Disclaimer: I don't own SnK
The remains of the week flew by fairly quickly amidst all the classes and shifts at the café that Mikasa had to contend with. Once she had adapted to it, if she was being honest, the additional job didn't really provide much of an extra challenge to her keeping up of her grades. Part of it was probably due to the strict curfew of her dorm—unless you were back by twelve midnight from Monday to Thursday, you were locked out of it until the next day. As a result, they locked up at eleven, giving her ample time to make her way back to her dorm, or if they had to stay open for a longer period of time, promised to allow her to leave early. The most draining part of it, she thought, was the small talk she had to endure with both customers and her co-workers. While she didn't mind chatting with others, it became a little off-putting to having to continuously answer a stream of questions as she tried to read up on her texts.
She had developed a routine with Reiner; they would alternate their shifts in the shop, with one of them staying in the main room of the café to take care of the customers, and the other could go into the kitchen to study. Sometimes he'd stay in the front room with her for a while, idly chatting until a customer called out, but she never stayed behind to talk. While the job wasn't mentally draining, maintaining her grades was still a priority to her. It was a good thing, though, that they were slowly learning not to talk to her when her books were out—she was much more efficient and effective in her studies then, and would often appear at the end of the two hours to be much calmer and cheerful than when she had to take on all their questions and her books. She also became much more open on days when she was left alone to study, and would participate more in the conversations when wiping down the café and locking up.
In those three days, too, she had never once served Rivaille. Coincidentally, he always came in when she was in the kitchen, studying, and always left when she was tucked away in the back as well. So whenever Sasha—and occasionally Annie—interrogated her about the senior, she didn't have much to offer about him. All she knew about him was that he turned up every weekday, sat in the same booth, ordered green tea and a plate of shortbread, then would study for five hours straight before leaving. It was always exactly five hours—Reiner and Bert had timed him for a week in the past. Both girls thought it was slightly odd that he was so precise in his motions, but Mikasa hadn't found it strange at all. She thought that it matched up to the crisp and sharp image he always projected both at the café and in the strange rumours floating around about him. She herself thrived under a strict schedule, and felt that she wasn't in any position to judge him for it.
On Friday, just as they were about to go their separate ways after locking up, Reiner reminded them to show up on time on Sunday at the café, eyeing Marco pointedly.
"Sunday?" Mikasa asked, slightly confused.
"Oh, did I forget to tell you? You know how we sell cakes on Monday, right? Well, we prepare them on Sunday so they're still fresh. Because our kitchen boys are incompetent, we servers need to show up to help them out as well," Reiner dropped a sly wink at her, dodging the sharp elbow digs of both Marco and Bert. "Just come by around four on Sunday; we'll be out by eight. We don't usually prepare a lot, since hardly anyone comes in at all. On Monday, after work, we can bring back whatever cakes we have left,"
"Okay." She gave a brief nod.
"See you on Sunday!" The boys called, turning left back to their dorm as she peeled off to the right. She smiled and waved back at them before turning and walking down the concrete path, the shrubs lining it lit up with bright, warm orange lamps.
It was a nice night to walk home; the sky was clear and if you squinted a bit and tilted your head to the perfect angle, there were one or two stars twinkling in the night sky. She'd read somewhere that not all the lights in the sky were stars; if the light was steady and strong, it was a satellite, but if it flashed intermittently, then it was a star. Maybe it was stupid, but when she'd first found out, she'd felt betrayed—how all the stars in the night sky weren't actually stars, but were a result of some human fabrication. Over time, though, she had managed to figure out how to different stars from satellites, and she thought about how at least there would always be a way to tell the difference between the stars and their fake counterparts.
She took the long route home, skipping all the shortcuts between buildings and through grass patches that she took on weeknights, instead favouring the long winding paths and brightly lit areas. It was a good night for rumination and reflection, and she thought about how it was a good decision to have taken up the job after all, and that she was actually warming up to her three new co-workers. She genuinely enjoyed spending time with them and talking to them (as long as they weren't interrupting her studies), and they were trustworthy, if the continuous lack of customers was anything to go by.
As she walked along the path, her feet tapping out a staunch rhythm on the ground, she began to feel a sneaking suspicion that someone was following her. No—there were too many footsteps. She began to listen more intently, walking with a quicker, lighter step. A group of people—males—she estimated that there were about three to five of them. She turned suddenly, watching them dive clumsily behind a straggly line of bushes, giggling amongst themselves, their shadows fading and blending into the dark ground behind the pool of light. Mikasa turned back and started walking faster, pulling her coat around her tightly, calculating her chances of winning the fight.
She was highly trained in Karate, and could probably take them down, but then again there wasn't much room on the narrow path to fight properly. Besides, she'd heard that inebriated idiots were, while clumsier than usual, were far stronger as well, and she didn't particularly feel like putting that theory to the test.
She continued walking at a brisk pace, wanting to get more and more distance between herself and her potential attackers, but the faster she walked, the rowdier they became behind her. She could hear them giggling and what they clearly thought was whispering to one another, could hear them thumping along behind her. Not usually one to get fazed, she was now quite alarmed, as she knew she was still quite a distance away from her dorm and might not be able to fend them off if they did decide to spring on her.
They started to call at her from the back: inane harassment, rowdy laughs and catcalls. It was hard to believe that only five boys were making so much noise—and that no one was around to hear it, and to stop them. Luckily, she heard them coming before she felt them. She turned quickly with an elbow out, just in time to catch one of them in the stomach, whereupon he fell upon one of his friends with a grunt. The other three lumbered up to her in haste, and even as she kicked and punched and dodged, she knew she wouldn't be able to keep it up for much longer—definitely not long enough to tire them out and leave them gasping on the ground. In spite of the continued knocks, the guys didn't seem to mind it at all, and simply got back up from the ground and came rushing at her again. It seemed like being inebriated not only made you stronger, but impervious to pain as well.
Just as she was contemplating making a run for it, a leg flashed out of nowhere and knocked someone else to the ground. It didn't take too long for her to realise that this figure, whoever he or she was, was on her side, and between the two of them the five drunks were quickly put out of commission.
"Thanks," she mumbled, already turning away back to her dorm.
"You shouldn't be walking out here at this time of the night," he told her, voice crisp in the cold night air. She paused, vaguely recognizing that voice, but unable to place it. Then she turned, looking at him coolly in the eye.
It was Rivaille, in his dark green coat as usual, standing over one of the boys they'd knocked to the ground previously. Mikasa kept her face expressionless, making sure to not let her surprise show on her face. "Thanks for the tip," she replied, before turning back.
Oddly, Rivaille seemed to take her response as permission to fall into step next to her, walking with her as she continued down the path to her dorm. "Shouldn't you know not to come by here already, Mikasa Ackerman?"
She glared at him. While she knew the student body was prone to gossip about her, most of them were polite enough to make it a point to keep that particular fact from her. Besides, she'd thought that out of all the seniors, Rivaille would be one who wouldn't be bothered about gossip around the campus. "I don't usually come by here, Rivaille. Or did you miss that on the weekly gossip spreadsheet?"
"I do have a first name; it's only polite to use it. Which way do you take when you go back to your dorm, then?"
"It's only polite if a) I know it, and b) if we were acquaintances of some sort, which we aren't. And asking for my usual routes is betraying some latent stalking tendencies in you, so pardon if I don't feel comfortable telling you what they are."
"It's Levi. And I did just fight off some burly drunks for you, so I'd consider us acquaintances now, at least," he pointed out, his tone still cool and detached. "And I happen to stay in the dorm right next to yours, so learning of different, quicker routes, would be useful to me,"
Mikasa frowned, staring straight ahead and realising she probably owed him more gratitude than what she had shown him previously. "Thanks," she said grudgingly. "For your help back there,"
"It's no problem," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips.
The Porter Dorm loomed up before them, and she barely paused before turning in to the left while he continued on straight.
"See you on Monday, Mikasa Ackerman," he told her, strolling away under the orange light of the lamps. She nodded once, briefly, and then turned into the cool white interior of the dorms.