WhIP

by footfungus

nederlands verhalen over mijn otp

6. Strictly professional - Levi x Petra

strictly professional

candycity

Summary:

Psychologist Levi Ackerman is excellent at emotions – as long as they're on paper. On the counsel (read: coercion) of his faculty advisor, Prof. Erwin Smith, he decides to conduct some fieldwork...in a daycare. Where a certain Petra Ral teaches. [Rivetra, Modern AU]

Chapter 1

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It's 8AM. Levi Ackerman marches into the office, shuts the door behind him with more force than absolutely necessary, and glowers at the man lounging serenely in the overly opulent (at least by the university's standards) chair.

The man in question is the crown jewel of Sina University's psychology faculty. At the shockingly tender age of thirty-eight, Prof. Erwin Smith has somehow, through a potent combination of intellect, determination, and an almost unreasonable amount of charisma, ascended to the position of Academic Dean, Graduate Affairs.

Inconveniently, that lands him right in the middle of Levi's previously-untroubled graduate school life.

"Erwin," he hisses. The professor raises an eyebrow, looking quite as charmed as if the other man had arrived with a smile and a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. It's enough to make Levi feel an urge to choke the composure off his perfectly-proportioned face.

"Levi. To what do I owe this pleasure?" he says, spreading his arms wide, as though requesting a hug.

Levi does not oblige.

"Don't even bother. I received my transcript with your advisory note." His lip curls at the word, like it's poisonous. "Erwin. What the fuck?"

"In case you haven't noticed," he says dryly, "I'm your faculty advisor. I give you advice. It's my job, and it has been for your last two years of graduate school." Erwin gestures towards the chair. "Won't you have a seat?"

"I'd rather stand, thanks."

"Suit yourself." Slowly, deliberately, he pours himself a cup of tea. Earl grey. Steaming-hot.

He's out to get him, he really is.

"Give me that." Levi pulls up the chair and grabs the proffered teacup. The faint citrusy notes of the earl grey manage to calm him, if only marginally.

Erwin smiles at him from across the desk. Bastard, this was exactly what he'd planned.

"Now that we're being civilised," he goes, "about your transcript. I presume you're referring to my recommendation that you conduct some fieldwork?"

"Accompanied by your comments that I don't have any practical skills, have never proven myself in the field, and would essentially be deadweight to any business organisation!" He's gripping the rim of the teacup far too tightly, he realises, and forces himself to relax.

Erwin frowns. "I'm sure that's not what I wrote."

"That's what you meant, do you think I'm a fucking idiot?" Levi resists the urge to throw the teacup at the professor's unlined forehead.

"Fair enough," he concedes. "But it is true. I don't know how you managed to get through undergrad without a single work attachment – unrelated to research," he amends, when Levi opens his mouth to protest. "But you have no demonstrable skills in psych, and you know it."

"That's bullshit."

"No, it's not." Erwin flicks through his transcript. "I've never seen a setup like this, not even on the academic track. Perfect grades in every theory module. Perfect reference from a research attachment. And don't think I didn't notice that you marked your Intro to Psych class – the one and only in your four years of undergrad with any practical component at all – as pass/fail."

Levi scowls. "Plenty of people do that. It's a tough fucking class, and it throws you into the deep end without warning."

"Please, Levi. Don't insult me." Erwin sighs. "Besides, it doesn't really matter now, does it? Weren't you planning to go into an research position, anyway? You still have a perfect transcript, you could enter any academic field you want. You could probably oust me in a couple of years, if you put your mind to it. Although I will miss this office."

He gazes wistfully around the lavishly decorated office. Feeling his blood pressure rise, Levi forces himself to breathe and take another sip of the (gratifyingly, excellent) tea before replying. "That's not the point. Thanks to your shitty comment, I couldn't get into a practical position now even if I wanted to."

A shrug. "That wasn't an accident. Like I said, you don't have any demonstrable skills. I can't have you going into a practical position, performing poorly, and inadvertently sullying the name of my faculty. This is a very good school, after all."

Breathe, Ackerman. "Fine," Levi grits out. "You want proof? I'll get you proof." He stands up abruptly, draining the last dregs of tea before setting it carefully on the desk (he's an asshole, not a monster). "I want next semester set aside for a fieldwork assignment. And if I get a good reference, I want you –" he jabs an accusing finger at the professor, "– to write me a recommendation. Personally, not that shit where I do the writing and you just sign off at the end."

Erwin smiles serenely. Getting up, he holds his hand out. "I do believe we have a deal." They shake, and the professor promptly offers him a bottle of hand sanitiser.

Fuck, the bastard really does know me.

Just to set the record straight: for the most part, Levi doesn't like kids. The fact that an eight-year-old girl is his most frequent houseguest is completely irrelevant to that equation.

He flips another pancake and suppresses a sigh.

"Mikasa," he calls, "get your ass here, you little brat. Pancakes are done." Perking up at the mention of breakfast, the girl pads over and climbs obediently into the chair, with only the smallest amount of struggle. Brat's gotten taller, Levi notes with a mix of pride and wistfulness.

He piles her plate high with the pancakes, and she digs into them with a predator's practiced efficiency, and only slightly less ferocity. Her long, dark hair flops over her eyes.

"Oi, your hair's going to get to get into your food." Walking over, he produces a hair tie from his pocket – he's learnt to keep a constant supply of them, since the girl refuses to get a haircut – and begins to braid it.

Her hair is softer than he remembers, he notes with approval. She must've started using the conditioner he bought for her. Or at least, Carla must've forced her into it.

"How was your week?" he asks absently, still focused on the braiding process – he's gotten a hell lot better at it, but the kid just has a lot of hair – when she finally stops to take a breath. Mikasa glances at him.

"It was okay." She pauses. "Eren made Ms. Ral yell at him, though. And then he cried."

Levi snorts at the mention of her foster brother. Eren is the Jaegers' only son, and despite looking positively angelic – all wide green eyes and gap-toothed smiles – he's the most intensely hyperactive eight-year-old he's ever had the misfortune of interacting with. The memory of the one time he'd allowed Eren over at his apartment for a playdate is still fresh in his mind; the carpet, despite his best efforts, has never been the same.

Still, Levi knows better than to say anything negative about the boy. The Jaegers had taken her in after the accident two years ago, and she'd immediately latched on to Eren, becoming fiercely protective over him and following him around like a lost puppy. And he's grateful, he is – he'd been fresh out of undergrad at the time, and far too young and broke to raise her himself, despite being her only living relative. He hadn't even known he had a cousin before he received the call from the hospital.

"Who's Ms. Ral?" he asks instead. Mikasa answers between bites of pancake, and Levi resists the urge to admonish her for talking with her mouth full.

"Our new –" chew, swallow, "– teacher. She's really nice, but Jean dared Eren to eat a stick of glue, and Eren tried but almost puked, and then Ms. Ral yelled so much that he started to cry. She's actually pretty scary," she adds as an afterthought, looking pensive.

He shakes his head. "Good thing she's not a pushover. Your daycare is full of real weird kids." Mikasa just shrugs, looks sadly at her rapidly dwindling stack of pancakes, and then back at the pan. Rolling his eyes, he scoops a few more onto her plate, making her light up.

Seriously weird kids. Of course, it's not unexpected – he knows that her class in particular is a bit of an experiment by the daycare. The centre itself is pretty high-end and fancy, but sometime last year, it'd launched a trial class catering to kids from special backgrounds: including foster kids, like Mikasa, and kids with ADHD, like Eren.

It'd actually be pretty interesting to observe, he thinks absently to himself as he finishes up the braid. And then it hits him.

Or, maybe, to get some fieldwork done.

"Hey, kid," he says. Mikasa looks up warily, maple syrup dripping from her chin. He grabs a napkin, and asks, as casually as he can:

"What's the name of that daycare you attend again?"

Notes:

so okay, i'm super nervous to see how this goes, but yes i'm starting on my first full-length/multi-chaptered rivetra fic! and it's a modern au!

so, rationale behind doing this: i've increasingly found myself being restricted by canon. as a fanfic writer, i do as a general rule of thumb try to keep as close to canon as possible. but because of the various happenings with marley, and also the fact that i haven't finished the manga, i've just felt very, idk, claustrophobic. hence this!

my whole venture into the rivetra arena (this time round, anyway) has been an experiment, so this is really no exception, it's just even more experimental than usual because (a) i have the attention span of a three-year-old and (b) i don't write modern aus. so...i guess we'll see how this goes :") i do have a pretty good idea of how this story is gonna work out, so hopefully i also have the stamina to match!

in any case, rambling aside, i do hope you liked this first chapter. let me know your thoughts, suggestions, and concrit if any!

Chapter 2

Summary:

Levi interviews for Reiss Daycare and meets Ms. Petra Ral. They don't get off to an auspicious start.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Historia Reiss is tiny, even by Levi's fairly low (ha) standards. With her wide blue eyes, shiny blonde hair, and sweet soprano, she bears an uncanny resemblance to a doll. In fact, he's pretty sure Isabel used to have one that looked just like her – one of those creepy-ass tea party types with like ten frilly dresses and eyes that could open and shut.

The woman sitting across him wears – thankfully – the decidedly un-doll-like attire of a long-sleeved linen shirt and pinstriped suit pants. Still, for someone who looks more like a student in the daycare than its heir apparent, she has an air of unmistakeable authority.

"Mr. Ackerman, is that right?" She surveys him with that piercing gaze, looking for all the world like a queen inspecting a wayward subject.

Although. Considering how she's about to inherit Reiss Daycare, he guesses she sort of is like royalty. Within the walls of the centre, anyway.

"Yes." He resists the urge to tag on a "ma'am". "Call me Levi. Thanks for agreeing to meet me."

She smiles, flashing two rows of perfect white teeth, but there's no warmth in her eyes. "Of course. The professor is an old family friend. He was quite generous in his praise of you."

There's an unspoken question in her words, and Levi decides to acknowledge it. He does want the position, after all. "Yes, Erwin and I go quite a while back. I met him even before I entered Sina, he's the one who persuaded me to major in psych."

"Ah. Is he a family friend of yours, too?"

Levi doesn't see the point in lying. "No. He was my therapist." He hesitates: ah, what the hell. "My teenage years were...difficult. He was doing some pro-bono work at Liberio back then, and he worked on my case for a couple of years."

He watches her carefully, but she merely nods, not showing a hint of surprise. "I see. And why the interest in Reiss Daycare?"

This is an easy one. "My cousin attends. She's in the new class – Lenz, I think. Her name is Mikasa. Ackerman," he adds. Unnecessarily, but it does the job, and Historia's eyes soften in recognition. She smiles, a genuine one this time. He has a feeling this is what she usually looks like.

"Yes. Mikasa's a sweetheart," she says. Her eyes flick downward, pale cheeks darkening with a slight blush. "The Lenz class is – a pet project of mine, you could say. My father ran things differently, during his time, but I have my own ambitions for the daycare. Still." Her face hardens slightly. "There are those who...disapprove...of my ideas. And the class, as a result. You understand why I had to hold this interview with you, personally, even if you won't actually be staff."

He does. He's seen plenty of people like that, in his time; people who like to keep things pleasant and predictable, who look down their noses at anyone who deviates from their particular social set of gated-community, tie-wearing, yoga-doing individuals.

You'd fit right in, now. He gives himself a small shake; it isn't the time. "Yes. I understand completely."

"But...I think you'd be a good fit for us." Historia smiles, this time with real warmth. "You understand, of course, that this is still primarily an observational role. We'd be glad to hear your opinions on our curricula and whatnot, and you're free to engage with the kids, but you wouldn't be teaching. I hope that's all right with you."

He prefers it that way. "That's fine with me."

"Wonderful." She brightens. "You'd just need to fill up some legal documents later – our students are considered vulnerable, so just the usual materials, I'm sure you're familiar. But if you have a moment now, I'll introduce you to the teachers."

"Of course." She leads him down a long corridor. The doors are brightly-painted wood, and he makes out snatches of laughter and music from the various rooms. Despite the occasional paint streak on the walls, and a couple of toys strewn across the floor, it's clean and cheerful and well-kept.

No wonder Mikasa likes it. He follows Historia into a room right at the end, and 'LENZ' is printed on a plaque on the door. It's a nice room, with a play-house at one corner, a miniature library at the end of the room, and a few plastic tables, where several children sit at, colouring intently. They look up curiously when the pair enters, although their wary expressions quickly give way to glee when they see Historia.

"Ms. Historia!" Tasks abandoned, they race to her side, and by the way she beams with unrestrained delight, it's clear that the adoration is not one-sided. She ruffles one head, pats another, and wipes the cheek of a third.

"What a lovely drawing, Connie! Jean – did you get a haircut? You look absolutely handsome. Sasha, you have some crumbs on your chin again – what did I say about having too many snacks?" The dark-haired girl looks completely unabashed as she chews loudly on a chocolate-chip cookie.

"Where's Ms. Ral?" she asks. Jean makes a rather rude noise, although he flushes slightly at Historia's look.

"She's with Eren," he confesses. "He tried to climb out of the window and accidentally knocked out a loose tooth."

"It was so gross," Sasha pipes up, wrinkling her nose. "His mouth was all bloody. It made Mikasa cry."

"What?" Levi nearly growls, but before he can say anything else, the small procession enters: a young woman who must be Ms. Ral, fussing over a teary-eyed Eren, followed by a sniffling Mikasa, who's wiping her nose with her red scarf – he makes a mental note to throw the damn thing in the laundry – and finally a small blonde boy who Levi deduces to be Armin, the third member of the crew. In stark contrast to his friends' miserable looks, he appears quite elated.

"Eren, this is a good thing! Your milk tooth getting knocked out means there's room for an adult tooth to grow. You'll soon have a full set of adult teeth! 32 in all, so that's 12 extra! Isn't that amazing?" he enthuses, practically hopping up and down in excitement.

Eren wails louder, and Mikasa's eyes fill with tears at his despair. "Hey, brat," Levi goes, on impulse, and his cousin's gaze snaps to him. She runs over, and immediately begins to sob into his neatly pressed pants.

Gently, he peels her off his leg. "Oi. Don't you dare get those dirty, they're new. Here." He offers her his handkerchief, and she blows. Loudly. He grimaces. "Ugh."

When her tears don't stop after a while, he pats her head awkwardly. "Ah, fuck. Don't cry," he tells her. "It'll dehydrate you, brat. Where's your bottle?" He glances around, searching for her distinctive yellow tumbler.

Instead, he meets Ms. Ral's indignant gaze.

"And who," she says, "are you?"

Her voice practically radiates hostility. Apparently missing the other woman's glare, Historia sidles up and beams. "Petra! Great timing," she chirps. "This is Levi Ackerman. He's a grad student from Sina University, doing psych. He's here to conduct some fieldwork."

"I see." Petra's voice is toneless, but Historia just carries cheerfully on.

"Oh! And he's Mikasa's cousin, which I suppose is why she's clinging to him like – well, like that." Indeed, Mikasa appears to have run out of room on the handkerchief and has sought a replacement in his shirtsleeve. He winces as she lets out a particularly wet-sounding sniff into his cufflinks.

Historia turns back to him. "Petra is one of our newest teachers. She's covering for our regular teacher for Lenz – her name's Hanji Zoë – you'll meet her eventually, but she's away on a training course for now. Petra's from Sina too, actually, majoring in early childhood. She's been interning here for maybe a week, but the children seem to love her." She beams. Petra does not.

"And how long will Mr. Ackerman," she practically bites his name out, "be here?"

He's not sure why the teacher is still glaring at him like he'd just taken a shit in the middle of the classroom floor.

"About two months," he supplies helpfully. "And, uh. Call me Levi."

"Levi," she says. "Do you always talk to kids like that?"

"What?" he goes, genuinely confused. But he's distracted when Mikasa tugs on his (now moderately damp) sleeve.

"Aniki," she says, in a rare show of affection, "why are you here?"

"I'll be hanging out here for a while, for school," he says, and gives her a gentle rap on the head. She giggles. "But don't think that means you can slack off in class, brat."

Mikasa's teacher scowls. He has a feeling she'd ordinarily be quite pretty, with her round amber eyes and honey-coloured hair that just brushes her collar, but she's wearing an expression of such stark disapproval that he feels an urge to take a step back.

"Levi, then," she says, tersely. "In my classroom, we don't call kids 'brats'. I'm sure you understand."

Ah, she's one of those holier-than-thou types. Petra Ral is fairly petite – shorter than him, for sure – and looks barely old enough to be an undergrad. She wears a bright yellow dress that clashes spectacularly with her equally bright red belt, like she'd just picked out the most obnoxiously primary-coloured items in her wardrobe. And, to top it all off, she wears a pair of chunky white sneakers.

Immediately, he feels a stab of dislike.

Still, she looks him right in the eye, chin lifted slightly in challenge. People are usually afraid of him – he's been told he exudes quite a strong fuck-you aura – but this girl seems quite immune. Either that, or the aura has been considerably diminished by the eight-year-old attached to his hip. Figures.

He almost rolls his eyes. "Sure, Petra," he drawls, and she stiffens slightly. "Guess I'll be seeing you around quite a bit." To his satisfaction, her icy expression flickers slightly, revealing – just for a second – a flash of faint horror.

He holds out a hand – the very one that Mikasa'd just sneezed into. Her gaze flickers to the snot on his sleeve, and a gleam of defiance appears in her eyes.

Without flinching, she takes it. Her grip is firm.

"I guess you will," she says.

Notes:

i'm quite overwhelmed by the response to this fic! tysm for reading and all the lovely comments – they really do keep me going :)

Chapter 3

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Historia's always been her favourite cousin.

Despite being a year younger, she's always proven honest and steadfast, with an unswerving moral compass, an almost excessive sense of compassion, and a heart for the disadvantaged in society. She's also always been an excellent judge of character.

Until yesterday, that is.

Petra fumes as she knocks twice on her cousin's oak door and lets herself in without waiting for a reply. Historia barely looks up; her cousin's presence, after all, is hardly a novelty.

"Hey, Pet," she goes, absently scribbling some notes in the margins of whatever she's working on – another proposal to her father, probably. "What's up?"

Carefully, she closes the door behind her. "Historia," she says, "are you sure about the guy?"

Historia blinks. "What guy?"

"Levi Ackerman." She pronounces the name with a kind of finality, like a death sentence. "Tori, I know we're short-staffed –"

"Absurdly so." Her cousin frowns. "Hey, do you happen to know anyone interested in being a cook?"

"But," Petra continues delicately, as though she hadn't been interrupted, "this guy just gives me...bad vibes. I don't know. Didn't you see the way he was speaking to Mikasa? Calling her a brat and swearing at her? The girl's eight years old."

An airy wave of the hand. "Pet, be reasonable. The kid watched both her parents being stabbed in front of her eyes. I don't think being called a brat is going to sully their loving relationship. And did you see the way Mikasa was clinging to him?" She sighs wistfully. "So sweet. Actually, I wonder if he's single."

Her eyes turn contemplative, and Petra resists the urge to slam her forehead into her palm.

"Historia. Focus." She lets out a frustrated exhale. "I just don't know if he's suitable for the daycare. He seems too...rough around the edges."

The blonde girl's expression turns wry. "Pet, most of the kids in Lenz come from backgrounds that are 'rough around the edges'. Besides, even if he is, he comes very highly recommended by Prof. Smith. Who, if you don't remember, is good friends with Papa – I don't think he'd take kindly to us rejecting his star student."

Petra scoffs. "Star student? You must be kiddi – oh, whoa," she goes, her eyes widening as Historia silently slides a piece of paper across the table.

"He was salutatorian in his undergrad class," Historia adds helpfully. "On full scholarship in Sina's graduate programme, too. Pet, we can't afford to be picky with staff, but even if we could, this guy is the real deal. He might not be a – a gentleman, exactly, but he really might have what it takes to polish up our curriculum. And if we can get Prof. Smith to give us his seal of approval, Papa might –" She stops, and flushes bright red.

"Finally approve your project?" Petra raises an eyebrow, and her cousin's blush darkens even further. "Ah, I see. So this was a strategic move."

"It's just killing two birds with one stone," Historia says defensively. "We get an extra staff member, I get my programme approved, and he gets the attachment he wants. So it's three birds, actually." She folds her arms, looking annoyingly satisfied at her apparently watertight logic.

"But –"

"Please just try to work with him? For me? Pet, you know how much the Lenz project means to me." Historia turns the full force of her puppy eyes on her, and she can feel herself starting to deflate.

"But...oh, fine. Now stop looking at me that way!" She scowls, and the blonde beams.

"Wonderful! Now, I'm guessing he's going to turn up any minute now...so you can go start setting up!"

Petra blinks, the cogs in her head turning slowly, before finally clicking to a realisation. And then –

"You mean he's starting today?"

Fifteen pairs of curious eyes stare at him with all the intensity of laser beams.

She can practically feel the discomfort radiating off him, and takes a nasty sort of pleasure in it.

"Uh. The name's Levi." He surveys his audience with the kind of wariness you'd usually reserve for certain large carnivores, heavily armed soldiers, or highly judgemental teenage girls. "I'm...going to be in your class for a few weeks. Helping Ms. Ral around the class. That's it."

A beat passes. "Aniki," Mikasa calls, without raising her hand. Petra makes a mental note: bad influence, right from the start. "Are you here to play with us?"

He flinches, but before he can respond, a hand shoots up. "Why does Mikasa call you Aniki? Can we call you that, too?" It's Eren, looking far too excited at the prospect, and Petra grimaces inwardly.

"Now, hold on just one second –" he starts to say, but he's suddenly faced with a barrage of raised arms and questions.

"Aniki, will you be helping us with our homework?"

"Or teaching us?"

"No, you dummy. Mikasa said he'd be playing with us. Are you deaf?"

"He could teach us too! Aniki, which is it?"

"Mikasa said you do karate. Can you teach us that too?" He shoots the little girl a vaguely betrayed look, and Mikasa shrugs, without a trace of guilt.

Maybe I should step in. She's about to sigh and come to her new colleague's rescue, when he holds up a hand. His expression cold as ice, he barks, loudly, "Oi. Shut up."

She winces, anticipating a flurry of tantrums at his sharp tone, maybe even a few tears. Instead, to her shock, the kids stop instantly, falling obediently into line like a group of soldiers suddenly faced with their commanding officer.

What the hell.

He exhales. "Let's start over. My name is Levi. I'm Mikasa's cousin. She gets to call me Aniki; the rest of you get to call me Levi. Got it?" Fifteen heads nod, perfectly in unison, and Petra has to stop herself from crying foul.

"I'm here as part of a research fieldwork attachment. That means I'll make observations, ask questions, and help to develop your curriculum," he continues. The kids nod again, wisely, as though they have any idea at all of what he'd talking about. "I will help you if your homework if you want. And answer questions about karate, but I am not teaching you how." He pointedly ignores the series of disappointed 'awww's that follow.

"In fact, I'm not teaching you anything. Ms. Ral," he gestures to her, and she starts slightly, "is still your teacher. Is everyone clear?"

"Yes, sir!" Connie yells, and blushes when everyone turns to stare at him. "Uh, I mean, Levi."

"Good." He shoots Petra a frigid look, and she feels the tiniest hint of guilt. Just the tiniest. "If that's all, I'm going to sit there at the back of the classroom and let your teacher take over. See ya."

He marches to the back of the classroom, collapses into a beanbag, and folds his arms. Petra clears her throat and walks to the front of the classroom, pasting on a smile as she silently fumes at his success, even despite his horrific manners.

"Okay, kids," she goes, "today, as everyone knows, we're going to be making our own sandwiches. I hope everyone brought their aprons?" There's a chorus of yeses, and she grins as the kids start producing all sorts of strange ingredients from their bags: jars of mayo, cans of tuna, packets of cheddar cheese.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Levi turn a shade paler. Petra feels the beginnings of an evil plan form in her mind, and she smirks to herself.

"I'll be dividing you into two groups, since we have an extra helping hand! Group A, you're in charge of the cheese sandwiches. You're with me."

"Group B, you're in charge of tuna mayo." She turns to her new colleague, who's frozen in place and looks vaguely aghast, and gives him her best and brightest smile. "You're with Levi."

If looks could kill.

Notes:

i'm enjoying writing their rivalry far too much!

anyway. i thought i'd take this chance to introduce myself! i go by candycity but you can call me candy if you like. i'm 24 years old, livin' it up in sunny singapore, and i work in communications (yeah that means i write for a living, but like...sciencier stuff.)

i've been in the rivetra fandom since season 1 launched in, idk, 2013? and because i'm a serial procrastinator, i only just finished watching the rest of the seasons. and as my love for aot revived, so did my love for rivetra. hence my recent assault on the fandom.

anyway, i hope you liked this! more hijinks coming riiiight up 😉 and keep the comments and suggestions coming! xx

Chapter 4

Notes:

it's so hard to write slow burn when you're as impatient as i am...cries

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Levi is never, ever, ever getting the smell of tuna out of his clothes.

There's lettuce under his fingernails and mayonnaise stains on his shirt. There are breadcrumbs on parts of his body where there should never be breadcrumbs. He's also pretty sure that one of the kids dropped a stick of butter into his bag when he wasn't looking, although he doesn't have it in him to check.

Morosely, he settles into a chair in the staff pantry and takes a bite of his tuna sandwich, flinching when he finds a scrap of cheese in it. The two groups had been at opposite sides of the classroom. He doesn't even know how. He doesn't want to know.

It's only 12PM and he hasn't felt this exhausted since his undergrad years, which he'd spent mostly in a sleep-deprived daze, hopped up on some unholy combination of caffeine, cheap beer, and sheer willpower. Levi takes a sip of his earl grey – at the very least, Reiss Daycare does have quite an excellent selection of tea – and relishes the peace and quiet.

Until, of course, said peace and quiet is quite quickly disrupted by a certain Petra Ral.

She stalks into the staff pantry, her ready smile already falling off her face when she catches a glimpse of him. "Oh, it's you," she goes sulkily, and collapses into a chair, very pointedly, at the furthest end of the table from him.

Levi notes with some satisfaction that there's a scrap of lettuce in her hair.

He lifts his chin in the barest of nods, and continues sipping at his tea. It's a few moments before he notices the weight of her stare, irritable but curious.

He glances up, and her gaze snaps away, a second too late. Her pale cheeks flush bright red with embarrassment.

"Yeah?" he says flatly. She lifts a shoulder in a wooden show of casualness, and he almost scoffs at her terrible acting.

"You drink your tea weird," she comments. She's not wrong – it's an old habit, grasping the rim of the cup instead of the handle. He's heard this comment a thousand times, but for some reason, her tone rubs him the wrong way.

He tries to be polite. "To each their own." They fall into an uncomfortable silence, and he smirks inwardly at the discomfitted look on her face.

After a few minutes, he takes pity on her. "You don't seem to approve of me much," he says, perfectly matter-of-fact. No judgement, no emotion. She looks at him assessingly for a second.

"I don't." She pauses, and folds her hands primly on her lap. "I find the way you speak to the kids...inappropriate."

He inclines his head. "Oh?"

"I don't understand why you decided to join the daycare." The words rush out of her, breathless and abrupt, and she looks mildly shocked at her own unexpected candour. To her credit, she presses on: "You don't seem to have any particular love for kids. And I saw your transcript, you could probably go anywhere you want for your attachment. So why this no-name class in the middle of a no-name daycare? You're just. Weird." She slumps back into the chair, looking wary, but somehow satisfied – as though she'd been holding it all in for a while.

Levi tugs absently at his tea bag, making the little specks of earl grey swirl in his cup . "It's really none of your business, you know." The fervour in her gaze diminishes slightly, and she reddens. "But. If you must know. I honestly don't have anything against the centre. My bastard of a faculty advisor just ordered me to conduct some fieldwork, and I remembered that Mikasa was attending a pretty interesting class that could be relevant to my thesis. That's it."

It's not the most riveting story, but she leans forward keenly. "Huh. What's your thesis about?"

He shifts, uncomfortable. "I haven't pinned it down yet," he admits. "But I was planning on studying the rehabilitation process of child neglect."

"That's cool," she enthuses, and for a second, she seems to have almost forgotten about her dislike of him. But before she can question him further, he stands abruptly up.

"We're supposed to be cleaning up, aren't we?" Petra blinks, as though she'd forgotten.

"Ah. Yes." Her haughty composure sliding back in place, she gets up, rolling her shoulders slowly back in a distinct pattern of pops and cracks that makes him wince. "C'mon, I'll show you the ropes."

When they re-enter the classrom, the children have finished washing up (supposedly. Levi is, at best, skeptical), but the classroom looks like it's been hit by a tuna-mayo-cheese-toast bomb. As he glances wearily around the classroom, he makes a mental list of all the cleanup that's required. The floors have to be swept, mopped, and disinfected. The tables have to be wiped and disinfected. The dishes have to be washed and disinfected. The trash has to be taken out, and the bin disinfected.

He wonders how much disinfectant the daycare goes through on a daily basis.

"All right." Petra claps her hands loudly. "If everyone's done, it's time to start the classroom cleaning! Everyone, if you're not sure what's your cleaning duty for the day, the roster's at the back."

As the kids march cheerily off to their respective duties, Levi turns to stare at her, momentarily stupefied.

"You let the kids do the cleaning?" He glances around, feeling a distant but mounting sense of horror. Eren cheerfully grabs a broom with his still-mayo-covered hands, and Connie and Sasha both grab rags which, he is fairly sure, are made of felt, possibly – no, probably – repurposed from the crafts department. Mouth set in grim determination, Mikasa starts to wipe the tables, efficiently sweeping the crumbs onto the floor. Clearly, she's picked up on the sense of importance he ascribes to cleaning – just not the technique.

"Of course! Letting the kids clean builds character," she chirps.

It builds something, all right, Levi thinks darkly to himself. For example, an epidemic.

He takes a deep breath and tries to be considerate.

"Do you think," he says carefully, "I could take over today's cleaning session? It would be good exposure, for me."

She studies him for a second, and then shrugs. "Sure, why not," she goes. "Everyone! Levi'll be taking you for today's cleaning session. So listen to him, okay?" With that, she retreats, arms folded across her chest, watching. Evaluating.

Well, if he has an audience, he'd better put on a damn good show.

"Oi, br – kids," he barks, "All of you. Stop what you're doing."

Every child stills, and out of the corner of his eye, he notices smugly that Petra looks reluctantly impressed.

Without hesitation, he assesses the situation with the cold, clinical efficiency of a man in the middle of a battlefield. Calculating resources, dividing labour. This is no longer just an activity – it is war.

"Right. Forget the roster," he goes. "Line up here and receive your new assignments. Bring me every cleaning tool and supply you have. And, for fu – shit's sake, Eren, go wash your damn hands."

Petra's still staring at him with that appraising gaze, and he feels the back of his neck prickle with irritation. "Is this really necessary?" she murmurs through the corner of her mouth as the kids obediently dump their supplies in the middle of the classroom. He barely glances at her, still engrossed in piecing together the mechanics of the operation.

"Cleanliness is good for morale," he says instead, and he can practically feel her eye-roll. The children are starting to line up now, and Eren has somehow managed to beat Mikasa to the front, gazing at him with starstruck green eyes (does he want to know why? No, not really), perfectly oblivious to his cousin's glare.

If I get through this, I'm going to murder Erwin, the bastard.

It takes almost a full hour and a significant amount of the daycare's meagre cleaning supplies (he makes a mental note to speak to Historia about that). But as he glances around the classroom, Levi notes with satisfaction that the classroom positively gleams.

It'd been an uphill battle, and he has a regiment of exhausted eight-year-olds to prove it – but every surface is now clean enough to eat off (although no one had better fucking dare), and every child has been equipped with a deeply profound knowledge of proper classroom sanitation techniques. Sure, he'd heard Petra mumble something under her breath about him being a clean freak, and perhaps something else about her aching arms, but the way he sees it, he's doing a service to the public health system, really. They should be grateful.

As she retires the tired children to their parents, he settles down into a freshly-sanitised beanbag, breathing in the sharp scent of disinfectant. Knowing that they're in for a wait – he can't leave till every last child is picked up – Mikasa pads silently over to his side and curls up onto his lap.

He snorts, but it's an affectionate sound. Before long, it's only her and Eren left in the classroom, as Petra finishes up some final paperwork for the day. She glances over, raising an eyebrow questioningly in question at the girl dozing on his lap – but for once, there's no self-righteous stuffiness in her look.

Shocking, he thinks wryly to himself.

"I'll wake her up soon. Give us a minute," he says softly, not wanting to disturb her just yet. For all her steel and grit, and despite everything she's been through, she's still just a child, after all. She likes to act tough, and Levi respects her for that. But whenever she's asleep, that mask dissipates, her face relaxing into an expression of perfect peace, and it makes him feel something that, he suspects, is disturbingly close to affection.

Petra makes a soft, affirmative noise in response. "You're bringing Eren home too?" The boy, who's lying on one of the other beanbags, lets out a loud snore, as if in reply, and Levi glowers in his direction.

"Yeah." Absently, he pushes a stray lock of his cousin's dark hair out of her eyes, making her shift slightly and murmur in her sleep. "Might as well. They're going to the same place anyway."

Petra blinks. "Mikasa doesn't live with you?"

A shrug. "I was too young when it happened. The Jaegers took her in." He pauses. "It works out. I'd be a shitty guardian anyway. You think so too."

Her eyes look contemplative as she gazes at the girl's sleeping face. "Mm...I wonder about that."

A few minutes pass by in a comfortable silence – Levi wonders how, in the span of one conversation and one deep-cleaning session, their silences have gone from strained and tense to something that feels almost companionable. He's considering her expression, which somehow looks less prissy than usual, when Mikasa lets out a small, keening whine, her pale brow creasing even as her eyes stay shut.

Nightmares, he knows; it's his cue to wake her up. Gently, he tugs at her hair. "Oi, brat. Time to go home."

Her eyes flutter open, tired and dazed, and she blinks slowly at him. "Hngh –? Where's Eren?" she goes. Levi rolls his eyes and kicks at the boy's beanbag, making him jerk awake and sputter incoherently.

"Let's go," he announces, "we've made your teacher stay back long enough, she needs to get home too."

"Ms. Ral?" Eren yawns. "She's coming with us, isn't she? Mum always gives her a ride home."

He stills. "What."

Mikasa rolls off the beanbag, landing too-gracefully on her feet. "She lives next door, Aniki," she explains, and stretches, catlike, seemingly oblivious to his frustrated bewilderment.

His gaze snaps to Petra, who seems suddenly fascinated in the parquet floor, and he wonders briefly why no-one ever fucking tells him anything.

"Whatever," he says finally, resigned. He makes for the door, and the two kids fall in obediently behind him. "C'mon, Ms. Ral. Hope you don't mind being sprayed with Febreze first. You stink of tuna."

Notes:

thank you so much for all the lovely comments! if you have any feedback or concrit, i'd love to hear it 3

in case it wasn't obvious, i've actually dedicated the last few years of my life to making my writing as succinct and bare-bones as possible, because of the nature of my work. it's been a bit of a challenge trying to go back to an more narrative, descriptive style, so if you spot anything off, please let me know!

Chapter 5

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

He's a hypnotist, Petra theorises. Or maybe a siren. Or perhaps one of those charismatic military leaders who died and came back to life, like, she doesn't know, Hitler or something.

It's the only possible explanation as to how Levi Ackerman, despite having an objectively shit personality, has somehow managed to get her entire class wrapped around his finger in the span of a week.

She watches, incredulously, as her colleague dispassionately explains the water cycle to a rapt Jean. "So water evaporates, right, from seas and lakes and shit," he goes, as the kid nods furiously, scribbling notes on a piece of paper, "and then the droplets accumulate to form clouds. And then it condenses to form rain, which means the water goes back into the sea. Got it?"

Jean squints at his homework. "Uh—I think so," he says. "But, Mr. Levi—"

"Just Levi."

"Where do I write all of that down? I think the homework just says to label the different types of weather…" He quails under the man's look, and corrects hastily, "I'll figure it out! Thank you, sir!"

Levi makes a grunt of acknowledgement and gets up, only to catch her look of annoyance. "What?" he mouths in her direction, and she scowls, as if it hadn't been a sheer miracle that Jean had actually sat down and listened to an adult, instead of just brushing everything off as "kid stuff" like he usually does.

And it's not just Jean, either. He's able to manage Eren even during his worst days, when the boy would usually fly into a rage at the mere suggestion of having to sit still. He's patient with Armin's endless ramblings about everything from the colour of the sky to the reason why the daycare's garden gets flooded sometimes when it rains (it's something about soil porosity and the angle of the land. She doesn't know). He answers Connie's ridiculous questions and doesn't flinch at Sasha's eating habits, and of course, there's his inexplicable relationship with Mikasa, ordinarily so cold and standoffish, but who calls him Aniki and tugs affectionately at his sleeve.

All while being his ordinary self: impassive, perpetually annoyed, and crass. He's ditched the foul language somewhat, although he has also displayed a penchant for what Petra finds a particularly rude brand of toilet humour, but which offers the children endless amusement. Of course he'd find an audience for his shitty jokes (ha) in a classroomful of eight-year-olds.

She's still mulling over his unexpected appeal with the kids when they're in the car on the way home—which, despite his initial reluctance, has turned into an almost daily routine for the four of them. As usual, Eren soon begins to fidget in his seat, but stops quickly with a single, irritated "tch" from Levi.

She shoots a disbelieving glance at her new colleague, who's still driving placidly, as though he hadn't just managed to do in half a second what ordinarily takes Petra about ten minutes and a bribe (usually, chocolate). The boy has since switched to staring at the man with the kind of starry-eyed adoration kids typically reserve for either superheroes or Santa Claus. Mikasa, on the other hand, is looking at her friend with narrowed eyes, as though she hasn't quite decided if her friend's hero-worship of her cousin is sweet or threatening.

Petra's betting on the latter.

"Hey," she says, quietly, so the kids won't overhear, "'fess up. How do you get the children to listen to you like that?"

Levi shrugs, easily. In the week that's passed, they've bonded, somewhat, over the kids. It'd started with the cleaning session post-confrontation, and solidified after that ill-fated oil-painting workshop a few days ago, another one of Historia's bright ideas. She'd taken a flying paintbrush straight to the head—the result of Connie mocking Marco's painting, and Jean stepping in to his (overly enthusiastic) defence—and he'd held the fort as she'd gone to wash the paint out of her hair. Upon returning, he'd offered her a towel in a show of silent commiseration, which she'd accepted—although he'd ended up snatching it right back, after Eren promptly tripped over a stray palette and planted his still-wet canvas right onto his neatly pressed pants. (He'd started coming in jeans, after that incident.)

They're not friends, exactly, but she's developed a grudging respect for him, and mostly ceased with the veiled barbs. She's even learnt, with some difficulty, to read the minute inflections in his behaviour—a gleam in his eye, a twitch of his lips—which has made their conversations almost tolerable.

Almost.

"Psychological techniques," he tells her, in a dry, serious tone that Petra doesn't believe for a second. She rolls her eyes.

"Do you always say that whenever you don't know the answer to something?" she retorts, reaching over to flick him in the arm. It's...surprisingly firm. Huh, who would've thought.

Involuntarily, her mind flickers to Historia wondering aloud if he was single. Petra shakes her head violently, and he glances over with bemusement.

"Nothing!" she goes, far too defensively. Levi raises an eyebrow.

"I didn't say anything." His eyes move back to the road, and she scowls inwardly. The rest of the car ride is silent, save a short-lived argument between the kids about what to eat for lunch—an argument which, Petra notes, is ended quite quickly by Levi's curt remark of "you'll eat whatever the hell Carla makes and be happy with it, brats".

Soon enough, they're pulling up at the apartment building, and as per their routine, she hops out of the car and mumbles a quick thank you before beelining straight for her flat. She's nursing a cup of coffee and lounging comfortably in her favourite armchair, when she finds her thoughts somehow meandering back to the enigma that is Levi Ackerman. For all his quirks (and does he have many), he's actually proven a pretty decent guy, and she's forced to admit that her initial judgement—while usually pretty accurate—had been dead wrong this time.

Worse, he's attractive, with those cool blue-grey eyes and sharp, almost delicate features. Petra groans and rubs her eyes—she can practically hear her cousin's mocking laughter in her head, and decides that she'll sooner jump off a building than admit to anyone that she finds her new colleague nice, and good-looking, and actually pretty sweet, now that she thinks about it—

"Oh, shut up," she snaps aloud at herself, "what are you, a schoolgirl with a crush?" Annoyed, she hoists herself off the couch, ignoring her protesting joints, and goes straight to take a shower.

Tonight's dinner with Nifa, one her best friends from university. As Petra browses idly through her clothes, eventually settling on a loose-fitting white top and jeans, she wonders what Nifa would make of this situation. Probably, she'd make some snarky comment about how she's been single for far too long; she can practically see her friend's smirk, stretching slow and catlike over her pretty face.

She wouldn't be wrong, you know, a voice taunts in her head. Petra just grits her teeth and scowls.

"Oooh, someone's put in effort tonight." Nifa whistles lowly as Petra joins the table, and leans in for a hug. It's been a couple of months, but her friend looks just as she remembers, with auburn hair in choppy bangs, and that ever-present mischievous gleam in her hazel eyes. She's always had a somewhat quirky sense of style, and today is no exception—she's wearing a silky black cami dress that just grazes mid-thigh, and a chunky, strawberry-embroidered sweater over. Petra sticks out her tongue as she settles down in the opposite chair.

"Don't I always?" she retorts, reaching over for the menu. At the last minute, she'd traded her jeans for a high-waisted, fire-engine-red skirt with box pleats running down the side, and applied matching lipstick instead of her usual peachy-nude. It's a bolder choice than she'd usually go for, but certainly not a defence mechanism for the conversation that she just knows is about to come. Of course not.

Despite its tacky neon signage, too-loud music, and near-claustrophobic size, Blue Label Pizzeria makes up for it by serving a prime combination of top-notch pizza and relatively cheap drinks. So cheap, in fact, that by the time the food arrives, Petra's well into her third glass of wine and pleasantly buzzed.

"I know that look," Nifa observes, a wicked glint in her eye. "Haven't seen it for a while, but it's there. I sense…" she pauses dramatically, "…someone."

Petra snorts loudly. "Real precise, Nif." Moodily, she swills the wine in her glass, watching the dark liquid lap against the sides. "We got a new colleague, sort of. He's just here for a few months to observe, part of something he's doing for school, but. He's…annoying."

"A guy?" Nifa goes, and ah, there's that smirk. Petra glowers and takes another bite of her pizza. "Annoying how?"

She chews slowly, and swallows. "He's rude and curt and he has the worst sense of humour, but the kids listen to him like…" Petra searches for an analogy, "…like he's the Pied Piper! And they all just go along with whatever he says! It's ridiculous." She folds her arms primly across her chest.

"Whatever," Nifa says, leaning back, a sly look dancing across her face, "He's cute, isn't he."

"He is not." Her friend raises an eyebrow, and Petra grimaces. "Okay, maybe. But that's not the—"

"I knew it," Nifa interrupts with a crow, dodging gracefully when Petra aims a kick at her shin under the table. "And probably super good with the kids, yeah? What a catch." She sighs happily.

"He's not a catch!" Petra protests, and that image of Levi with his cousin curled up in his lap involuntarily flashes through her mind. "I mean, he's not as bad as I initially thought, but—"

"Pet," her friend says, resting her head in her clasped hands and looking her straight in the eye. "Let's be real for a second. You haven't dated since uni, and you haven't had a boyfriend since…well, ever. The kid you met on that exchange programme doesn't count, it was like, six months," she adds, when Petra opens her mouth to argue.

She closes her mouth. Nifa continues, "Honestly. Would it be so bad to admit, for once in your life, that you actually like someone?"

"Yes," she says flatly. Noticing that the bottle is almost empty, she signals discreetly to the waiter for another. Nifa's gaze follows her, and she gives her a pointed look, which Petra conveniently ignores.

"Look," the other girl says with a sigh, "all I'm saying is, it wouldn't kill you to be nice to him. Knowing you, you've probably been nothing but rude and impatient—it's sort of a defence mechanism thing you get when you like someone, I don't know if you've noticed—"

"Oh my gosh, Nifa."

"—I'm just saying!" She lifts her hands in mock surrender. "If you like him, show it. He sounds like a good guy, honestly, from what you've said, and it'd be kind of lame to be an asshole to him when all he did was make you like him. Just…be nice, you know? And if nothing happens, whatever, but if it does, then, well, what do you stand to lose?"

My dignity, Petra thinks. But she just shrugs and pours herself another glass of wine. "Fine, I'll be nice, even though I already am." She pointedly ignores Nifa's disbelieving snort, and presses on, "Now, can we please talk about something else?"

As the conversation switches obligingly to a particularly poisonous parent Nifa's been dealing with at her preschool, Petra finds her mind wandering, yet again, back to Levi. The way his usually deadpan expression softens, almost imperceptibly, whenever he talks to one of the kids. His gruff manner that's somehow, she doesn't exactly know when, turned from aggravating to almost…endearing.

"Well, for someone who wanted to change the subject, you seem awfully distracted," Nifa singsongs, with a smug, knowing grin.

"Oh, shut up," Petra shoots back waspishly, and takes another long drink.

"Rough night?" His tone is sardonic, but even with his back turned to her as he brews his usual cup of morning tea, Petra can picture his impassive face. Her head still pounding, she fails to conjure up a witty response, managing only an irritated exhale in his general direction.

The white lights of the staff pantry, usually so bright and cheerful, seem almost painful to look at this morning. And even without having to look in the mirror, she knows that she looks absolutely awful: face drawn and pale, dark circles under her eyes, and hair that probably resembles a bird's nest after all her tossing and turning last night.

She's steeling herself to stand up, anticipating the wave of nausea, when he turns around and, without warning, sets down a cup of coffee on the table in front of her.

It takes a second for her to register what he's doing, and she stares uncomprehendingly at the mug. "Is that…for me?"

Levi rolls his eyes, not even bothering to respond, as he returns to the stove—presumably to actually go about making his tea this time. Warily, she takes a sip. The coffee is excellent, and she feels a strange twinge in her chest.

Be nice to him, she can practically hear Nifa scream in her head, and winces. She clears her throat, uncomfortable.

"Uh." Her voice comes out thin, raspy. "Thank you." He doesn't turn around, merely nods in response.

Petra isn't normally an awkward person. She's cheerful and outgoing, and chatter comes as easily to her as breathing—it's a skill, the result of years of etiquette class and her own naturally extroverted personality, and it's what makes her a damn good daycare teacher. But for some reason, this man, with his monosyllabic responses and quiet, unexpected kindness, makes her feel. Well. Awkward.

Or maybe it's just Nifa getting to her head.

"How was your night?" she asks finally, when he doesn't try to initiate a conversation. He lifts a shoulder in a shrug.

"It was all right." He pauses, and a hint of a smirk ghosts over his lips. "Probably not as good as yours, by the looks of it."

"Oh my gosh," she goes, gratefully latching onto this thread of conversation, "don't even get me started. I don't even think I drank that much, but I feel like absolute shit, my head feels like it got trampled by like, a herd of elephants or something."

"I have painkillers," he offers, and she blinks, once again caught off guard.

"Oh, no," she says weakly, "I'm fine, thanks. This coffee is great. What'd you add to it?" He hums, noncommittal, and she feels a stab of frustration.

What do you have to lose? Nifa taunts in her head. In a fit of desperation, she suddenly blurts out, "Hey, uh. Wanna get coffee with me sometime?"

That gets his attention. He turns to look at her, and raises a brow in a wordless question. Blushing furiously, Petra stumbles over her words in her haste to explain herself, "Not like…I mean, as colleagues! I thought we could discuss lesson plans. You're really good with the kids, and I thought…I'd appreciate your input, that's all. Really." She feels her face flame, and silently curses herself.

When he doesn't immediately reply, she adds quickly, clumsily, "But you don't have to, don't feel an obligation. I mean…I'm sure you have other stuff to do, and this would technically be like working overtime, and…"

"Okay." He goes back to stirring his tea. Petra blinks.

"Okay?" she echoes.

"Okay, I'll meet you," he says.

It takes all her self-control, but somehow, she manages to say, in a mostly indifferent tone, "This weekend, then? At Sina Patisserie?"

"Sure. Text me," he tells her. His face is just as unreadable as always, but Petra has to fight back a giddy grin. Play it cool, Ral, she tells herself sternly.

Still, she sneaks a glance at him out of the corner of her eye, and allows herself the tiniest of smiles when he lifts the cup by the rim, in that strange way he does. And as she sips contentedly at her coffee, oddly enough, her hangover no longer seems all that bad.

Notes:

catch the references to my last fic, oops

happy midweek! this one took a bit longer, mostly cos i was distracted and work's getting a bit heavier, but here it is (finally)! i hope y'all liked this, and if you have a second, do leave a comment letting me know what you thought 3

Chapter 6

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Petra steps through the doors of the café, and is immediately greeted by a gust of warm, chocolate-scented air.

She's here quite a bit earlier than planned, even after spending a bit more time on makeup than she usually would, and changing her outfit thrice. Settling down in her favourite spot by the window, she catches a glimpse of her outfit in the glass and feels a smug sense of satisfaction—the cream-coloured sweater she'd selected shows off her collarbones quite nicely, and her dainty ankle boots add some much-needed length to her legs.

Not that she's hoping anyone would appreciate it, or anything. Although it would be nice to for him to see her for once without chalk in her hair—

No. Shut up. With an irritated exhale at the direction her own thoughts had taken, Petra looks around the café and feels a surge of nostalgia. Sina Patisserie was, and still is, the de facto hangout for the local university students, and she'd even had a couple of dates here, back in the day.

She's ordered a hot chocolate and drifted off into her own thoughts, when she hears the tinkling of the welcome bells at the door. It's Levi, casually dressed in a grey sweater and jeans, looking endearingly awkward, with his hands tucked into his pockets.

For shit's sake, Ral, stop acting like a schoolgirl with a crush already.

"You're here early," he comments as he pulls up a chair. She feels his gaze linger, if only just for a second, on her collar, and feels a quiet thrill go through her.

"I don't have much to do on weekends," she admits. "Besides, it's nice here, isn't it?"

"Mm." He glances around the café. "Have you been here before? Anything to recommend?"

Petra brightens. "Oh, their eclairs are wonderful. And they make the best chai. I like their hot chocolate, too—they spice it with cinnamon, it's amazing."

"You sound like a regular," he comments. His mouth is still set in its perpetual frown, but she notices a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

"I haven't been here in a while, but I used to spend way too much time here, when I was in uni," she tells him. His gaze is intense, and she finds herself rambling, nervously, "Funny story, actually, I actually got dumped at this very table—"

She bites her lip. "Not that it was funny, at the time. I mean, it seems funny, in retrospect...I guess," she finishes, lamely.

"Why'd you get dumped?" he asks. He says it in his usual nonchalant, callous manner, without a hint of tact. It probably would've rankled her a week or so ago, but now it just seems, well, Levi.

She shrugs easily, silently willing herself not to blush. "We drifted apart, I guess," she says, and takes a sip of her hot chocolate.

She'd met Eld Gin in one of her classes. Tall, handsome, and charismatic, she'd been more starstruck than attracted when he'd asked her out. She'd said yes, much to the envy of all her coursemates, and she still remembers the feeling of pride whenever they walked across campus together, his arm slung casually across her shoulders, the weight of all the admiring eyes on their backs.

She remembers the breakup—it hadn't been dramatic, or anything. Eld had just looked at her from across the table, and told her, not unkindly, that he couldn't love someone who refused to be honest with herself.

"I like you, Ral," he'd said, with that dry half-smile that always made her heart flutter. "But you're never real, you know? You're so obsessed with propriety and all that bullshit that even after dating you for a year, I honestly can't say I know you all that well."

"Of course you do," she'd retorted, "I've never hidden anything from you, never lied."

He'd leaned back, looking wry. "Not lying isn't the same as being honest. You don't trust me, Ral—at least, not enough to open up your heart to me. I'm sorry, but I don't think I can do this anymore."

Cut to the present. Levi looks at her contemplatively, his knuckles pressed into his chin. "And how did you feel about that?" he asks, and he sounds so much like a damn psychologist that Petra almost snorts.

She's about to give him an airy smile, say something vague about how whatever, she's over it, but something in his eyes makes her pause.

"It was..." Petra swallows. "Kind of hurtful, actually. Um. I mean, no one likes being called a liar, and I think...I did love him. At least a little."

Her throat feels thick, and she feels a sense of detached surprise at her own honesty. Petra hadn't understood what Eld had meant, back then—his words had seemed punishing, unfair. But as she feels Levi's calm, assessing gaze, lets the words tumble unbidden from her lips, she finally understands what it means to be real.

She realises, belatedly, that she's never told anyone the truth about the last conversation she'd had with Eld before.

Petra snaps her mouth shut. "I'm sorry," she says, awkwardly, "I really didn't mean to say all that...you must be bored."

He snorts. "Of all the things to be sorry about," he mutters. "It's fine, Petra. I mean, I get what your ex was going on about—like, you were such a fucking priss at first. But really—" his lips curve into something that is almost a smile, "—you're not all bad."

"What a compliment," she says dryly, deliberately ignoring the heat that rises to her cheeks. "You're not all bad, yourself."

Her eyes meet his, across the table, and she can feel her heart thrum insistently, like the beating of a bird's wings, against her ribcage.

Stop it.

"Um." She clears her throat. "Do you wanna grab something to drink, first? I'll give you the rundown on what I have planned for the semester."

"Sure." It's only when she's sure he's out of sight, that she lets herself slump into her chair, a frustrated exhale hissing through her teeth. Her face still feels so very hot, and she feels, she doesn't know. Raw. Exposed. Vulnerable.

It's a decidedly unpleasant feeling.

And Petra isn't sure what it is about him, in particular, that catches her off guard, makes her stumble over her words, leads her to talk about things she doesn't want to talk about. After all, he's rude and ill-mannered and brusque, and the last thing anyone would think of him is trustworthy.

But perhaps that's just it—for all his flaws, Levi Ackerman is as real as they get. He doesn't have any airs or graces, speaks with all the candour and tact of a toddler, and clearly couldn't care less about what anyone thinks. It's a combination that is both dangerous and…well. Strangely attractive.

"Hey." His voice knocks her out of her reverie. "You all right?"

She pastes on a smile. "Yeah, of course," she goes, and opens her laptop. "So, I was working on the syllabus..."

Her voice dies down when Levi sits down beside her, instead of in the seat opposite, the side of his thigh pressed against hers. "Sorry. You don't mind, do you?" he says absently, peering over her shoulder at the screen. She swallows, cursing herself as her heart starts to go haywire all over again.

Please don't let him hear it. "Of course not." She manages a careless shrug, and wills herself to focus on the screen. "Um. So I was thinking...the syllabus is still pretty haphazard, like it's just the regular programme but with a couple of hands-on activities thrown in. And honestly, some of these activities could be better managed, too."

"Mm." Levi hums, thoughtfully, and takes a sip of his chai. "Yeah, I can see that. So what do you think could work better?"

"Well..." His closeness is making her head spin, and it takes all her effort to focus. "I thought, for one, we could work on creating a more defined structure. Not like, more rigidity," she adds quickly at his slight frown, "but more...consistency, you know what I mean? So they won't be caught by surprise. Like maybe Thursdays could be workshop days, and Tuesday mornings could be set apart for free play."

"It might be good to have a bit of structure, especially for kids like Eren, who're prone to exploding if things don't go their way," Levi agrees. "And I was thinking, we could also introduce a segment on drama. I mean, I know we have the reading corner, but since a few of the kids have learning disabilities, we could try for something more interactive to improve their language skills."

Petra blinks. "I like it," she says, slowly, and then turns to grin widely at him. He looks momentarily caught, like a deer in headlights.

Dammit, he's cute.

"You know," she adds, "there's just one more thing I wanted to discuss with you..."

Historia eyes her, her ordinarily clear blue eyes dark with suspicion. Petra twitches under her gaze.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she finally says, defensively. Her cousin folds her arms and leans back.

"You have to admit, Pet. This is a little out of the blue. And especially considering you were practically begging me to let him go just a week ago—"

"Exaggeration."

"Whatever," Historia shoots back, running an irritated hand through her hair. "And now you want me to, what? Let him assist in classes? Pet, he's a psychologist, not a teacher."

"I know, I know!" She throws her hands up. "But, Tori, you haven't seen him in classes. Sure, he's weird as hell and has a shitty sense of humour, but the kids like him. I've never seen anyone interact with them the way he does, and it works, and I think he could really bring something new to the class."

Historia narrows her gaze. "And Mr. Ackerman agreed to this? This isn't just part of some ruse to get him thrown out?"

"Oh my gosh, Tori, do you really have so little trust in me? Yes, he agreed."

Eventually, she adds in her head.

The thing is, Levi'd initially been averse to the idea. Or whatever you'd call a reaction that involved scowling, leaning back in his chair, and a flat fuck no.

"No, listen, Levi," she'd insisted. "You have...something with the kids. I don't know what it is, maybe its just that you're overwhelmingly awkward—"

"You're doing a real good job of persuading me, Ms. Ral."

"—but it works!" She'd looked at him entreatingly. "You don't baby them, you treat them like adults, and they actually respond. I mean, look at Mikasa, she adores you."

His gaze had softened, just a touch, at the mention of his cousin, and Petra'd taken the opportunity to deliver her final blow.

"Besides." She'd paused deliberately. "I heard that the reason you're here is because your prof didn't think you could handle people well, right?"

"How did you—"

"No matter," she'd cut in, smoothly. "Anyway. It's all very well to observe the kids and interact with them in a limited capacity, but teaching them? You can't get any better than that. You'd have a whole extra bullet point to add to your resume."

"Like that's my priority," he'd scoffed, "but...you have a point."

"Come on, Levi," she'd goaded, "He was wrong about you, wasn't he? Well, prove it."

His eyes had flashed, almost indiscernibly, and she'd known she'd won. And now, she feels a stab of smugness at her success.

But as she lifts her gaze to her cousin's, there's no longer any suspicion in Historia's gaze. Instead, the girl looks positively gleeful.

What.

"You," Historia goes, with a smirk that quite transforms her usually angelic, wide-eyed demeanour, "you have something going on with Levi Ackerman. Don't you."

Petra sputters, unintelligible. Finally, she manages to choke out, "No I don't!"

"Liar," Historia says cheerfully. "It's not like you to get this involved with anyone, especially not some random guy here to sit at the back of your classroom and take notes. Besides, I see it in your face." She lifts a triumphant finger. "You don't hate him anymore. In fact, you like him."

"That's crazy talk," Petra retorts weakly. "I mean, fine, he's not as bad as he'd seemed initially, but..."

"See?" The other girl grins. "Pet, I've known you since we were little kids. You're so freaking stubborn, you never admit you're wrong. And yet, here we are."

Petra searches, desperately, for a diversion. Unable to find one, she ends up snapping, "So are you approving this, or not?"

"Oh, I am." Historia smiles widely, that angelic smile that doesn't fool her for a second. "Tell him to send me his lesson plan, will you? And don't trip on the way out."

She waves cheerfully, quite immune to Petra's dark scowl.

Honestly, she thinks furiously to herself, and then pauses, mildly horrified.

Was I that obvious?

As Levi shifts uncomfortably in front of the class, the kids watching him expectantly, Petra feels an odd sense of déjà vu.

"Morning," he finally says.

"Good morning!" the kids chirp in enthusiastic response. His expression doesn't change, but Petra's fairly sure she sees him flinch.

"Uh." His eyes dart around, nervously. "Well..."

He's fumbling, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

This time, she doesn't hesitate. In a smooth motion, Petra steps forward next to him, and places a hand on his shoulder. "Levi's helping out with today's lesson," she says. Her tone is deliberately calm and casual, the kind she'd take on while soothing a jittery child, and she sees him relax almost imperceptibly. "He's going to be taking you guys through the solar system. So be good, okay?"

"Yes, Ms. Ral," they chant. Petra gives his shoulder a last, reassuring squeeze (dammit, he really is built), and he offers her the faintest of smiles.

When he speaks up again, his voice rings out clear and strong across the classroom. He's confident, patient, and authoritative, answering questions and explaining points without a flicker of uncertainty. His face is as cool and composed as ever, but she can feel his earnestness radiate through his lesson—and, judging by the way the kids are gazing at him with rapt attention, so can they.

"So, there are eight planets in the Solar System, right?" He pulls up a picture on the projector, and the kids ooh and ah in response. "And Earth is right there, that little blue-and-white marble. If you look, it's actually pretty small in comparison to the rest..."

That frustrating softness stirs in her chest, once again, as she watches him at the front of the classroom, looking for all the world like he's been doing it for years. It's a familiar feeling, one she knows well—one that both terrifies and excites her in its intensity.

But despite all her efforts, Petra finds that she can't look away.

Notes:

happy monday guys! sorry i know this chapter isn't exactly gripping but i promise this is all necessary set-up for more fluff to come! i think. hopefully. if i don't lose steam and die, multi-chapters are so hard to write help-

Chapter 7

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Working in a daycare, Levi decides, is making him lose his mind.

It's the only plausible reason how he is able to exist in a room, crammed full of crumb-and-icing-covered children in dangerously close proximity to his own person, and somehow not spontaneously combust. He's so desensitised to mess at this point that the other day, during an unfortunate paint-snatching incident involving Eren and Jean which had resulted in the two of them, as well as a number of unfortunate bystanders, being splattered with flying globs of Pineapple Delight, he hadn't so much as blinked—just wordlessly started to hand out wet wipes.

It's disturbing, it really is.

"Are you just going to spend the entire time standing in a corner and scowling?" Petra's voice knocks him out of his reverie. He looks up, mildly discomfitted, as his colleague grins at him cheerfully. Her apron is dusted with powdery white flecks of sugar, and there's a smear of green icing on the side of her mouth. He resists the urge to reach over and wipe it away. She's not Mikasa, he tells himself sternly. Stop it.

"Probably," he says instead, folding his arms across his own pristine apron. She frowns, disapproving.

"You're supposed to assist, you know."

"Don't think I'd be much good at cookie decorating," he says drily. The activity, of course, is another one of Historia's bright ideas—Levi isn't sure why they all seem to involve so much mess—has been a resounding success among the kids. Quite uncharacteristically for them, they appear to be wielding their icing pens with some measure of decorum, seeming quite contented to decorate the cookies instead of each other. Thank fuck. "Besides, they don't look like they need any help."

"Yeah?" She jerks her head towards a particular table, where Connie is loudly accusing Marco of not having collected enough cookies at the start of the session. The latter looks near tears, all while Sasha not-so-surreptitiously shoves another into her already-bulging pocket, looking the very picture of innocence.

Levi sighs. "All right, I'm going," he grumbles, and deftly steps over a single sneaker, which sits innocuously in the middle of the floor (he doesn't want to know). It takes the better part of ten minutes to persuade Sasha to hand over the cookies, although he does eventually manage to prise them out of her hands. Tantrums notwithstanding.

After he manages to calm the girl down—an endeavour that takes another full ten minutes—he's waved over by an over-enthusiastic Eren and a faintly irritated-looking Mikasa. "Levi-ani!" he goes, beaming. "Here, try my cookie!"

With a proud grin, he presses his creation into Levi's hands. The surface of the cookie has been crammed with so many rainbow sprinkles, he can barely make out the icing.

Before he can think of an excuse to reject it, Mikasa reaches over, grabs the cookie, and takes a pointed bite out of it, ignoring her friend's loud protests. "Your drawing was smudged, anyway," she says, her voice muffled as she chews. "Aniki, have mine instead. I drew a flower."

He accepts the cookie tentatively. The icing job is better than he'd expected—Mikasa's lines are neat and precise, each petal carefully piped in alternating shades of pink and purple, and the whole cookie is framed with a rather pretty dotted white border. It looks infinitely more palatable than Eren's rather obnoxious concoction, and he feels a wave of pride wash over him.

As the pair dissolves into another argument, Levi furtively reaches for his phone and snaps a photo of the cookie.

After he finishes eating it—and pointedly ignoring the still-ongoing squabble—he walks over to Armin, who is quietly colouring in his drawing of what appears to be a whale. It's a little shaky, but the boy's brow is creased with determination. Levi decides not to ruin it.

"Nice whale," he says instead. Armin starts a little, but then looks up and smiles shyly.

"Thanks. It's a dolphin, actually," he says, flushing red. "But they're kind of similar."

"Are they?" Levi ventures. The blonde kid nods eagerly; fuck, he's actually pretty cute. A damn sight cuter than his friend, at least, who appears to have given up arguing with Mikasa, and is currently icing a second cookie with a kind of furious resolve, his hand clutched so tightly around his icing pen Levi's half-afraid it'll burst.

"Yeah. Did you know the killer whale is actually a member of the dolphin family? And bottlenose dolphins sleep with one eye open, so they can keep lookout for predators and stuff."

Levi raises an eyebrow, mildly impressed. "Smart of them."

"Yeah!" he goes, positively vibrating with excitement. "They can do it because they only sleep with half their brain at a time. Isn't that cool?"

"It is. You know a lot about dolphins," he comments candidly. Armin blushes again.

"I wanna be a marine biologist when I grow up." He says it shyly, with a kind of hesitance. "But my grandpa says it's really hard, and you have to be super smart to become one."

Eren's head snaps up. "You are super smart, though! Armin's gonna be the best marine biologist in the world," he tells Levi confidently. Mikasa nods in agreement.

"I think you're smart enough, too." Levi resists the urge to ruffle the kid's hair, or do something equally awkward and embarrassing. "Definitely way smarter than I was at your age. Hell, I don't think I even knew what a marine biologist was."

The kids giggle. "Language," Petra says reproachfully, sidling up to his side. But there's no venom in her tone, and he sees the side of her mouth quirk. The green smudge of icing is still there, and this time, before he can stop himself, he reaches over and thumbs it away.

She startles noticeably, and stares at him. For some reason, he can feel his face start to heat up. "Icing. It was bothering me," he makes excuse, and the look on her face makes his inside twist in an unfamiliar emotion.

"Oh," she says, faintly. "Um. So." Finally, she manages to pull herself together, and quips weakly, "So. Giving out career advice now?"

"Free of charge," he cracks drily. She laughs, and the awkwardness in the atmosphere seems to dissipate at the sound, as she shoots him a mock glare. But for some reason, the unfamiliar strangeness in his chest lingers for a long time after.

More days pass. He'd be the first to admit that he's not exactly good at the whole friendship game, but there are some things that you just can't go through with another person without coming out with some sort of bond, and trying to wrest control of a class of eight-year-olds is one of them.

Still, he keeps her at arm's length. Because as nice and kind and un-stick-in-the-mud-ish as she's turned out to be, he doesn't have room in his life for friends. He's perfectly content being alone, thank you very much; he'd made room for Mikasa, but that's as far as he goes. People are little more than deadweight, after all—Kenny'd taught him that well enough—and Levi has big plans for his life, he doesn't need any roadblocks in his way.

He sips at his tea as Erwin flips through his neatly arranged notes. "Not bad," goes the older man, with a grudging sort of respect. "Assisting classes…quite a stroke of inspiration. I have to admit, I'm impressed, Levi."

It takes all his willpower to keep his expression smooth and gelid. "Well. I guess," he manages, trying not to sound too guilty. In the background, the bells at the entrance of the tea-shop jingle cheerfully.

Erwin folds his hands neatly on the table and surveys him. "It was your idea, then?" His tone is mild, but his words are keen. Levi bites back a curse.

"Fine, it wasn't. You going to hold that against me?" His tone comes out defiant, almost snappish. His advisor smiles, and there's a mischievous edge to it now.

"Of course not. It doesn't really matter to me whose idea it was; the fact is that you agreed to do it, so it'll look all the same on your resume." His grin widens. "Although I must admit, I'm interested in is why you agreed. Doesn't seem like something you'd volunteer for, to be honest…So. Whose idea was it?"

Levi squirms. Erwin leans over the table, steepling his hands. "Come now, Levi. After all we've been through? You can tell me the truth."

"We've been through? You mean me, right, and my trauma?"

"Well, it was honestly a little traumatising for me too. You're not exactly all rainbows and sunshine to work with, you know," Erwin quips. "And don't change the subject. It's not like you to quibble over semantics, you're not fooling anyone."

Levi glares at him, and firmly decides that he has nothing to hide. "It was the teacher's idea," he says, as casually as he can, pointedly ignoring the other man's smirk. "She thought…I could add something new to the class. And, well. I thought. Why the fuck not."

The words sound stupid even in his mouth. He can't even fault Erwin from looking positively gleeful.

"I can think of plenty of reasons why you wouldn't want to do this, actually," Erwin says, his eyes gleaming. "Such as the fact that you're an antisocial loner, ordinarily—"

"Oi!"

"But it sounds like this teacher—whoever she is—has quite an influence on you!" His advisor is still grinning, and Levi resists the urge to smack it off his face. "Well, I'm glad you're enjoying your attachment, Levi…"

"I am not enjoying it, you bastard—"

"And I look forward to your next report." Erwin drains the dregs of his tea, and gracefully motions for the bill. "Well. I'll be off, then…although I'm sure you have plans, too…"

Levi throws a balled-up receipt at him.

It takes a full two months before he finally cracks.

It's October. The daycare grounds are quite beautiful in autumn, the grounds covered in leaves painted the colours of a sunset, that crackle and crisp under his footsteps when he walks. The class is in the middle of homework time, and it's a rare moment of peace.

"Hey," Petra murmurs to him, under her breath, not wanting to disturb the kids, "Armin and Connie have been taking a while in the washroom, huh?"

He hums, noncommittal. "I'll go check on them, if you're worried."

"Please." She flashes him a smile, and Levi feels his breath catch in his throat. Pointedly ignoring it, and now slightly relieved at the distraction, he turns and marches out of the hallway.

To his surprise, the boys are standing right outside the classroom, in the corridor. He's about to call out to them when something stops him short—they're not alone.

"You're in the charity class, my mum told me so." A girl he doesn't recognise—from another class, then—sneers at them. Clearly, they haven't noticed him.

Her companion giggles. "'A bunch of weirdos'," she singsongs, and Levi feels a small stab of guilt at having thought the exact same thing. "We heard there's even a kid in your class with no parents. What's wrong with you, then?"

Armin clenches his fist. "We're not charity cases," he says, his voice frail but clear. "You're wrong."

The first girl's smug smile falls off her face. She takes a threatening step towards him, and Levi's about to say something, when he hears a sharp voice from the doorway.

"You two. Shouldn't you be in class?" Petra strides towards them. There's a tightness to her expression he hasn't seen before. The girls look mutinous.

"We were just going, Miss Ral," the second girl says.

They turn around, about to walk off, when Petra calls out after them. "One moment, please." Her voice is low and cold, and it sounds almost alien coming from her lips. "I believe you owe your schoolmates an apology."

"For what?" one of the kid blurts out. The other girl merely sticks out her lower lip, defiant.

"For calling them weirdos," Petra says flatly. Her tone is still cool, but there's something in her face that hints at a barely veiled temper. "And for suggesting that there's something wrong with them, especially someone who has no parents."

The girls look mildly abashed, but mutter apologies regardless. Once they're gone, Petra surveys the two boys. Her expression still looks distant, clouded over with that strange, repressed fury. They quail at her look.

Levi clears his throat. "You two. Go back to class. Please," he tags on belatedly. They trail into the classroom eagerly enough, and once the door shuts behind them, he turns his attention back to his colleague, who's still pale and still, her lips pressed so tightly together they almost disappear. "Petra. You okay? You look like you're having trouble taking a shit."

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry." The absence of the students seems to flip a switch in her, and she lets out a long, shaky exhale. "Sorry," she says again, with a weak smile that looks more like a grimace, "I have a bit of a temper, especially when it comes to bullies...it's still hard to rein it in."

"Never would've guessed," he quips, trying to lighten the mood. His efforts are rewarded with a slightly more genuine smile. She sighs, and shoots him a wry look.

"You know," she says, "I never wanted to be a teacher." She slumps against the doorframe, her eyes shadowed, tired, still distant. He doesn't say anything.

"In college, I was doing pre-med. Wanted to be a paediatric doctor." Her lips quirk into a sardonic smile. "But, uh. I had some issues—anger, defiance, all that stuff. I ended up dropping out. This was my fallback...honestly, I'm lucky they even accepted me, considering my shitty record."

"Ah." He searches for what to say, and settles on asking, rather awkwardly, "Did you have...like, a hard home life or something?"

She laughs bitterly. "Not even. My family was always pretty well-off. I grew up in a nice house, my dad doted on me. But, uh, it was pretty claustrophobic, I guess. Tons of pressure to succeed...so I responded by acting out. Don't get me wrong," she adds quickly, at his expression, "I'm not making excuses, and I don't expect sympathy, especially not from you. I know I was an idiotic kid."

"Well...your words, not mine." She rolls her eyes half-heartedly. "I can't say I relate, but...wait. What do you mean, especially not from me?"

"Prof Erwin's star student, aren't you? Salutatorian, on full scholarship?" His eyes snap to hers in shock. "Oh, don't look at me that way, Historia is my cousin, after all."

"So much for employee confidentiality," he grumbles. "It's not that, I mean—yeah, I don't relate. But...I understand, sort of. I guess." Petra shrugs sullenly and doesn't answer. He struggles to continue the conversation.

"Are you happy now, though?" She blinks, as though she hadn't considered it.

"I suppose." She chooses her words carefully. "I like the kids. I like the daycare. I like teaching. Of course, it has its drawbacks." Her lips curve into another humourless smile. "My family—except my dad, I mean—thinks I'm a failure. My mum can barely look me in the eye when I go home for Christmas. Not that I blame her, though, I mean. She has a point."

"Don't be crazy." She looks up, startled at his sudden vehemence, and he doesn't know what possesses him, but he goes on: "You're not a failure. You're an amazing teacher. I mean, fuck, the kids love you. Mikasa told me the other day she wants to be Miss Ral when she grows up." He snorts. "Sure, you'd have made a pretty great doctor. But life brought you here, and you're doing a damn good job at it, so be proud of that."

Her eyes are wide when she looks at him, an unrecognisable emotion flickering in her honey-coloured irises, and Levi averts his gaze, uncomfortable. But when she speaks again, her voice is soft and earnest; there's no more of that strange, cold fury in it.

"Um. Thanks." Her cheeks look slightly more flushed than usual, although he supposes it could be the excitement. "That's...really nice of you to say."

He doesn't know how to respond. "Well...we'd better get back inside, the kids'll be wondering where we are," he goes randomly, and pushes open the door, marching into the room determinedly.

But he can't stop himself from glancing back, just for a second.

She's smiling again. And for a second, a thought crosses Levi's mind; he thinks, perhaps, he'd do anything to keep that smile there. The notion is fleeting, but absolutely terrifying.

Levi Ackerman, he tells himself grimly, you're in such deep shit.

There's a faint, almost imperceptible shift in their relationship, after that. She'd been cordial, almost friendly, ever since they'd started carpooling home, but after that quiet moment of vulnerability, she almost seems—uncomfortable, around him, taking every opportunity to avoid being alone together.

The thought makes his stomach drop in a way he doesn't like, not one little bit.

He shoots a wary glance at Petra, who's predictably at the opposite end of the room, as far away from him as she possibly can be. She's deep in conversation with Historia, probably getting the logistics sorted out for today's event.

Speaking of which.

Levi sighs inwardly. He'd never expected to have to do overtime at a day-care attachment, but of course, nothing ever goes his way. The sleepover had actually been Petra's idea, not Historia's—although judging by the way she's looking everywhere in the room except at him, she'd probably made the suggestion before he became part of the equation.

He's so deep in his thoughts that he doesn't even notice when Mikasa drags her sleeping bag over to his side, and dumps it soundly on the ground. "Are you sleeping here, Aniki?" she goes. Her earnest gaze and clear voice soothes him. "Can I sleep next to you?"

His lips turn up at the corners—for all the trouble she causes, sometimes he forgets what a truly sweet kid she is. "Sure," he starts to say, before Eren comes running up, panting, his own sleeping bag in tow.

He can't help but notice that Mikasa's expression goes a little frosty.

"Levi-ani," he starts to say, dumping his own sleeping bag even closer to him than Mikasa's had been.

But the girl's had enough. She rounds on him and says, a bit too sharply, "Don't call him that. Remember, he said in the first lesson, only I get to call him that—and I'm sleeping next to him, move your sleeping bag away—"

Eren's expression twists in outrage. "Why do you get to sleep next to him?"

"I'm his cousin!"

As the argument continues to heat up, Levi slips away, making a mental note to sleep in the pantry instead. He's distracted enough that he doesn't notice Petra until she's right in front of him.

She averts her gaze immediately. "Oh, it's you," she says, and her voice falls utterly flat. "Hi."

"Hi. Uh." He searches for something to say. "Did you get the projector set up all right?"

She seems relieved, even grateful, that they're talking about work. "Yeah. Should be all ready to go. Historia's going off in a bit, and then we can start playing the movie."

"Already?" Outside the window, it's not quite dusk; the sun is just starting to dip below the horizon, painting the sky with a myriad colours, reds and golds and oranges.

He's sharply and uncomfortably reminded of the shade of her eyes.

He fixes his gaze determinedly on the spot next to her nose as she replies, her voice wry, "Yeah. We're dealing with eight-year-olds, remember? Some of them have pretty early bedtimes."

"Oh, yeah." Levi's mind feels oddly slow, almost stupid. "Uh. I guess...we'd better start getting them all settled?"

"Sure." With a clap of her hands, she summons the kids' attention, and instructs them to lay out their sleeping bags if they're not done yet. It takes a few minutes of giggles and squeals, but eventually, they settle down, and she dims the lights.

She doesn't come back to his side of the room, instead sitting stiffly in a lone chair at the back. As Moana plays in the background, he struggles internally—and finally, makes a decision.

He pulls up a chair next to her and sits down. Her gaze is wide and startled, even in the weak, flickering light of the projector. "What?" he whispers, feigning ignorance.

Petra seems torn between gratification and irritation. "Nothing," she finally says after a few moment's pause. But she seems slightly less cold to him after that.

The night goes on. The thing about Disney movies is: they're soppy and simplistic and childish, right, but there's just something about cheesy music and black-and-white morals that makes it very difficult to stay awkward and tense. By the time Moana retrieves the heart of Te Fiti and returns it to her, making the island bloom in pretty colours and prompting an outburst of cheery song, he's forgotten all about being self-conscious. And when she turns to beam at him, he smiles back in return.

For some reason, she blushes, and turns her gaze back to screen to watch Moana return to her island in triumph.

The movie ends to applause, and Petra lets out a happy sigh. "I love Disney movies," she tells him as she switches on the lights. He hesitates, for a second.

"Me too," he finally admits. When she gawks at him, he says, defensively, "It's like a formula or something, that Disney uses—it's meant to appeal to everyone—I mean, it's science."

"Sure." She smirks. Unfortunately, her happiness is short-lived; upon a quick survey of the room, every single child seems perfectly alert, with not the slightest inclination of wanting to go to sleep.

"Oi!" he barks. The kids turn to him, and even Mikasa looks mildly mutinous, but he presses on, firmly, "You guys need to go to sleep. We're switching off the lights in ten minutes, so if you need to go and brush your teeth or use the washroom or whatever, go now, or you'll have to go in the dark. That clear?"

"Yessir," comes the grumpy response. He rolls his eyes and turns to Petra.

"Tea? It's gonna be a long night," he says.

"For you, maybe. I plan on sleeping." Still, she follows him to the staff pantry placidly enough, and keeps up a constant stream of chatter as he makes the tea, so he figures she's—more or less—back to normal.

An atmosphere of calm gradually descends upon them, and he feels a quiet pleasure at reviving their old routine: the two of them in the staff pantry, her yammering on about everything under the sun, him sipping at his tea and making the odd comment every now and then. It feels strange, since it's night-time and all—but still. Nice.

He's still revelling in how pleasant the whole affair is when he hears a faint click in the door and a muffled giggle.

Petra, who until then had been in the middle of delivering a detailed commentary on Moana versus Frozen, stands up so fast, she almost knocks her cup over. "They wouldn't," she almost snarls, and races to the door.

"Wouldn't what?" he starts to ask, but the situation becomes clear soon enough when she turns the doorknob and the door doesn't budge.

"I can't believe it," she utters in hoarse disbelief. "They locked us in." As if in response, they hear a peal of delighted laughter from the classroom.

"What the hell?" he mutters. He strides over, and raps loudly on the door. "Mikasa, let us out of here, or I'm gonna kick your ass when we get home!"

There's a moment's delay, and he grimly pictures the kids racing over to pass the message to Mikasa. A few moments later comes her muffled reply: "Sorry, Aniki. I don't wanna sleep yet. We'll let you out in a while, 'kay?"

He can't believe he'd thought she was sweet.

Petra rounds on him. "Aren't you supposed to be able to do taekwondo or something? Kick the door down!" she demands, her eyes flashing.

"Karate, and I'm not kicking down anything, are you crazy?" he retorts flatly. "Your cousin is my boss, in case you've forgotten. Don't you have a spare key or something?"

"This isn't the kind of door that locks with a key!" Petra groans and slides down the door in defeat. "Oh my gosh, I'm so going to get fired. Historia is going to kill me. I don't even wanna think about what the parents are going to say..."

She continues to bemoan all the awful things that are about to befall her, a thought flashes across his mind, without warning and against his will: they're locked in a room. Alone. Together.

Petra's breath catches in her throat, and when he casts a sideways glance at her, her expression resembles that of a deer in headlights. It's as though they'd both realised that fact, at the same time.

A beat. "Uh," he volunteers, eventually, desperately wishing away the sudden awkwardness that now covers the room, thick as a blanket and twice as claustrophobic, "do you wanna...talk? Do something? Play a game?"

She stares at him. "A game?"

"...I have the Game on Life on my phone," he admits.

Petra almost chokes. "No way."

"Mikasa loves it," he says defensively. "And it's not like we have a lot of options, do we?"

"Yes, we do," Petra says, firmly, fighting a grin. "We have Wi-Fi, don't we? We're not playing the Game of Life. Go to the App Store, we're playing Exploding Kittens."

It takes the better part of an hour before the kids finally deign to let them out. That time is enough for Levi to lose twelve times against her, and gain two paltry victories, much to his disbelief.

"How much time do you spend on this game, anyway?" Levi demands in a whisper, once the kids have been thoroughly lectured and sent straight off to bed. Petra's eye doesn't move from the kids; for all her talk, he's pretty sure she isn't going to get a wink of sleep tonight.

"I paid for the game, didn't I?" she whispers back. "I'm gonna get my money's worth, obviously."

"Cheapskate." She scoffs, rolling her eyes, and they fall into silence, watching the kids together in silence. In sleep, they seem almost peaceful, their little chests rising and falling in harmony.

He feels another swell of indignation as he recalls the look of guileless innocence on his cousin's face when they'd finally unlocked the door.

"Never again," he says, glaring at the deceptively angelic look on Mikasa's sleeping face. Brats, all of them.

Petra nods in silent agreement.

Notes:

hello, happy almost-midweek, guys! so we have about 2 more chapters before we wrap for strictly professional.

updates might come a bit slower from here; in all honesty, i'm feeling a lil uninspired and lowkey having a hard time mustering up the energy to write these days.

still - i hope you enjoyed this! do let me know what you think :)

Chapter 8

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The first time she'd liked someone, she'd been fourteen.

The boy in question was a kid from her class called Mike Zacharius. He'd volunteered to carry her books one week when she'd sprained her ankle, and she'd been a goner at once.

She'd confessed to him after school one day—the standard I like you, do you like me?—and he'd flashed her a confused-looking grin but agreed anyway, and they'd gone out for all of three weeks before she'd caught him kissing Nanaba Vasquez outside the girls' bathroom.

Of course, she isn't stupid enough to believe that whatever she feels for her irritating no-longer-particularly new colleague is anything more than a possibility, driven by interest and admiration and, okay, perhaps a little bit of attraction. They're adults, after all.

And therein lies the tragedy of love, Petra thinks wryly to herself, that no-one ever knows where to start. She sighs loudly, prodding despondently at her cup noodles as a headache begins to take form behind her eyes.

She's idly flicking through Netflix channels, wondering whether to indulge her apparently romance-starved brain with a sappy Korean drama or to go the opposite direction, when a knock comes at the door.

Brightening, Petra gets to her feet. Carla does occasionally come over to deliver (delicious) leftovers. She shoots a look of disdain at her abandoned cup noodles and opens the door, beaming in anticipation, and—

"Uh." Levi Ackerman shifts, looking distinctly awkward. With slowly dawning horror, Petra realises how she must look: her hair has been shoved up into an untidy ponytail, her face is bare, and she's wearing her standard pajama fare, a battered old college T-shirt, shorts, and no bra.

She resists the urge to cross her arms over her chest, and instead plasters a smile on her face. "What's up?" she says, as casually as she can manage. Please don't look at my chest. Please don't look at my chest.

"Carla asked me to invite you over," he says, his gaze fixed quite determinedly on the doorframe. His cheeks are a shade darker than usual, and they both pretend obliviousness. "For dinner. She's making her special lasagne, apparently, and the more the merrier." His words come out stilted and a bit robotic, which she would've found endearing if she wasn't busy being mortally embarrassed.

She manages a tiny nod, and he clears his throat. "I'll, uh, let you get changed, then."

Just before he turns to leave, his gaze flickers a few inches downward. Apparently, he had looked. Of course he had.

Petra slams the door shut and wonders briefly why nothing ever seems to go her way.

Between the lasagne and the kids, Petra has to thank the constant chaos of the Jaeger household for eventually dissipating the tension between her and her new cru—colleague.

Two hours later, the kids have been marched off to bed after getting into their third argument of the night, with Carla apologising profusely and promising to be out the second they're asleep. The last of the dinner has been packed away into the fridge, Petra's ears have finally stopped ringing (man, those kids have lungs), and she's now lounging contentedly on the sofa with a wine-glass in hand, listening as Levi rambles on about his thesis.

He's in a talkative mood, she notes. The thought of the usually-stoic man actually being willing to talk—and to her—makes her irrationally happy, and she has to fight a grin.

"So I wrote to Erwin, asking for his interpretation on the data. And then the bastard said—" He stops and frowns. "Are you listening?"

"I am," she reassures him. "This Erwin guy—you're close with him, huh?"

Levi pauses, looking contemplative. "We go a while back," he finally replies. His tone is guarded, but not unfriendly, and Petra feels brave enough to press a little.

"How did you meet?" He stiffens, and for a second, she thinks he isn't going to answer. But a few moments pass, and he does.

"He was my therapist." When she doesn't say anything, just continues looking at him in silent encouragement, some of the tension seeps from his shoulders. "I, uh, was a foster kid. Not the easiest one, either. Erwin was working pro-bono for Liberio—you know, social work—and he was assigned my case."

He takes a gulp of his wine, and it's clear he's said as much as he wants to. But Petra's not done.

"How old were you?" she asks, gently.

He hesitates. "Thirteen, when we met. Sorry," he adds, sounding genuinely apologetic, "I'm making this awkward. My life story isn't exactly entertaining."

Petra shrugs. "I like hearing about you."

"Why? I'm boring as fuck." He snorts.

"I don't agree."

Levi stares at her. She meets his gaze, lifting her chin slightly in challenge. The haze of the wine is just enough to make any embarrassment she should feel seem distant and far away, but her thoughts are clear—lucid, even.

"I think you're fascinating," she goes on. Something in the back of her mind nags at her to stop, but she ignores it, letting the words spill over. "The way you're awkward and rude and ill-mannered and still can get all the kids to adore you. How you make stupid jokes and swear and pretend to be an asshole, and somehow you're still the kindest person I've ever met." She swallows. "You're not boring. And I think...I think I might like you. A lot."

When she finally dares to look up, his expression is frozen. There's not a trace of warmth or affection or even gratification, not the tiniest hint that he might feel anything except utter shock.

Her heart drops in her chest like a stone.

Blindly, she sets the wine-glass down on the table. "Sorry. Forget what I said," she mumbles, grabbing her bag and clumsily getting to her feet. "I'd better get going. Tell Carla...I wasn't feeling well. Bye."

And even though every cell in her body screams in protest, she finds herself glancing back at him, just before the door swings shut. He hasn't moved from his seat, his knuckles bone-white against the glass. He doesn't turn to look at her, doesn't even move to say goodbye.

Stupid. Hot tears burn at the back of the eyelids, and Petra runs.

Notes:

sorry for the delay i was busy being distracted by literally everything on the planet

Chapter 9

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Six years ago

Dot Pixis, Levi thinks, is a fucking weirdo.

Supposedly a genius, to be sure, and one of the most popular lecturers in the school, even with his abudance of eccentricities. But as he surveys Levi with those intense grey eyes, all he can think about is how ridiculous this situation is.

Even barely a semester into the course, Levi already knows that he's pretty damn good at this. He's done the math, and he's projected for himself an almost-perfect GPA for the end of the year.

Almost, because of this single, stupid module. With this single, stupid professor. Intro to Psych.

Over the past few weeks, he's done nothing but ace quiz after quiz. And yet because of—of all things—a reflection paper, worth barely any credit at all, he's managed to get himself a private audience with the professor-in-charge. Who, at the moment, is looking at him with a look that seems to insinuate that Levi has done something terribly disappointing, like kicking a puppy, or worse.

It's fucked up, it really is.

"The problem, Mr. Ackerman," Prof. Pixis says, steepling his hands and shaking his head, "is that you depend too much on the data."

Levi tries to be polite. "I'm not sure what you mean, sir. How do you depend too much on the data?"

"Psychology is a social science, Mr. Ackerman," the professor reminds him. "The data doesn't reveal everything. It accounts for behavioural trends and patterns, for sure. Small things. But ultimately, the most predictable thing about humans is how unfailingly unpredictable they really are, when it comes to the big things."

He smiles encouragingly, like it's supposed to be some big revelation. Unfortunately, if it is, Levi doesn't get it.

Prof. Pixis sighs. "Just something to keep in mind, Mr. Ackerman. You understand data, that's perfectly clear. But psychology means understanding people, as well. As long as we're clear on that...you may go."

What a load of horse shit, Levi thinks to himself irritably as he stalks out of the room, and makes a mental note to mark the module as pass/fail.

Cut to the present, and Levi reckons that perhaps that senile old bastard had somewhat of a point.

He's not a people person, he'd be the first to admit that. But what he lacks in social ability, he makes up for in other things: observing behavioural patterns, tracking changes and recording data, deriving meaning.

Levi is good at understanding people. Just not necessarily at responding to them.

Another truth: Petra's feelings don't come as a surprise. She's an open book, after all; the way she leans forward whenever she talks to him, or how her pupils dilate with interest even when he's going off about the most stupid things.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel something, too—a clenching in his gut whenever she smiles; an odd sense of warmth, of comfort. She's pretty and nice and kind, but she's more than just that.

Petra feels like home, to him.

But while he'd suspected Petra had feelings for him—and that he might have feelings for her, too—he'd never imagined that she'd actually tell him.

Breathe. Move. One by one, he prises his own fingers away from the stem of the glass before his grip can cause any damage. Ignoring the dull ache that twists in his chest, he forces himself to get up.

For the second time that night, he finds himself knocking on Petra Ral's door.

It takes a while before she appears. She looks disturbingly calm, and when she speaks, her voice comes out almost like normal. She could've been greeting him at the daycare pantry. The only evidence of what'd transpired between them are her red-rimmed eyes.

"Yeah?" she goes, managing a careless smile. Levi doesn't smile back.

"Can I come in?" he asks. She shrugs, okay, even though it's clear in her body language that she doesn't want him to.

Her flat is neat and clean and cheerful, with seemingly random splashes of colour—a bright yellow rug on the floor, an assortment of patterned mugs on the shelf. It'd be obnoxious if it wasn't so perfectly Petra.

Levi wonders when he'd started thinking of her name as an adjective.

He turns, to see the person in question leaning against the wall. Her arms folded over her chest, in a show of casualness, but Levi knows better. The lines of her body are tense. She's guarded. Defensive.

Against him. The thought is almost physically painful.

"I'm sorry." He exhales. "It's not...personal, or anything. It's just—"

"You don't feel the same." Her voice is flat. "That's fine. Thanks for telling me, at least."

"You don't get it," he snaps, temper flaring. "It's nothing to do with what I feel or don't feel."

"Isn't it?" Her words are like bullets, rapid and cold and brutal, giving him no chance to hesitate. There is no softness in her now, not even frustration or impatience; her hurt is raw, with sharp edges, like broken glass. "I think it kind of is, you know? But I don't blame you. It's just—" She sighs. "I'm not in a good frame of mind now, and I'm going to end up being a real bitch if we keep at it. Can we talk tomorrow, please? I promise I'll be graceful about it."

Her lips quirk sardonically, without humour. It's almost unbearable to watch.

"You don't know what you want," he blurts out, before he can stop himself.

Instantly, he knows he's said the wrong thing, as Petra's eyes narrow to slits. "I don't know what I want?" she repeats icily. "And you'd know better than me, then?"

"I mean." He sighs. "Fuck. This isn't coming out right. I'm not right for you, Petra. You can do better."

She's pissed, now. "Whatever," she says, her words dripping with derision. "Since you've already decided what's best for me, I guess you don't need my input. Now, if you're done telling me what to do with my own feelings." Her lip curls, and she jerks her head towards the door. "Get the hell out."

"Listen to me." There's a note of desperation in his voice now, raw enough that he'd ordinarily feel embarrassed about it. But it works, and she stills, although her glare doesn't subside. Levi hesitates.

To hell with it. "I was telling you just now. About my being a difficult kid."

She cants her head to the side, still cold, but there's a new curiosity in her honey-coloured irises. "Yeah?"

Despite the cheeriness of the room, the atmosphere is heavy, foreboding. The words stick in his throat.

He forces them out.

"When I say I'm not right for you, it's not me making shitty excuses, I swear." He takes a deep breath and swallows. "I—I lived in the slums, when I was a kid. My mother...she worked in a brothel."

Petra's eyes widen. It's a small movement, almost imperceptible, but it's enough to encourage him to go on.

"She died when I was nine," he tells her. Even after so many years, the memory of the way she'd looked in death—pale and gaunt and horribly motionless—still aches like an old injury. "Uh. AIDS, probably. We didn't have enough money to get it checked out real good."

He continues, "After that, I got sent to live with my uncle for a while. Kenny. He was a bastard, a smart bastard, but still. He taught me to fight, and when I turned out to be pretty good, he pushed me into competing. Not the fancy kind, with medals and shit, mind," he adds, drily. "The kind on the streets. For money. You know. We needed to eat."

"I'm sorry," Petra says, her voice soft with sincerity. It tugs at his heart, makes his throat close up and feel dry and tight.

"Not your fault," he says instead. "Anyway, I hated it. So one day, I let a kid win." A sardonic smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "I let him beat me up till I was half dead—thought I'd finally be forced to retire. Kenny did better than that. He had just enough familial affection left in him to dump me in the hospital instead of leaving me to die on the streets. Never saw him again."

Petra lets out a low hiss of indignation.

"Yeah, well." Levi shrugs. "Turns out for it was for the better. I got chucked into foster care—took a while for me to get the fighting out of my blood. I moved around a lot, ran away a lot. Stole stuff, beat people up, basically did my best to be a whole-ass public nuisance. Until I met Erwin when I was thirteen."

He still remembers how he'd much he'd hated the man when he'd first met him—tall and blonde and well-dressed, with that too-intelligent gaze that made him constantly feel like he was being psychoanalysed. With his starched collar and neatly cropped hair, he'd detested Erwin Smith on first sight, with an intensity strong enough to choke on.

And yet.

"He put me through school, and therapy, and wouldn't quit no matter how much I raged against him," Levi tells her, mouth twisting at the memory. "Eventually, he fixed me up well enough to persuade me into being a functioning member of society."

He laughs bitterly. "You said your parents look down on you for being a teacher. What would they think if you started dating someone like me? I'm broken, Petra. Deadweight. You can do better."

His voice cracks on the last word.

They're silent for a long time. Finally, Petra says, "Levi."

He looks at her. Her eyes are hard and bright, amber stones set into the porcelain of her face.

"You're not broken and you're not deadweight," she tells him. She says it with so much confidence it grates on him. It's almost as if she's reciting a fact from a textbook.

"You don't know that—"

"Yeah, I do," she cuts in. "Sure, you're a little bit of an ass—"

"Thanks."

"But there's nothing wrong with you," she snaps. "You're a good guy, Levi. I see it, the kids see it. Mikasa sees it."

"But—"

"Be honest," she says. "Are you scared?"

The question is like a slap to his face.

The truth is, Levi's okay being alone. He's used to it; he likes it. People are deadweight, he knows this. They'll only drag him down, and he's breathed in enough shit back in the slums and tasted enough freedom to know that he's never going back down again, not ever.

When he'd entered graduate school, he'd done so with a fierce determination: no distractions, no excuses. Relationships were strictly off the table, and even Mikasa he'd kept at arm's length, reserving visits for the weekends, looking the other way when she cried.

But Levi also knows, deep down, that it's all bullshit. He's come far enough. He's shown that he's good enough to survive in this shitty world. He's not thirteen anymore; there is nobody on the planet who can drag him back down.

And yet—and yet—he also remembers how he'd felt the day he saw his mother die. He remembers how he'd woken in the hospital to flashing lights and a nurse telling him gently, sympathetically, I'm sorry. Your uncle left.

People are deadweight.

"I don't know," he ends up saying, even though he does know, he just wishes he didn't. "Maybe."

Petra smiles, very slightly, and even that tiny curve of her lips makes his heart stutter.

"I think you are. That's okay. It's okay to be scared." She pauses, hesitates. "But...it'd be nice if we could remain friends."

Friends. The word wrenches in his chest, making him feel slightly sick. He doesn't know what he wants from her, exactly, but he's pretty fucking sure it's not friendship.

Still, looking at the hopeful look on her face, he manages a nod. Her face lights up for the first time that night, and the sick feeling partially subsides, draining away into a kind of bittersweet hollowness.

"Friends," he agrees.

Their renewed friendship starts out careful and tentative, like they're both walking on thin ice.

Petra's confession and his own unspoken feelings hang heavy in the air, making even the barest of interactions seem forced and awkward. It gets to the point where the kids start to notice—including, most insultingly of all, Eren.

It happens one day, during free play time. As usual, they awkwardly avoid each other, carefully keeping to separate sides of the classroom. The whole situation leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Only half paying attention, he watches as Sasha builds what appears to be a gigantic croissant—he doesn't want to know—out of legos. That's when the kid wanders up to him.

"You and Ms. Ral are acting weird," the kid comments, his eyes trained on Sasha'a mega-sized croissant. Levi promptly starts and glares at the kid.

"We're fine," he says shortly. And then, after a second's hesitation, adds: "What do you mean?"

The boy's brow knits thoughtfully. "It's like...manners."

One day he'll understand this kid. "Go on," Levi says, in as nice a tone as he can manage.

"Like, my mum always me to mind my manners," Eren explains. "Please, thank you, and a bunch of other rules. But it's hard to remember them, so I need to be really careful whenever I talk. When you and Ms. Petra talk...it's like you're doing that, trying to remember how to mind your manners." He beams, apparently pleased with his explanation.

Levi opens his mouth to say something—he's not sure what—but is saved the trouble of having to reply when Sasha attempts to takes a bite out of her lego-croissant and promptly knocks out a shaky front tooth.

Still. The brat's shockingly accurate analysis stays in his mind for weeks after, even as they draw closer to the end of the semester. And when he meets Erwin for their review, the first thing the man says is, "Oh, I see it didn't go well."

"Got the ability to read minds now, do you." Moodily, he pushes the menu across the table. "Want any food? I already ordered your drink."

Of course, Erwin ignores it. "What happened?" he goes, picking up the paper without waiting for permission and flicking through it, with roughly the same amount of ease you'd afford a waiting-room magazine at the dentist.

Levi glowers. "Nothing happened," he snaps, spearing a piece of fish with more force than strictly necessary. "Just tell me how the paper is already."

"It's fine. Although I notice that Ms. Ral is turning up a lot less frequently in your observations." The professor surveys him, with an annoyingly knowing look that makes him want to punch him in the teeth. "Why is that?"

"No reason," Levi grumbles. After a moment's silence, he adds, grudgingly, "we had...a confrontation. I told her about, well, me."

Erwin doesn't immediately respond. "Everything?"

"Everything," he affirms, with an irritated exhale. When the professor stays silent, he finally looks up. "Oi. What are you thinking, now? Stop thinking, for fuck's sake, it never ends in my favour."

"I'm thinking," Erwin says, carefully, "that this girl means a lot to you."

"She's okay."

"Levi, you've never told anyone about yourself." The professor straightens in his seat, looking uncharacteristically serious. "Not even me, I got most of the story from a file, because you refused to talk. And now you're telling me you told her everything? Voluntarily?"

Levi shifts uncomfortably. "I didn't enjoy it, or anything. It was awkward as fuck."

"You're not telling me everything, are you," Erwin goes. At Levi's look, he raises his arms. "I'm not asking you to. Not your therapist anymore, remember? I'm just saying—it seems that Ms. Ral is important to you, Levi. And as someone who's known you for a long time...I hope that whatever you do, you don't regret it."

No regrets. Erwin had told him the same thing, when they'd first met. It'd shifted his entire mindset, back then.

He glares at the older man. "I hate when you make sense."

Erwin just shrugs and sips at his tea.

Notes:

okay so this is kind of a mess i'm very sorry. but anyway. one more chapter left! whoop whoop

Chapter 10

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The elephant in the room, Petra has always thought, is a stupid-ass phrase.

She's seen elephants at the zoo. They're cute, with their floppy ears and playful antics. They don't stumble over their words and snap intermittently at nothing. They certainly don't skulk around the room, constantly switching between dark scowls and long, wistful stares.

An elephant in the room is not what she'd use to describe this...this situationship she has with Levi Ackerman. If she had to use an analogy, it's more like being in one of those obnoxiously complicated Egyptian tombs, crammed so full of booby traps that you end up in a series of awkward, uncomfortable, and wholly ugraceful positions, all in an attempt not to blow yourself to bits.

And now you're comparing your situationship to a death trap, she thinks gloomily to herself. That can't bode well. Notwithstanding the fact that you're using the word 'situationship'. Honestly.

She glances across the room, just in time for Levi to quickly snap his gaze away like a startled cat and resume his mopping with an almost fevered intensity, and internally sighs.

That frustrating enigma of a man. He'd accepted her offer to be friends readily enough, after skating over talking about his feelings—but even though he avoids her ninety per cent of the time, every now and then, when their eyes meet, she thinks she sees something—a spark. She doesn't know if he likes her, necessarily, but at the very least, he's not entirely indifferent. It certainly doesn't seem friendly.

She thinks.

Against her will, a frustrated exhale escapes through her teeth in a hiss.

Levi casts her a wary look. "You all right?" he goes, carefully. She shrugs, not bothering to conceal her irritation, and waits for him to do what he usually does: avert his gaze, fumblingly change the subject, and escape.

Except he doesn't. Well, he does avert his gaze, but instead of beelining for the opposite direction, he takes a tentative step towards her. Petra tries not to look too shocked. She probably fails.

"Listen," he says haltingly, leaning on his mop, "uh. It's...my last week here. I was wondering if we could debrief for a bit."

"Sure," she replies, without much enthusiasm. She glances at Eren and Mikasa, who are yammering away without sparing them a second glance. "Now's a good time as ever, I guess. The cleaning's pretty much done, and I don't have plans. So."

"So," Levi echoes. "Uh."

He looks tragically lost, and Petra decides to take pity on him. She settles down in a freshly-sanitised beanbag, and gestures for him to do the same. He does.

"Maybe you can start by telling me what you got out of this attachment," she says.

"Well, I finished my paper," he says, somewhat half-heartedly. "I can send it to you later, once I've triple-checked the data points."

"Sure," she says, humouring him. "But I remember the point of this attachment being to sort of get you some experience working with actual humans, right? So." She offers him a small, ironic smile. "How was it?"

He reciprocates with the tiniest of smirks, and of course it makes her stupid heart start racing immediately. "Better than I'd expected." He hesitates, expression melting rapidly into one of patent discomfort, and adds, "I'm thinking of...doing this for real. You know, early childhood curriculum. Once I'm done with grad school."

"Really?" she asks, genuinely surprised. "That's amazing!"

Levi ducks his head slightly. "Just a thought. Turns out, I don't hate kids all that much after all. They're a lot easier to deal with than grown-ups." His eyes widen at the realisation of what he'd said. "Not that, uh..."

"No offense taken," Petra says as lightly as she can manage, her eyes already darting towards the exit. "Well, if that's—"

"What about you?" The question is unexpected, and she starts a little. His gaze doesn't waver, this time. "What're you going to do?"

Petra shifts, discomfitted. "I...hadn't really thought about it. But. At least in the near future, I'm going to stay here. Keep helping out at Lenz." The corner of her lips lift in a half-smile. "My parents would call me unambitious and lazy, but, well."

"You're not, though." His tone is matter-of-fact. She stares at him. "You like what you do, you're good at it, and you want to keep doing it. So what if you're not some high-flying career woman? Nothing wrong with being happy where you are."

Petra grins at him. "Not much of a feminist, are you," she teases, and he rolls his eyes at her. For a moment, it feels almost like how it was before. With the shared lightness, the gentle banter, the quiet, electric thrum of attraction.

Attraction? She shakes her head and in an instant, the moment is gone.

Hastily, she draws herself to her feet. "We'd better get the kids home," she tells him.

Is it just her, or is there a hint of disappointment in his eyes? "Yeah," he says, and turns away so she can't see. "Good idea."

The week passes uneventfully, and before she knows it, it's his last day. As the day draws to a close, she feels an impending sense of dread, and her crushed romantic dreams barely make up half of it.

She glances at him at the corner of her eye, and she catches his genuinely sombre look. Something tugs in her heart, almost painfully.

Well. Maybe half, after all. Or a little more. No matter.

"Guys," she says, in as cheerful, carefree tones as possible, "I have an announcement. Today is Levi's last day. He'll be going back to school."

A beat, as the class tries to register the announcement.

"Aniki?" Mikasa goes, whirling around, expression thick with betrayal. "You're leaving?"

"I'm not leaving you," he reassures her quickly, and she wilts slightly in relief. "Just, uh, everyone else. The school."

"But that's not fair!" Sasha wails, and the rest of the class grumble assent. "Why does Mikasa get to be special?"

The girl in question puffs up slightly. "Cos I'm his cousin," she informs Sasha haughtily, which triggers another set of wails.

"I'll visit," Levi volunteers. They all turn to stare at him questioningly, and for a second, he wavers, as if taken aback by his own declaration. Then he shrugs, like, why the hell not. "Yeah. If your principal will let me, I will."

He catches her eye, and she nods encouragingly. He clears his throat.

"I just wanted to say...I really did have fun with you brats." He doesn't bother censoring himself, and Petra can't bring it in herself to correct him. "Uh. It's been only a couple of months, but I'll wouldn't be able to forget about any of you, even if I wanted to."

That gets a small titter, and then—he smiles. A full one, and it's not even a smirk or anything, and Petra thinks that maybe her heart stops for the briefest of seconds.

"I'm really bad at speeches," Levi admits, "so I'm not going to try and give a really grand goodbye one, because I'd just embarrass myself. So. Be good, don't make fun of each other, do your homework, and for shit's sake be nice to your teacher." He clears his throat again. "Uh. The end. See you around, I guess."

There's a round of tearful hugs from the kids, punctuated every now and then by Levi's repeated promises to visit, and one by one, the kids disappear. Finally, it's just the two of them left.

Their eyes meet, a thousand unspoken words passing between them. Just as the emotion gets so thick that Petra thinks she might choke on it, she hears a tiny cough from the doorway.

It's Carla, looking on with a slightly raised eyebrow, and Petra feels a blush rise to her cheeks. "Since it's your last day, I thought I'd resume pick-up duty," she tells Levi, who noticeably deflates. "Let you tie up any loose ends, admin, all that. We could get going now, unless the two of you...had more things to talk about?"

Levi looks on at her, questioning. Almost hopeful. But he doesn't say a word.

A tiny spark of uncharacteristic viciousness tears through her, and she rips her gaze away.

"Nope," she says, avoiding his eyes. She won't look at him, doesn't want to. "We're good."

Petra's dreaming.

She doesn't dream, usually, her nights usually a blessedly peaceful void. But tonight, for whatever reason, she's dreaming of someone knocking insistently on her door. With hazy irritation, she wills the dream-person to go away, already.

When the knocking doesn't stop, she finds herself dragged unwillingly into a state of sleepy, annoyed half-consciousness. She runs a hand through her hair and squints at the clock, kicking off the covers. It's 2AM—in other words, far too late for any reasonable person to be awake and knocking on her damn door.

Swelling in self-righteous indignation, Petra marches to the door, already preparing a speech in her head—something about unholy hours and lack of civil awareness. She throws the door open smartly, about to launch straight into her devastating spiel, when she belatedly registers who the person at the door is.

It's Levi. Her first instinct is to freak out—is Mikasa all right? But then she notices that his expression is all grim determination, without a trace of panic, and decides that this can't possibly be an emergency.

To add insult to injury, he's dressed in a crisp shirt and jeans, looking quite as alert as though it was the middle of the day. Maybe more so.

In contrast—and it takes her a few more seconds to realise this, with a kind of horrified déjà vu—she's in her pajamas, with stale middle-of-the-night breath, a line of drool marching down her cheek, and hair that, from experience, is probably attempting its best cosplay of a rat's nest. Plus, of course, no bra.

"What the fuck," she goes.

"Can I come in?" Levi responds, without missing a beat. She rubs her eyes, too disoriented to object, and he apparently takes that as a yes, sure, come on in. He steps across the threshold.

It takes a few more moments for her properly wake up. In the harsh light of her living room, Levi's not nearly as put together as he'd seemed at first—there's the unmistakeable scent of coffee on his breath, even though he'd insisted before that he's strictly a tea person—his shirt is faintly rumpled—and his face is drawn and pale. Even his ordinarily tidy hair seems a little messier than usual, like he'd been running his hands through it all might.

Petra fights a yawn and surveys him with a kind of bleary wariness. "So," she finally says, after she'd settled him down on the sofa with a mug of tea, "what's so urgent that you had to come over at 2 in the morning?"

"Us," he says definitively. She blinks at him.

"Come again?"

"I've been thinking," he begins, carefully, "about us. The way we interact, and what you said that day about being scared, and—"

"Hold up." Petra's head spins. "It's 2AM. My brain can only process so much information. Cut down the words, and get to the point already."

His mouth quirks. "You're cranky when you're tired, Petra." He lifts a hand, and the motion is tentative, unsure, and when his thumb grazes her cheekbone she almost recoils—she hadn't noticed how close he'd been. But she doesn't, stays absolutely still, her eyes fixed on his, an unspoken electricity passing between them.

His hand settles onto the curve of her cheek. Gentle but firm. She doesn't move, resisting the urge to lean into his touch. Waiting. "Petra, I think—" he begins, and hesitates. "I think—"

His words taper off, and he exhales a shuddering breath. "This is fucking hard," he confesses, with a broken-sounding laugh. "I had it planned in my head—but—"

"Levi," she says slowly, clearly. "Listen to me. I think I know where you're going with this. So I'm going to do something, and if I'm wrong then, well, whatever. But I don't think I am."

He looks her straight in the eye. "Don't think you are, either."

She's not sure exactly if it's him who ends up making the first move. But all of a sudden his mouth is on hers, and at first it's gentle, questioning, earnest. Almost like a sigh of relief after weeks of bated breath, and it's sweet and perfect and deliriously, she thinks that she might actually be in love with this ridiculous man.

But then somewhere along the line, the headiness fades and impatience gets the better of her, and she twines her fingers into his hair and tugs, and then there's a low growl sounding in the back of his throat and he pulls her into him and his fingertips dig into her hips, hard enough to bruise, but somehow she can't bring herself to care.

When they finally pull apart, both breathless and gasping for air, he looks at her and he doesn't say a word but his eyes are so very soft. And all Petra can think is that analogies are stupid and clichéd but if her analogy is accurate at all, then well—everyone knows that every trap guards a treasure.

And maybe she's found the best one of all.

Predictably, Mikasa is the first to find out.

They're at his place, enjoying a brief moment of quiet together in the kitchen while the kids are having their afternoon nap.

Well. Supposedly.

"Are you holding hands?" a voice demands loudly, and Petra yelps in surprise as the eight-year-old glares at them accusingly from behind the counter, very much awake.

Petra whips her hand away quickly. "None of your business," Levi retorts, as unhelpfully as she could've predicted. She glares at him.

Mikasa looks madder than she's ever seen her. "Are you getting married?" she almost shrieks. "You can't! Ms. Petra, you can't leave!"

"Hold up," Levi demands. "You're worried about Ms. Petra leaving? Not me?"

"Yeah, Mika," Eren chirps, making Petra jump—when had he woken up, too? "What about Levi-ani?"

"That is so not the point," Petra barks, and turns to the mildly traumatised little girl. "Mikasa, honey, I'm not going anywhere. But even if I did get married, I wouldn't leave Lenz, or you. Okay?"

The girl glares mistrustfully at her cousin. "Okay."

It takes a while more to shoo the kids off to the TV, but once they're alone again, Levi turns to her with a perfectly impassive look, the illusion marred by just the barest quirk of his mouth. "So. I'm not sure about marriage, but how about a date? After all, since you just pledged your undying loyalty to my baby cousin, I'll probably be seeing you around quite a lot."

Petra rolls her eyes good-naturedly, intertwining her fingers again with his. Their hands fit together perfectly. "I guess you will."