to himself as he shrugged into his formal black jacket.
If push came to shove, he could always ask her to get his specific tea leaves for him instead of going out himself, or worse, give into temptation and accompany her on her day out.
He was almost sure she would ask if she saw him. She was too naïve and impulsive to consider the possible repercussions of her friendly requests. Becoming unwittingly moony-eyed and affectionate, or flushing and going awkward around each other in the privacy of his rooms was one thing, but clashing eyes, soft and hard, and becoming flustered in public at informal settings, where anybody could tell something was off about them was another entirely.
He was jumping the gun though. He only had cause to worry if she happened to be heading out. For his sake and hers, he hoped she wasn't. He was very close to giving up and awkwardly damning himself to pursue her, and he didn't want to be pushed to the brink of his tea-cup any more than he was.
But of course, the universe was never on his side.
He furrowed his brows and stiffened as he heard the light tread of her footsteps behind him, the soft clear tones of her pleasant voice calling out to him.
"Heichou!"
He paused reflexively, and braced himself as he tilted his head to look at her. His face betrayed no expression, but despite himself he was caught off guard and his breath fumbled.
She was all fucking dolled up of course. Hadn't he established the universe loved to spite him like that?
Regardless, he urged himself to act normal and commented as carelessly as he could.
"Oh, all dressed up, Petra? Going to town?"
"Oh! Yes! Is Heichou going too?" she inquired excitedly, pretty orange-meadow light bulbs blinking cutely up at him, a perfect 2cm below through her slim lashes.
He was puzzled, a strange sort of bee buzzing in his stomach, creating honey. What the hell was she so enthusiastic about? It wouldn't be that much of a treat for her if he was going too, would it? He was dismal company.
"Aa. I have some business in town today."
"That's great! Do you want to-"
He cut her off, remembering his brilliant idea from earlier, becoming hastily excited himself. "Oh wait! This is good! If you're going to town anyway, then I don't have to go. Can you pick up my favorite brand of tea leaves for me?"
"Oh, uh Yes! I can do that." She answered less enthusiastically, a half-hearted smile quirking up at him.
Distracted by the few stray strands of her chin-length autumn hair tickling the mild, flushed cheekbones below the bright glow of her iris, he didn't notice the slight slump of her shoulders as she reluctantly complied with his request at first.
When he did, he felt a brief twinge of regret and disappointment in the pit of his stomach as she left him with a less spirited wave of her slender fingers than usual and a smile a little too bright and forced, that he almost back-tracked. He resisted the lure of his mixed feelings however, and clung to being proud of himself for averting the temptation of her company in public instead.
And he tried to brush it off, but he still felt the unusual linger of her toobright smile as he strolled back to his office quietly. Regardless, he battled it out and firmly flung the feeling aside like he had done countless times before and pushed it to the back of his mind, relieved at getting out of that as easily as he had today.
He focused on one thought and one thought alone instead to help him cope.
And it was a bright enough thought that it worked.
She was going to bring him his tealeaves. He couldn't wait for her to get back for it.
He assured himself that all would be well in his world soon. And went back to his papers impatiently, thinking about his tea and coffee supplies. It was all he could do to keep himself from stomping and saying childishly,
"Quickly Petra, your taking too long."
Every morning and night after Petra was gone, he went about his routine and willed himself to forget.
Until it was time for her to bring him his coffee at the break of dawn or for them to leisurely sip their evening tea in the blanket of their room, and always….
…his first pathetic thought was that she was going to be there soon. She was just taking too damn long that day for some shitty reason…
And then, the shitty reason… his chilling realization would slowly hit him in the gut with the brute force of a titan's goliath swing, always a second too late. And he could feel his world tilting on its axis, spinning out of control, and viciously slamming a stone slab with her name on the grave-yard of his writhing heart, the pain fisting around his veins and squeezing until he was choking and coughing through the ache, unable to breathe.
Because Petra never took that long to do her Corporal's bidding.
Because Petra was really gone… And so was his squad.
Their deaths weren't just an ugly nightmare he could reset come morning light. And he trembled, gripping his paperwork and convulsing over his desk because there was no one to watch him.
He didn't know why he put himself through this torture every day.
It would be easier if he could bloody well accustom himself to her absence as he had her presence. But he couldn't do it. He expected the gutter-punch to his stomach to dull over time even if it never went away. If he had his way, he didn't ever want the pain to dull. This recurring pain was all he had left.
His breathing constricted, and he began gasping and panting hard, sweat rolling down his face, the fucking fact of it hitting him again, and he had to gulp down the bile, and bite his lips to keep the screams in, his eyes moist.
And he had to take a while to find solid ground again. He couldn't tell how long through the raw ugly haze. When his harsh breathing subsided, he got up to do his coffee himself.
Tasting her in in it as he drank in quiet desperation. Gently swallowing down every solitary sip of the bitter, creamy concoction, his composure returning. It was almost therapeutic.
He remembered drinking her in similarly after returning to their base after the 57th expedition, his coffee strangely anchoring him through brushing away Eren's apology.
It was like Petra was there, telling them to trust her again and he heard his own voice telling them to make a fucking choice, regardless of right or wrong and to deal with the consequences no matter how heart-breaking.
And he had to let Eren know.
The brat was beating himself up for things outside their control. Besides, as their Corporal, he had the most responsibility in this case. Petra had asked them to trust her, wanting it and like Eren, he had given in to her uncompromising belief and pressed Eren to make his choice, taking Petra's feelings into consideration. And he'd be damned if he would regret that.
Because Petra was trustworthy. And a damned skilled soldier. Believing in yourself or your comrades, neither was a choice worth regretting, especially when you were giving it your all.
She wouldn't have died if she could have helped it. She had never let him down before. And he was not about to believe she had this time either. What happened was not her fault. Or Eren's. Or His. Though he would like to blame himself and wallow in his misery, he wouldn't. The existence of that shitty intellectual female titan had been beyond all of their comprehension.
He would take responsibility by not letting hers – any of their sacrifices - go to waste. With her gone, he had nothing personal at stake anymore. Nothing aside from his goals as Humanity's strongest, and the fresh-faced brats that were fast becoming his new squad. He wasn't alone.
Isn't that something Petra had tried to tell Eren? That one person couldn't do much on his own anyway no matter how hard he tried. That's why they acted as an organization and relied on each other. Well he would fucking remember that and treat them as he had the previous Special Ops Squad.
With the exception of Petra. There was never going to be anything like her for him again.
If his solitary, morning coffees had become a sort of calming, bittersweet anchor for him, his evening tea's functioned in the exact opposite way and become an exercise in torture. Every sip was pain, and left a hollow, acrid taste in his mouth. She had only made him his morning coffees, but he had shared his tea-times with her.
He put an end to it.
He retired to his room like usual and let the memories and private regrets crash into him, but he wouldn't drink his tea anymore. He couldn't. He couldn't find any solace in tea without Petra.
He had always been reluctant to envision a future for himself, but with Petra, he had dared.
He had dared to pathetically hope for hopeless, impossible possibilities that could never be.
Those dreams died with her. Without Petra, he could never resurrect them again.
As Petra had devoted herself to him and his cause, he was devoted to the same. He was Humanity's strongest ally and he would-could never forget it. He would fight to live for as long as he could be used and offer himself to the future of mankind, for the future of brats struggling underground, brats inside the walled cities and the brats in his squad. He would have his new squad rely on him and he would rely on them himself if needed. And if he were to die after giving it his all, he would have no regrets left.
Because all his regrets were dead and gone and beyond the grasp of his life.
Eren would learn, as would his other brats. That he still didn't know. That they could never know. No one could know the outcome of their choices in that one crucial moment.
There was no point in dwelling on the what-ifs.
Those gone couldn't be brought back.
Petra was lost to him … until the time came for him to bite it too.
Since that morose conversation he had begun making his coffee himself again.
Always after waking up in cold sharp sweat and biting back the gray realization of her absence.
Tea had lost its flavor for him and his sleepless nights were plagued with silent nightmares, but his coffee that tasted like her had become a bitter, necessary source of comfort and got him through the mornings to his nights. They rescued him every morning when he trembled with the ghost of his memories.
And just like that, Petra wasn't entirely gone. She would never be gone for him.
Her presence still lingered. And he was okay with that.
She was entrenched in the little details of his life. As much of a personal constant to him as she had always been, only to a more devastating extent than he had intended.
No surprise there, he thought as his mouth twisted into a gentle, broken smile. She had a terribly invaluable way of burrowing into his shitty heart without permission, regardless if it was appropriate or not.
He couldn't escape the haunt of her presence. He realized he didn't want to. The ghost of her is what tethered him to this shitty reality and soothed him.
Their tea-times that plagued his night; her coffee that he made himself and still savored because he tasted her in it; these changes that he both hated and loved because they were the most personal, distinct and intimate marks of her on him.
She was an irrepressible melding force; an immovable, fixed part of him that he couldn't let go.
And just like that, she had changed his morning routine again before he knew it.
She was a constant, physical ache there wasn't any cure for.
But Petra still made it work for him. Because even if she was gone, Petra felt alive and tangible to him.