People who don't find their soulmate by a certain age will eventually wither like flowers, not being able to live a life without the second half of their soul.
âYour soul can only last so long without itâs second half.â
Rain poured in heavy sheets, each drop soaking through your layers of clothing without an ounce of resistance. Your footsteps splashed through shallow puddles, your mind not registering the cold water that started to well in the soles of your shoes. Your hair, which at some point earlier in the evening was once neat, now stuck to your face and neck. Droplets slid down your forehead tracing paths along your skin before vanishing into the drenched fabric of your collar. Your tears did the same thingâ but there was a clear difference. The rain was ice cold, unforgiving and cruel yet your tears were disgustingly warm.
But itâs okay. Itâs not like anyoneâs around to see you cry.
The doctors office was a long way away; when you looked over your shoulder you were only just about able to make out its gloomy figure. His words ran around your mind, getting louder with each step you took.
âYour soul can only last so long without itâs second half.â
Fuck that. You didnât need some shitty second half to survive. Youâve done just fine on your own for the past 20 years, you can last another 60 till your time comes.
But that seemed to contradict with the fact that you were starting to wither. For the longest time, youâd tried to ignore the rustiness of your joints, the subtle yet constant throbbing in your skull, and the fact youâd been losing kilos without even trying.
Your time was approaching must faster that it should have been.
It was fucking horrifying.
Your tears were salty on your lips, and you rubbed at your eyes harshly, a futile attempt at drying them. But then, youâd spotted something further down the road. A shop with its lights still on. Just one light inside. Maybe if you get there, you can sit down and rest your knees for a bit.
That had seemed to motivate you, your feet moving faster than before as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to conserve your body heat. You finally reach the shop, and upon further inspection you realise itâs a cafe of some sort. You canât see anyone inside, but you lean on the door slightly and it opens, so you push it open and step inside.
Instantly youâre hit with the smell of tea, different aromas wafting through the air. Your nose wrinkles slightly at the onslaught of scents, and you stagger towards the nearest table you see. Slumping into the chair, you gulp in air as if youâd been drowning just moments ago. Your clothes still clung uncomfortably to your skin, and you made an attempt to brush away the hairs that were plastered to your forehead and clouded your vision.
âCanât you read the fucking sign? Weâre closedââ
That harsh voice youâd just heard from the back of the shop suddenly trailed off, and you lifted your head to see the owner of it.
You immediately tense up the second you spot him. Cold grey eyes that look as if theyâre scrutinising and judging you, peeling away every layer of your skin until youâre nothing but a mess before him. Sharp, angular features with a hidden femininity lingering behind them, and a glare that could kill.
His nose wrinkles in distaste as his eyes followed the path youâd walked to the table, frowning at every bit of mud and rainwater youâd tracked into the shop.
âFor fuckâs sake.â You hear him mutter, and he skulks off into the door at the back of the shop, a staff room of some sort.
Humiliation swims through you, your body burning hot despite the chill that clings to your skin. Not only had you stumbled into a shop and dragged your filth into it, youâd pissed of an extremely attractive man whilst youâd done it.
The staff room door opens, and said man walks out, carrying a myriad of cleaning supplies for the mess youâd created. You avoided making eye contact with him, and you felt cheeks flush with shame as he started to scrub the floor.
Under any other circumstances. you wouldâve gotten up to help him. You really would have. But it felt like your knees had turned to stone, stuck in this position, rendering you unable to stand. When he finally rose from the floor, he turned to look at you, catching your eye.
No matter how desperately you wanted to avoid eye contact, you couldnât look away. His eyes were so fucking grey, but it seemed as if they were alive, shifting between hues of silver, steel, and even a deep blue.
They had a soft, smoky intensity, like weathered glass hiding secrets behind its pale sheen. They seemed ancient and wise, yet distant, as if theyâd seen too much and learned to keep their truths well guarded.
âThereâs a hairdryer.â
That snapped you out of your trance.
âWhat?â
âTheres a hairdryer in the staff bathroom. You look like you need it.â He said, unable to hide the way his eyes lingered on the droplets of rainwater falling from the tips of your hair, clearly displeased.
âOh⊠okay.â
He raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting you to stand up and head to the bathroom, but you stay planted in your seat, unable to explain the fact that your knees are fucking killing you.
âIâŠ. think I need a moment, please.â You mumble, your voice small and pathetic.
âNo. Youâre going there now.â
Huh?
âI donât need you fucking flooding the whole shop with rainwater. Go to the staff bathroom and use the hairdryer. You look likeââ
âIm sorry. Iâll go now. Could i just have some space?â
He scoffs, clearly unimpressed, and walks back into the staff room to give you your âspaceâ.
Gripping onto the edge of the table, you force your knees to straighten as you stand, your fingertips paling as the blood leaves them due to your intense grip.
You stumble towards the bathroom, trying to walk in a straight line and not collide into any tables at the same time you try not leave any more mud from your shoes anywhere.
Luckily, the bathroom isnât to far away, and you near it within the minute. You lean against the wall by the door, your chest heaving as you catch your breath.
This is bad. Your health had been deteriorating for over a year now, but you didnât know it got this bad this fast. Because your soul hadnât met its second half yet.
Because of some fucking stupid soulmate system, or whatever you call it.
âYour soul can only last so long without itâs second half.â
Your doctor had said that to you today. Heâd also prescribed you pills that were currently shoved deep in the pocket of your jeans, and told you to take one every day.
Suppressants.
Some sort of medical miracle provided to people who hadnât yet found their soulmate. It purely suppresses the âsignsâ that you body gives you when itâs trying to tell you that it needs the second half of its soul. The headaches, the weight loss, loss of mobility, the whole fucking thing.
It was only prescribed to those who were nearing their end. Such as you.
The suppressants donât necessarily lengthen the time you have left until your body succumbs. They might do so by a few months, but that isnât their main purpose. It simplyâŠ. makes the process of slowly dying more bearable. And less noticeable to others. Everyone has a certain age that they have to meet their soulmate by. You donât know what age it is until the symptoms get bad enough. At that point, itâs probably already been a year since youâd reached your soulmate age.
Some people get lucky, and get an age like 60. Plenty of time to meet your soulmate before your body succumbs. Others arenât so lucky. The lowest recorded soulmate age ever is 16. Your number wasnât so far off. Youâd started your slow deteriation at 18. You hadnât noticed until you were 19, and youâre turning 22 this year. Youâd been deteriorating for about 4 years now. Some peoples bodies deteriorate much faster. They only last a year before they die. Others last for around 10 years before they die. But the thing is, if your soulmate dies before you meet them, youâre destined for death too.
A sigh escapes your lips as you push open the bathroom door, putting the depressing thought away. Thereâs no way that your soulmate is dead. You wouldnât be that unlucky. You grab the hairdryer and turn it on, hoping the sound of it will drown out your thoughts. You peel your shirt off your body, cringing at the way the cotton sticks to your skin.
You alternate between drying your hair and your shirt. In those moments of silence, your mind slowly starts to overwork itself with thoughts that arenât helping anyone or anything.
What if your soulmate truly is dead? Where does that leave you? Are you really just meant to suffer in silence until you succumb?
Surely the only answer would be to end your suffering yourself?
You think of yourself as someone with pretty strong mental health. But, if it were to get to that point?
Youâd do it without a heartbeat.
The sudden knock at the door lands like a punch to your gut.
âWait!â you rush out, your eyes darting around the bathroom for anything to cover yourself with that wasnât your soaked shirt plastered to the sink.
Your eyes land on a towel and you wrap it around your shoulders, before wrapping it around your front to to cover yourself.
Your hand, still shaky from the cold outside, cracks the door open large enough for your head to fit through.
Your eyes meet with a pair of unamused grey ones, and the man they belong to clicks his tongue in annoyance at your still-wet state, albeit slightly drier.
âHow much longer is this going to take? I need to close up in five minutes.â
You feel uncomfortable. Not because heâs making you feel so, but because you canât tell what heâs thinking. His voice is so void of any particular emotion, to the point where you canât tell if heâs annoyed with the fact that youâre still here, or if he doesnât mind at all.
Youâll just have to go with the safer option.
ââŠ.Iâll be finished in a minute. Thank you.â
You close the door quickly and drop the towel, grabbing your shirt from the counter and pulling it back on.
Itâs still wet. Unbearably so. You hold back a groan, not wanting the man outside to hear you as you wipe down the surfaces you used and put the hairdryer back.
You noticed to way he reacted to the mud you brought in earlier, so you look around and make sure than everything is in pristine condition, just how you met it.
The next time you open the door, heâs not longer stood right outside, but instead leaning against the wall opposite the door.
âIâm finished. Thank you so much for letting me use the hairdryer.â
He lets out a quiet grunt, barely acknowledging your apology as he grabs his jacket and bag.
You follow behind him as he walks to the door, turning off lights and switches, before he pauses abruptly and turns round to face you.
âYou have a ride?â He says, as you compose yourself underneath his harsh gaze.
âUmâŠ. yeah. There was service in here, so i was able to call myself an uber.â
He doesnât say anything more as he sighs and leans against the wall just by the entrance of the shop.
You shoot him a confused glance, unsure as to why he hasnât left yet.
âItâs not like I can lock up the shop if youâre still in here.â He mumbles, his gaze focused on the heavy rain outside rather than you.
âRight.â
A beat passes.
âIâm sorry. For⊠this whole situation.â
Another beat.
It seemed the man was set on making this moment as awkward as possible. You allowed your gaze to drift over him whilst his mind was focused elsewhere. Although he was shorter than most men, that couldnât take away from the fact that he looked like something akin to a dream.
Your blood turns to ice when his eyes flicker over to you, every muscle in your body tensing as his gaze takes over you.
You donât miss the way his lip curls in distaste as he notices your still damp shirt, but he chooses to say nothing about the matter.
A sigh leaving his lips, he kicked off the wall and starts walking towards the door.
Heâs leaving? Why? You must be the reason for his sudden departure. Of course. Just him looking at you must have pissed him off. What have you done? Ticked off the only person who seemed to show an ounce of kindness to you in the past month. You ruined it, just like you always doâ
âWhy are you just stood there? Fucking snap out of it. Thatâs your ride.â
Oh.
You quickly follow behind him as he turns off the last light in the shop, walking out the front door.
The wind nips at your skin as you step out of the shop, and you watch as he fishes out his keys to lock up. He doesnât seem to be affected by the cold.
âUmâŠ. thank you again.â You say as he turns to face you.
Silence.
âIs there any way I could pay you back, maybe?â
âNo.â He snaps.
âAre you sure? I could pay for theââ
âI donât want anything from you. Go home.â
You blink, pushing down the annoyance you feel from his harsh words. Is he implying you have nothing of worth for him? What a bastard.
âIf you pass out in front of my shop, iâm not helping you.â
Pass out? Do you look like youâre about to pass out? Now that me mentions it, you do feel a little lightheadedâŠ..
âDo⊠do you have a ride?â You ask, feeling slightly guilty for wasting his time and keeping him out so late.
âI have a car.â
Right. Of course he does.
Your cab driver honks his horn loudly, clearly impatient with how long youâre taking.
âThank you again. Iâmâ iâm going to go now. Thank you. Bye.â You rush out, not bothering to wait for a response that you know wonât come.
Turning your back on him, you quickly walk over to the cab and open the door. You donât realise how fatigued you are until you finally sit down in the car.
The cab driver shoots you a withering glare which you quickly look away from, staring down at your hands in your lap and choosing to watch how your blood slowly returns to your fingertips.
You want to look out the window. See if heâs still there. You know you shouldnât, but you really want to. Youâre a curious person at heart. Fuck it.
Quickly raising your head, you look out just to see him looking right back at you. He doesnât look away. Neither do you.
You should probably do something. To make this less⊠awkward.
Slowly, you raise your hand and wave.
No response.
As expected.
You sigh quietly, and turn away from the window, resting your back on the seat as the final wave of fatigue washes over you, pulling your eyelids closed and deepening your breaths.
However, if youâd looked for just a bit longer, you wouldâve seen the way his expression softened slightly; moving from an extremely pissed one to only a slightly sour expression.
The pills in your pocket feel heavy, but you push the thought of them away for the nth time that day, and allow sleep to claim your exhausted body.
You wake up in the late hours of the morning, the sun already high and bright, caressing your skin and bathing the almost clinical room with a warm glow. The house is alive with people setting up, making last minute trips to make sure everything is ready before guests start arriving. The clutter of pans and pots and the soft chatter can be heard from the room youâre in. No one even thought to wake you up. You donât know whether to feel thankful, or like a waste of space. Guess both can exist at the same time.
Rubbing your eyes, you sit up and stretch your limbs, feeling refreshed for the first time in a while. You groan quietly at the stretch, your mind clear. Despite your sleep being interrupted, and not having any of your suppressants, you feel lighter.
Leviâs room isâŠ. bare, to say the least. Simple and rectangular, the double bed you currently lay in is placed in the middle against the wall, with a small nightstand on each side. A clean cigarette tray lays on one of them, and an old lamp on the other. Your curiosity tells you to snoop through one of the drawers, just for a glimpse into the mind of that cryptic man. But your respect for Leviâs privacy outweighs it and you control yourself. Neutral colours make up most of the palette, mahogany wood and the lingering scent of tobacco and ash thatâs impossible to get out no matter how hard you scrub the walls. The lack of decorations aside from the few odd paintings makes the already sizeable room feel vast, and your eyes catch on a bookcase pushed into the corner. The only piece of furniture that has some kind of personality, it seems.
You didnât take him for the kind of guy to read. Not to be stereotypical, but you couldnât exactly picture such a stoic guy like him curled up in a corner, reading glasses on and his nose buried in a book. It didnât really suit him. But that only fueled your fascination with the books. Eyes lighting up with newfound interest, you push off the covers, your socked feet padding softly against the floorboards as you make your way over to the collection. The wood is cold, a chill managing to sneak its way through the cotton of your socks and into your skin. You suppress that shiver that tries to run through you. You ignore the wave of lightheadedness that washes over you, used to it. There are various books packed closely together on each shelf, each one different than the next. Thin and thick spines, worn and new covers, various names of authors printed onto them. Some even plain. Numerous classics, a few you recognise, but they arenât the ones that catch your eye.
In the bottom left corner, a thick, clearly well-used book stays tucked against the wood, the spine bare. No title. Instinctively, your hand reaches out for it. Considering how tightly packed together the books are, it takes you a surprising amount of strength to wedge it out. The cover is as bare as the front, threads fraying and pages sticking out from the side.
The book seems foreboding, some sort of tense, sinister air surrounding it. Goosebumps rise on your arms.
Who are you kidding? Itâs just a book. Nothing special about it.
Yet you still find yourself hesitating to open the cover, as if youâll find something youâll regret seeing. But something drew you to the book in the first place.
They say curiosity kills the cat.
The toughened cover of the book groans when you pull it open, an eerie sound, and the first thing you see are the telltale signs of pages being ripped straight out of the spineâ small tufts of paper clinging to the threads and sticking out awkwardly.
The other side makes you pause. The pages, yellow and crinkled, have unintelligible writing scrawled haphazardly across them. Majority of the words have been scrawled overâ blacked out and redacted, yet if you squint hard enough, you can make some of it out.
You only get to read the words âsoulmateâ and âmistakeâ before a knock at the door shocks you out of your body.
Fuck.
Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest, racing erratically. Soulmate? Mistake? What does that even fucking mean? What the fuck is this book?
The door shakes slightly with the second knock as more force is put behind it, and you force out an answer.
âIâm indecent!â You yell out, snapping the book closed and shoving it back onto the shelf, using practically all your strength to squeeze it back into that impossibly tight space. You step away from the bookshelf like it personally offended you.
You stand there for a moment, rustling around with your clothes to make it seem like youâre actually changing, before mumbling out a meek âcome inâ.
The door opens, revealing Levi, as striking as ever, the characteristic scowl on his face only slightly softened by sleep. You raise an eyebrow at him, as if questioning why heâs come to interrupt you.
âEveryoneâs already up. I heard footsteps in here.â He says flatly.
âGood morning to you too, I guess.â You jest, and only receive a half-assed eye roll in response. âSorry. Not really a morning person. Iâll make myself useful.â
You step towards the door, towards him, and he find himself wanting to correct you. âThatâs not what i meant. Sleep as much as you need.â lingers on the tip of his tongue but he holds it, itâs too personal, too out of character for him to say.
Instead, he keeps quiet and steps to the side, keeping the door open for you to walk past. You flash him an awkward smile and slip past quietly and head downstairs, where you hear the others.
But what you miss is the way his eyes flick over the bookshelf, noticing that the book was placed back in upside down. He mutters a curse under his breath, before shutting the door and following you back downstairs.
âŠâŠâŠ
Youâre curled up on the couch in the living downstairs, bundled up in warm clothing and a hot mug of tea clasped between your hands. Youâd been tasked with welcoming guests, against your wishes.
Despite insisting to Erwin that you are socially inept and struggle to hold a conversation with someone for longer than five minutes, he insisted that it was endearing and gently pushed you towards the crowd.
The living room was warm and inviting, lit by the crackling fireplace and the soft glow of lamps. The smell of pumpkin pie and roasted turkey hung in the air, making the chilly evening outside feel worlds away.
And here you were. A few idle conversations flowed around you, and you chipped in occasionally to not seem too out of it.
Eren, one of Mikasaâs âfriendsâ (soulmate) had been the first of the guests to arrive, shaggy brown hair pulled back into some sort of bun. He was a bit hard-headed, stubborn as a mule. But he wasnât a bad guy at heart. Jean and Connie, were new faces that had come in not too long after he did. Connie was a lot less uptight, constantly making stupid remarks and managing to make every serious moment an absolute joke.
You appreciated the distraction. And Jean. Although he clashed heads with Eren a lot, he was a lot more gentle and considerate than his other two companions. Even compared to Sasha, he seemed to be the most normal one.
That was until Armin had walked in. All blonde hair and pink cheeks, so softly spoken and acted like a fucking angel. Then a few more of his friends entered, and you hadnât really gotten a chance to talk to them, like Annie and Reiner, and a tall brunette boy who resided in the corner of the room.
There were others, some of Erwinâs friends, but to be honest, you were hardly paying enough attention to be able to tell them apart, let alone learn their names. You also couldnât tell if it was because of the lack of suppresants, or the presence of alcohol. Youâd been slumped on the couch in the corner for what felt like hours, nursing a drink in your hands and burning a hole into the wall with how hard you were glaring. One look would have been enough to see that you werenât really feeling the Thanksgiving vibe.
You felt a warm hand brush against your shoulderâ lightly, just enough to catch your attention but not enough to startle you.
You still jumped a bit.
âYou left my room looking like a fucking tip.â
Looking up, you spotted Levi stood next to the couch, next to you, eyes fixed on a random point ahead of him. Heâd changed outfits from when you saw him this morning, youâd noticed. A comfortable pair of straight slacks, and a sweater that screamed autumn, matching the browning leaves and comforting winds outside. Like you, he was also nursing a drink, but without the flushed cheeks you could feel on yourself. The way he managed to always keep composure pissed you off.
â..I didnât. I made the bed and everything.â You retort, unable to hide the slight pout in your voice. A while after youâd gone downstairs, youâd crept back into his room to leave it absolutely sparkling. Youâd heard about his fixtation with cleanliness from Hange and made sure to tidy it up to the best of your abilities to avoid any comments.
Guess that didnât work.
Deep down, he knew there was nothing wrong with how you left his room. He had wanted to ask you how you slept, but couldnât bring himself to without feeling⊠some sort of way. So he defaulted to what was comfortable for him. Which was being an asshole. Even if heâd held his room to his unusually high standards of cleanliness, it wasnât anyway near as messy as he was making it out to be.
âI left the pills inside the nightstand.â You almost laughed at the way he said it, like it physically pained him to get the words out. Not to mention the random subject change. He brought the drink to his lips, as if to hide his face. What a shame, for it was a pretty one at that.
Youâd managed to stop feeling guilty about the pills last night, but shame filled you once again when he brought it up. Youâd spent half the night reminding yourself that youâre a good person who doesnât lie to others. Which clearly wasnât true.
But there was hardly any other option. Other than telling him. Which wasnât fucking happening. It was a promise youâd made to yourself after the appointment in which the doctor prescribed the suppressants. You remember the way your heart skipped a beat, or a few, and you finally stopped seeing the world through rose-tinted lenses. Life wasnât fair, and it was clear that God had favourites. You were not one of them.
You didnât want the way people viewed you to change, regardless of whether your life was to be cut short or not. You donât want to be seen as weak or pitiful, and if that meant lying to everyone, even your parents, then youâd do exactly that.
Despite how understanding Levi had been with the insomnia, you could see he was clearly at his limits. He was probably only understanding of it because he clearly has it himself. He couldnât even look you in the eye when talking about it to you. Obviously, it was a struggle for him to be this out of his shell. And youâd rather not push him any further, and end up causing a problem.
Heâs still an asshole.
âThanks.â You murmur, swirling the drink in your hands. The slight buzz you felt wasnât enough to mask how out of place you felt at this gathering, and it had barely even started.
Levi skulked off before you could even think to say anything more, and you inwardly groan at the absurdity of the situation. You allow yourself to lay eyes upon his lithe frame as he disappears into the crowd, the black crop of hair fading away into the distance. You felt the last of your energy fade away with it.
You forced yourself to slowly ease back into the conversation. At least until the food came. Then you could make up some excuse about the food making you sleepy and then clock out.
To your left, there was a sudden cacophony of noise.
âShit!â Jean groaned, whilst Eren roared with victory. The others erupted, everyone having been on their toes after an intense game of Ludo had ended up with those two knobheads as the final players, which was clearly not a good idea in hindsight.
Mind you, they were battling for 2nd and 3rd place. Annie had won first over twenty minutes ago and was on the other side of the room, not interested in seeing the ending of the game. Armin had ended up dead last.
Setting your drink down on the table, you plant your feet and rise, walking over to the group. You crouch down next to Mikasa, peeking into the circle from over her shoulder. You watch Erenâs hand sweep over the game board, knocking over the dice and other respective game pieces.
âReally?â You snort.
A dozen of pairs or eyes snap towards you, not realising that youâd joined them.
âAh, the recluse finally makes her way over!â Connie announces, spreading his arms wide as if the mere idea of you sitting with them was unthinkable.
Mikasa reaches over and flicks his forehead, muttering out a harsh âStop, Connie.â
âItâs fine. I admit, Iâve not been the most social today.â Resting a hand on Mikasaâs shoulder, you shoot Connie an apologetic look. He flashes you a grin.
âI donât blame you. These two have been yelling for the past hour over a board game.â Armin says softly from across the circle, a soft smile on his face.
âJust say youâre jealous that you didnât win.â Eren boasts, âThis wimp came last.â
âWell, Iâm sure he tried his hardest.â You murmur.
âStop being a dickhead, Eren. You didnât win either.â Jean pipes up, still sulking from his earlier loss.
âShut it, horse face!â The brunette yells back, and before you know it, the two of them are bickering back and forth like kids.
Then, as if on cue, Hange bursts in from the corridor.
âAlright!â She claps her hands together, a mischievous grin on her face. âItâs time for the main event!â
Fucking finally. Your stomach rumbles silently, longing for food to fill it. Naturally, your eyes go behind her, waiting for Erwin or someone else to walk in with a tray filled with delectable treats, but instead, she just squeezes into the circle and plops down on the floor.
It goes silent, save for the sound of Sasha chewing crisps.
ââŠSo?â You question expectantly.
âSo what?â She responds.
âWhere is the food?â Sasha asks.
âIn your hands.â Connie snides, snickering.
âWhat? The main event isnât the food, silly. Itâs the games!â Hange is almost bursting at the seams with excitement.
âWeâve been playing games for quite a bit now.â A meek voice came from across the circle.
âWhat, you kids think Ludo is the pinnacle of Thanksgiving games?â She snorted.
âIâm only two years younger than you.â Jean noted.
âWhatever, thatâs beside the point.â Hange dismisses him, and you hear the laugh Eren holds back. âWhat i mean is, itâs time for the drinking games!â
âSurely there are other ways to have fun without trying to get half of the group blackout drunk, Hange.â Erwin chastises, strolling into the already bustling room with ease.
âIf you didnât already know, sheâs unable to have fun without alcohol.â Levi deadpans, following in behind him.
âAw, câmon Levi! You know thatâs not true!â She slings an arm around him, to which he shoves off almost immediately, scowl deepening.
âDonât touch me.â
âAlright, alright. Just take a seat so we can get started!â
âIâm not partaking in whatever foolish activity youâve cooked up.â
âWhat a party pooper.â
âIâm sure we can still play without him.â You butt in.
Honestly, you just wanted a distraction until the food came out.
Grey eyes flick over to you, harsh and unforgiving. Or at least, thatâs what it feels like to be under his gaze. He huffs, rolling his eyes and turning away after a long moment. Air fills your lungs again.
âOf course. We canât let Mr. Grumpy over here ruin the mood.â Hange insisted.
âSo, what do you want to do, then?â Mikasa asks.
âNever Have I Ever!â She gushed.
âDoes it look like we are still in secondary school?â Levi drawled, to which Hange decided to pointedly ignore.
âRules are, we each take a turn saying an experience. For example, having sex outside of the bedroom! Those who have done it must drink, and feel free to give us a little story time. Others are let off the hook. Simple, right?â She announced.
âSounds easy enough.â Jean replies. âIs everyone down?â
âIâm in.â You say.
âMe too.â Sasha says around a mouthful of crisps.
âMe three.â Connie chips in.
âAlright. Whoâs going first?â
âNew girl.â Eren says expectantly.
You pause.
ââŠMe?â You question.
âYeah, you.â
You hadnât realised that was what he thought of you as. New girl?
âSure. Well⊠never have i ever broken a bone?â You hesitated.
âKeeping it tame, I see.â Connie hums.
âWell, itâs always good to start off the game nicely.â Armin comes to your defence.
âSorry. Was that a bad one?â
âIt was perfect!â Hange grabs her glass, taking a large swig of whatever concoction she made. Erwin also drinks, and so does Sasha.
âThe rest of you have never broken a bone before? I kind of expected everyone to drink for this one.â You wonder aloud.
âWhat, so you admit youâre trying to get us drunk?â Jean teases.
âThatâs not what I meant!â You faltered.
âBreaking a bone is a skill issue.â Connie declared smugly, earning a few looks.
âThats rich coming from you.â Mikasa retorts calmly.
âWhatâs that meant to mean?â He pouts.
âNext!â Eren barks. âIâll go.â
You roll your eyes, and let the conversation fade out. Almost instinctively, your gaze finds Levi from across the room. Unlike everyone else, he sits on a couch nearby, refraining from sitting on the floor. A look of annoyance is plastered on his face, but if you knew any better, you would dare to think that there was a bit of amusement hidden somewhere in there.
âYouâre a fucking virgin, dickhead!â Eren barks.
Youâre unsure of how the conversation went from the game to this, but you stifle a laugh anyway.
âThatâs not the point! Mikasa only popped your cherry out of pity.â Connie piped up.
âShe did not pop my fucking cherry.â
âDoes Eren argue with anyone about anything?â You mumble, and Mikasa simply nods, used to his antics.
âAlright! Shut up, Iâve got a good one!â Sasha beams, and the two of them shut up.
A beat.
âWell?â Erwin asks.
âNever have I ever gone farther than kissing in a car.â Sasha teases.
âJean, drink right now.â
âWhat the fuck, Connie?â Jeanâs face turned bright red in an instant. âHeâs lying.â
âIâm not!â
âHow the fuck did horseface hit it in a car?â Eren moans, clearly unimpressed.
ââŠHow did you even know, Connie?â Armin asks.
âConnie, shut yourââ
âI was coming back to our flat after a long night out, but then I notice that one of the cars outside had the lights on inside, and it was kind of bouncing.â
âScandalous!â Hange chirps.
âSo naturally, I went closer. The windows were all fogged up, so they couldnât see me approaching and I couldnât see them. I wiped the backseat window, andâŠ..â
ââŠ..â
âJean was eating someone out!â
The room immediately erupts, sounds of embarrassment and denial from Jean who had somehow became even redder, mocking laughs from Connie and Sasha, and concerned looks from Armin and Mikasa. Hangeâs jaw dropped, and you even heard a scoff from Levi.
âI must say Jean, I didnât take you for that kind of guy.â Erwin muses.
âI respect the hustle, Jean.â Hange claps a hand on his shoulder, which he immediately pushes off.
âConnie is just making up damn stories.â He retorts.
âConnie may be an idiot, but he never lies.â Eren grins wickedly, clearly relishing in his frenemyâs humiliation.
âYou want to get loud Eren? Fucking fine. Never have I ever been pity-fucked by my childhood best friend just so that I wouldnât be a virgin.â Jean sneers.
âIt wasnât a damn pity-fuck!â Eren roars, and you almost burst out in laughter at the look on his face.
âSo you admit it happened?â You grin, and Eren shoots you a deathly glare.
âWell, Mikasa. Anything to say?â Hange prods.
âWhyâd you assume it was me?â Mikasa deadpans, nonchalant as ever, and immediately, all eyes flick over to Armin.
He immediately straightens up, cheeks turning pink. âI-It wasnât me!â
âRightâŠ.â Connie murmurs.
Erwin clears his throat. âI have one.â
âAlright!â Armin says, eager to change the topic.
âNever have I ever left in the middle of a date.â He says.
Quite a few people life their cups on this oneâ Connie tilts his head back, downing the whole thing, Mikasa sips on her cup, and to your surpriseâ
âLevi?â You blurt out.
âWhat?â He snaps, throat bobbing as he swallows his drink.
âI thought you said you werenât playing?â Hange teases, leaning in.
He flicks her forehead, clearly annoyed.
âWell? Details.â Connie asks, and Levi clicks his tongue.
âUnimportant.â
âLevi, thatâs the point of the whole game.â
âFuckâs sake. She was a messy eater. Dropped half her spoonful on the restaurant table and then proceeded to scoop it back up and eat it.â
ââŠI thought everyone did that.â Jean mumbled.
âShut up, ass-eater.â Eren pipes up.
âDo you know how fucking dirty restaurants tables are? They clean that shit with the same sloppy rag they use to clean the fucking toilet seats.â He almost visibly recoils at the memory, lip curling in distaste.
You giggle a little, hiding your face behind your glass. His eyes dart to you, but not as cold as before. He looks away before you can think on it too much.
The chatter of the game and lively festival spirit soon blur into one, and the buzz of the drink youâre nursing gets a bit louder. Despite the food being brought in by Erwin only moments ago, you quietly excuse yourself.
Standing up from your cross-legged position you make your way out of the living area, unbeknownst to Leviâs gaze which follows you as you walk out. You cringe slightly, your initial plan had not been to leave this early. But youâd been caught up in the game, as did the rest of the people there. As much as youâd like to deny it, you had a lot of fun. Social activities normally drain you, but it felt like the opposite when you were with this group.
But you donât want to insert yourself where you arenât wanted. For all you know, they couldâve just decided to be polite since it was Thanksgiving, a one time thing. When you all return to school, you were one hundred percent sure that youâd find yourself on the sidelines again.
Whatever. No point dwelling on it.
You head upstairs quietly, the boisterous chatter in the living room getting fainter as you get further away. Locking yourself in the bathroom, you take a a deep breath.
But then you pause.
In the mirror, you see yourself. Obviously. But the image you were seeing reflected in the mirror wasnât one that youâd seen in over a year. You lookedâŠ. lively. To say the least. Granted, your skin was still a bit dull-looking, and the eyebags under your eyes were still there, but they looked natural, like the genetic ones. Not the stress induced ones.
Was this because you stopped taking the suppressants?
No, that doesnât make any sense.
Those are meant to make you feel better, so why on earth would you look healthier after not taking them? Ever since you got the official diagnosis from your doctor about your unusual condition, there hasnât been a day that you havenât downed atleast 2 pills.
You know all those sketchy conspiracy theories, like âWhat if oxygen was actually just poison the kills us slowly?â
Thatâs what you felt like right now.
A sharp knock on the door shocks you out of your train of thoughts.
âHurry up. I need to take a shit.â A familiar, gruff voice comes through.
You scoff, turning around and unlockjng the door before pulling it open to be met with an unbothered looking Levi.
âWhat, was the game that intense?â You jest.
âIt was boring as fuck. And you were in here for over 15 minutes. Could tell you werenât using anything.â
âWhy? Are you an expert on bowel movements? You seem to have some sort of fixation.â You grin.
You swear you see the corner of his lip tilt up slightly, but you donât have the chance to process it before he lets out a soft âTch.â and walks past you into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
Guess heâs not in the mood to talk, then.
You take in a deep breath and head towards the room you slept in last night. His room. Pushing open the door, youâre reminded of how itâs so distinctivelyâŠ.. Levi. If that even makes sense.
The smell, the look, the furniture, the vibe, everything. Itâs like a piece of him. It feels as if youâre intruding on something private. Which you kind of are, technically. But⊠heâs letting you. You hadnât really put much thought to it. The fact that heâs letting you sleep in his room.
Other than the fact that any decent person would do it, Levi is clearly a very private person. So you feel a bit more grateful that heâs allowing you this comfort.
You lie on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as you allow the hard planes of the wood to provide a semblance of comfort to your aching muscles. Youâve learnt to block out the pain, itâs been over a year that youâve had to deal with it. But the second that the noise quietens down, that youâre alone and behind closed doors again, thereâs nothing to distract you from the agony.
And the worst thing is, the pain isnât all physical. Itâs hard to explain, but thereâs a deep, emotional pain that lingers costantly at the bottom of your heart. You know what it is. This yearning, for your second half. It is frustrating. Why canât your body simply just handle life on its own? Why must it need some stupid counterpart, just to not self destruct?
And the worst thing is, majority of people your age havenât found their soulmates either. Most people find theirs in their late 20s. After theyâve found themselves, their identity, who they truly are. Youâve never had that luxury. It was snatched from under your feet that fateful day you first felt the pain in your chest.
Itâs so constant, so immanent that you wonder if you would feel incomplete without it. The pain.
You donât realise that youâre crying until salt starts to prick at your tongue, tears skimming your lips. You raise your hands and wipe them away furiously, fed up with everything.
You turn your head to the side, met with a clear view under the bed. Not a speck of dust. You almost laugh, at how uncanny and unusually clean this guyâs room was. And then your eyes catch on something. A small black box, underneath the bedframe. You wouldâve thought that it slipped there unintentionally, but with the way it was pushed under, into the corner, it was clear that it wasnât.
You were more hesistant to poke around this morning, the bookshelf in the corner still seemed to be taunting you. But you werenât going to waste any time now.
Rolling onto your front, you stuck your arm under the bed and waved it around wildly, until your fingers brushed against the small, velvet box. You pulled it out and sat up, cradling the item in your hands. It looked⊠precious. You had no idea as to why it would be shoved under the bed. The velvet covering was soft and plush, and you could tell that despite its unusual location, it had been taken out and looked after often.
Gently, you press your fingers against the front and pry it open.
Huh. Itâs empty.
Your met with the sight of the bottom of the box, seemingly empty. Confusion was evident on your face. Why would it be empty? Maybe whatever was in it was taken out recently.
But then, you pause again.
The floor of the box was slightly uneven, as if there was something pushing up against it from underneath. Wiggling your pinky finger into the corner, you try your hardest to try and pry off the fake bottom. Eventually, it gives.
Thereâs a small, dainty necklace that lays against the plush velvet, almost protected by its furs. The chain is thin, but you can tell itâs been made with an expensive material. You eyes run along the chain, until you see a locket in the shape of a clover.
You chew on your lip nervously. Thereâs clearly something personal in there. At first, you were just expecting to find something embarrassing, like a diary of some sort. But even just looking at the locket sent a deep sense of something ambiguous into your chest. But youâd gone too far just to chicken out.
With the utmost care, you carefully open the locket. Inside, is a photo of a woman. She has striking, wise grey eyes, which almost feel as if youâre looking into the sky during a storm. Her face is kind, yet to be touched by the cruel hands of time. She looks young. Too young to have been dead, you realise. Your eyes flick over to the other side of the locket, reading the message enscribed.
âDo not trust what they call fate.â
A deep, sudden chill settled deep in your bones. You were expecting something sweeter, such as âGone too soonâ, or âForever in our heartsâ.
But this?
This felt foreboding. Like some sort of warning. You knew that you werenât meant to see this, yet at the same time it felt like it was directed at you. There was no context, but you knew exactly what that message meant. And that was what unsettled you.
Heart pounding, you close the locket shove it back into the velvet box with half the care you did it with earlier, and slide it under the bed. You climb into the bed and pull the covers up to your chin, and stare at the ceiling. You took deep breaths, but your heart wouldnât stop racing.
You were scared. Because your entire world had just collapsed with mere message.
You wake up in the late hours of the morning, the sun already high and bright, caressing your skin and bathing the almost clinical room with a warm glow. The house is alive with people setting up, making last minute trips to make sure everything is ready before guests start arriving. The clutter of pans and pots and the soft chatter can be heard from the room youâre in. No one even thought to wake you up. You donât know whether to feel thankful, or like a waste of space. Guess both can exist at the same time.
Rubbing your eyes, you sit up and stretch your limbs, feeling refreshed for the first time in a while. You groan quietly at the stretch, your mind clear. Despite your sleep being interrupted, and not having any of your suppressants, you feel lighter.
Leviâs room isâŠ. bare, to say the least. Simple and rectangular, the double bed you currently lay in is placed in the middle against the wall, with a small nightstand on each side. A clean cigarette tray lays on one of them, and an old lamp on the other. Your curiosity tells you to snoop through one of the drawers, just for a glimpse into the mind of that cryptic man. But your respect for Leviâs privacy outweighs it and you control yourself. Neutral colours make up most of the palette, mahogany wood and the lingering scent of tobacco and ash thatâs impossible to get out no matter how hard you scrub the walls. The lack of decorations aside from the few odd paintings makes the already sizeable room feel vast, and your eyes catch on a bookcase pushed into the corner. The only piece of furniture that has some kind of personality, it seems.
You didnât take him for the kind of guy to read. Not to be stereotypical, but you couldnât exactly picture such a stoic guy like him curled up in a corner, reading glasses on and his nose buried in a book. It didnât really suit him. But that only fueled your fascination with the books. Eyes lighting up with newfound interest, you push off the covers, your socked feet padding softly against the floorboards as you make your way over to the collection. The wood is cold, a chill managing to sneak its way through the cotton of your socks and into your skin. You suppress that shiver that tries to run through you. You ignore the wave of lightheadedness that washes over you, used to it. There are various books packed closely together on each shelf, each one different than the next. Thin and thick spines, worn and new covers, various names of authors printed onto them. Some even plain. Numerous classics, a few you recognise, but they arenât the ones that catch your eye.
In the bottom left corner, a thick, clearly well-used book stays tucked against the wood, the spine bare. No title. Instinctively, your hand reaches out for it. Considering how tightly packed together the books are, it takes you a surprising amount of strength to wedge it out. The cover is as bare as the front, threads fraying and pages sticking out from the side.
The book seems foreboding, some sort of tense, sinister air surrounding it. Goosebumps rise on your arms.
Who are you kidding? Itâs just a book. Nothing special about it.
Yet you still find yourself hesitating to open the cover, as if youâll find something youâll regret seeing. But something drew you to the book in the first place.
They say curiosity kills the cat.
The toughened cover of the book groans when you pull it open, an eerie sound, and the first thing you see are the telltale signs of pages being ripped straight out of the spineâ small tufts of paper clinging to the threads and sticking out awkwardly.
The other side makes you pause. The pages, yellow and crinkled, have unintelligible writing scrawled haphazardly across them. Majority of the words have been scrawled overâ blacked out and redacted, yet if you squint hard enough, you can make some of it out.
You only get to read the words âsoulmateâ and âmistakeâ before a knock at the door shocks you out of your body.
Fuck.
Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest, racing erratically. Soulmate? Mistake? What does that even fucking mean? What the fuck is this book?
The door shakes slightly with the second knock as more force is put behind it, and you force out an answer.
âIâm indecent!â You yell out, snapping the book closed and shoving it back onto the shelf, using practically all your strength to squeeze it back into that impossibly tight space. You step away from the bookshelf like it personally offended you.
You stand there for a moment, rustling around with your clothes to make it seem like youâre actually changing, before mumbling out a meek âcome inâ.
The door opens, revealing Levi, as striking as ever, the characteristic scowl on his face only slightly softened by sleep. You raise an eyebrow at him, as if questioning why heâs come to interrupt you.
âEveryoneâs already up. I heard footsteps in here.â He says flatly.
âGood morning to you too, I guess.â You jest, and only receive a half-assed eye roll in response. âSorry. Not really a morning person. Iâll make myself useful.â
You step towards the door, towards him, and he find himself wanting to correct you. âThatâs not what i meant. Sleep as much as you need.â lingers on the tip of his tongue but he holds it, itâs too personal, too out of character for him to say.
Instead, he keeps quiet and steps to the side, keeping the door open for you to walk past. You flash him an awkward smile and slip past quietly and head downstairs, where you hear the others.
But what you miss is the way his eyes flick over the bookshelf, noticing that the book was placed back in upside down. He mutters a curse under his breath, before shutting the door and following you back downstairs.
âŠâŠâŠ
Youâre curled up on the couch in the living downstairs, bundled up in warm clothing and a hot mug of tea clasped between your hands. Youâd been tasked with welcoming guests, against your wishes.
Despite insisting to Erwin that you are socially inept and struggle to hold a conversation with someone for longer than five minutes, he insisted that it was endearing and gently pushed you towards the crowd.
The living room was warm and inviting, lit by the crackling fireplace and the soft glow of lamps. The smell of pumpkin pie and roasted turkey hung in the air, making the chilly evening outside feel worlds away.
And here you were. A few idle conversations flowed around you, and you chipped in occasionally to not seem too out of it.
Eren, one of Mikasaâs âfriendsâ (soulmate) had been the first of the guests to arrive, shaggy brown hair pulled back into some sort of bun. He was a bit hard-headed, stubborn as a mule. But he wasnât a bad guy at heart. Jean and Connie, were new faces that had come in not too long after he did. Connie was a lot less uptight, constantly making stupid remarks and managing to make every serious moment an absolute joke.
You appreciated the distraction. And Jean. Although he clashed heads with Eren a lot, he was a lot more gentle and considerate than his other two companions. Even compared to Sasha, he seemed to be the most normal one.
That was until Armin had walked in. All blonde hair and pink cheeks, so softly spoken and acted like a fucking angel. Then a few more of his friends entered, and you hadnât really gotten a chance to talk to them, like Annie and Reiner, and a tall brunette boy who resided in the corner of the room.
There were others, some of Erwinâs friends, but to be honest, you were hardly paying enough attention to be able to tell them apart, let alone learn their names. You also couldnât tell if it was because of the lack of suppresants, or the presence of alcohol. Youâd been slumped on the couch in the corner for what felt like hours, nursing a drink in your hands and burning a hole into the wall with how hard you were glaring. One look would have been enough to see that you werenât really feeling the Thanksgiving vibe.
You felt a warm hand brush against your shoulderâ lightly, just enough to catch your attention but not enough to startle you.
You still jumped a bit.
âYou left my room looking like a fucking tip.â
Looking up, you spotted Levi stood next to the couch, next to you, eyes fixed on a random point ahead of him. Heâd changed outfits from when you saw him this morning, youâd noticed. A comfortable pair of straight slacks, and a sweater that screamed autumn, matching the browning leaves and comforting winds outside. Like you, he was also nursing a drink, but without the flushed cheeks you could feel on yourself. The way he managed to always keep composure pissed you off.
â..I didnât. I made the bed and everything.â You retort, unable to hide the slight pout in your voice. A while after youâd gone downstairs, youâd crept back into his room to leave it absolutely sparkling. Youâd heard about his fixtation with cleanliness from Hange and made sure to tidy it up to the best of your abilities to avoid any comments.
Guess that didnât work.
Deep down, he knew there was nothing wrong with how you left his room. He had wanted to ask you how you slept, but couldnât bring himself to without feeling⊠some sort of way. So he defaulted to what was comfortable for him. Which was being an asshole. Even if heâd held his room to his unusually high standards of cleanliness, it wasnât anyway near as messy as he was making it out to be.
âI left the pills inside the nightstand.â You almost laughed at the way he said it, like it physically pained him to get the words out. Not to mention the random subject change. He brought the drink to his lips, as if to hide his face. What a shame, for it was a pretty one at that.
Youâd managed to stop feeling guilty about the pills last night, but shame filled you once again when he brought it up. Youâd spent half the night reminding yourself that youâre a good person who doesnât lie to others. Which clearly wasnât true.
But there was hardly any other option. Other than telling him. Which wasnât fucking happening. It was a promise youâd made to yourself after the appointment in which the doctor prescribed the suppressants. You remember the way your heart skipped a beat, or a few, and you finally stopped seeing the world through rose-tinted lenses. Life wasnât fair, and it was clear that God had favourites. You were not one of them.
You didnât want the way people viewed you to change, regardless of whether your life was to be cut short or not. You donât want to be seen as weak or pitiful, and if that meant lying to everyone, even your parents, then youâd do exactly that.
Despite how understanding Levi had been with the insomnia, you could see he was clearly at his limits. He was probably only understanding of it because he clearly has it himself. He couldnât even look you in the eye when talking about it to you. Obviously, it was a struggle for him to be this out of his shell. And youâd rather not push him any further, and end up causing a problem.
Heâs still an asshole.
âThanks.â You murmur, swirling the drink in your hands. The slight buzz you felt wasnât enough to mask how out of place you felt at this gathering, and it had barely even started.
Levi skulked off before you could even think to say anything more, and you inwardly groan at the absurdity of the situation. You allow yourself to lay eyes upon his lithe frame as he disappears into the crowd, the black crop of hair fading away into the distance. You felt the last of your energy fade away with it.
You forced yourself to slowly ease back into the conversation. At least until the food came. Then you could make up some excuse about the food making you sleepy and then clock out.
To your left, there was a sudden cacophony of noise.
âShit!â Jean groaned, whilst Eren roared with victory. The others erupted, everyone having been on their toes after an intense game of Ludo had ended up with those two knobheads as the final players, which was clearly not a good idea in hindsight.
Mind you, they were battling for 2nd and 3rd place. Annie had won first over twenty minutes ago and was on the other side of the room, not interested in seeing the ending of the game. Armin had ended up dead last.
Setting your drink down on the table, you plant your feet and rise, walking over to the group. You crouch down next to Mikasa, peeking into the circle from over her shoulder. You watch Erenâs hand sweep over the game board, knocking over the dice and other respective game pieces.
âReally?â You snort.
A dozen of pairs or eyes snap towards you, not realising that youâd joined them.
âAh, the recluse finally makes her way over!â Connie announces, spreading his arms wide as if the mere idea of you sitting with them was unthinkable.
Mikasa reaches over and flicks his forehead, muttering out a harsh âStop, Connie.â
âItâs fine. I admit, Iâve not been the most social today.â Resting a hand on Mikasaâs shoulder, you shoot Connie an apologetic look. He flashes you a grin.
âI donât blame you. These two have been yelling for the past hour over a board game.â Armin says softly from across the circle, a soft smile on his face.
âJust say youâre jealous that you didnât win.â Eren boasts, âThis wimp came last.â
âWell, Iâm sure he tried his hardest.â You murmur.
âStop being a dickhead, Eren. You didnât win either.â Jean pipes up, still sulking from his earlier loss.
âShut it, horse face!â The brunette yells back, and before you know it, the two of them are bickering back and forth like kids.
Then, as if on cue, Hange bursts in from the corridor.
âAlright!â She claps her hands together, a mischievous grin on her face. âItâs time for the main event!â
Fucking finally. Your stomach rumbles silently, longing for food to fill it. Naturally, your eyes go behind her, waiting for Erwin or someone else to walk in with a tray filled with delectable treats, but instead, she just squeezes into the circle and plops down on the floor.
It goes silent, save for the sound of Sasha chewing crisps.
ââŠSo?â You question expectantly.
âSo what?â She responds.
âWhere is the food?â Sasha asks.
âIn your hands.â Connie snides, snickering.
âWhat? The main event isnât the food, silly. Itâs the games!â Hange is almost bursting at the seams with excitement.
âWeâve been playing games for quite a bit now.â A meek voice came from across the circle.
âWhat, you kids think Ludo is the pinnacle of Thanksgiving games?â She snorted.
âIâm only two years younger than you.â Jean noted.
âWhatever, thatâs beside the point.â Hange dismisses him, and you hear the laugh Eren holds back. âWhat i mean is, itâs time for the drinking games!â
âSurely there are other ways to have fun without trying to get half of the group blackout drunk, Hange.â Erwin chastises, strolling into the already bustling room with ease.
âIf you didnât already know, sheâs unable to have fun without alcohol.â Levi deadpans, following in behind him.
âAw, câmon Levi! You know thatâs not true!â She slings an arm around him, to which he shoves off almost immediately, scowl deepening.
âDonât touch me.â
âAlright, alright. Just take a seat so we can get started!â
âIâm not partaking in whatever foolish activity youâve cooked up.â
âWhat a party pooper.â
âIâm sure we can still play without him.â You butt in.
Honestly, you just wanted a distraction until the food came out.
Grey eyes flick over to you, harsh and unforgiving. Or at least, thatâs what it feels like to be under his gaze. He huffs, rolling his eyes and turning away after a long moment. Air fills your lungs again.
âOf course. We canât let Mr. Grumpy over here ruin the mood.â Hange insisted.
âSo, what do you want to do, then?â Mikasa asks.
âNever Have I Ever!â She gushed.
âDoes it look like we are still in secondary school?â Levi drawled, to which Hange decided to pointedly ignore.
âRules are, we each take a turn saying an experience. For example, having sex outside of the bedroom! Those who have done it must drink, and feel free to give us a little story time. Others are let off the hook. Simple, right?â She announced.
âSounds easy enough.â Jean replies. âIs everyone down?â
âIâm in.â You say.
âMe too.â Sasha says around a mouthful of crisps.
âMe three.â Connie chips in.
âAlright. Whoâs going first?â
âNew girl.â Eren says expectantly.
You pause.
ââŠMe?â You question.
âYeah, you.â
You hadnât realised that was what he thought of you as. New girl?
âSure. Well⊠never have i ever broken a bone?â You hesitated.
âKeeping it tame, I see.â Connie hums.
âWell, itâs always good to start off the game nicely.â Armin comes to your defence.
âSorry. Was that a bad one?â
âIt was perfect!â Hange grabs her glass, taking a large swig of whatever concoction she made. Erwin also drinks, and so does Sasha.
âThe rest of you have never broken a bone before? I kind of expected everyone to drink for this one.â You wonder aloud.
âWhat, so you admit youâre trying to get us drunk?â Jean teases.
âThatâs not what I meant!â You faltered.
âBreaking a bone is a skill issue.â Connie declared smugly, earning a few looks.
âThats rich coming from you.â Mikasa retorts calmly.
âWhatâs that meant to mean?â He pouts.
âNext!â Eren barks. âIâll go.â
You roll your eyes, and let the conversation fade out. Almost instinctively, your gaze finds Levi from across the room. Unlike everyone else, he sits on a couch nearby, refraining from sitting on the floor. A look of annoyance is plastered on his face, but if you knew any better, you would dare to think that there was a bit of amusement hidden somewhere in there.
âYouâre a fucking virgin, dickhead!â Eren barks.
Youâre unsure of how the conversation went from the game to this, but you stifle a laugh anyway.
âThatâs not the point! Mikasa only popped your cherry out of pity.â Connie piped up.
âShe did not pop my fucking cherry.â
âDoes Eren argue with anyone about anything?â You mumble, and Mikasa simply nods, used to his antics.
âAlright! Shut up, Iâve got a good one!â Sasha beams, and the two of them shut up.
A beat.
âWell?â Erwin asks.
âNever have I ever gone farther than kissing in a car.â Sasha teases.
âJean, drink right now.â
âWhat the fuck, Connie?â Jeanâs face turned bright red in an instant. âHeâs lying.â
âIâm not!â
âHow the fuck did horseface hit it in a car?â Eren moans, clearly unimpressed.
ââŠHow did you even know, Connie?â Armin asks.
âConnie, shut yourââ
âI was coming back to our flat after a long night out, but then I notice that one of the cars outside had the lights on inside, and it was kind of bouncing.â
âScandalous!â Hange chirps.
âSo naturally, I went closer. The windows were all fogged up, so they couldnât see me approaching and I couldnât see them. I wiped the backseat window, andâŠ..â
ââŠ..â
âJean was eating someone out!â
The room immediately erupts, sounds of embarrassment and denial from Jean who had somehow became even redder, mocking laughs from Connie and Sasha, and concerned looks from Armin and Mikasa. Hangeâs jaw dropped, and you even heard a scoff from Levi.
âI must say Jean, I didnât take you for that kind of guy.â Erwin muses.
âI respect the hustle, Jean.â Hange claps a hand on his shoulder, which he immediately pushes off.
âConnie is just making up damn stories.â He retorts.
âConnie may be an idiot, but he never lies.â Eren grins wickedly, clearly relishing in his frenemyâs humiliation.
âYou want to get loud Eren? Fucking fine. Never have I ever been pity-fucked by my childhood best friend just so that I wouldnât be a virgin.â Jean sneers.
âIt wasnât a damn pity-fuck!â Eren roars, and you almost burst out in laughter at the look on his face.
âSo you admit it happened?â You grin, and Eren shoots you a deathly glare.
âWell, Mikasa. Anything to say?â Hange prods.
âWhyâd you assume it was me?â Mikasa deadpans, nonchalant as ever, and immediately, all eyes flick over to Armin.
He immediately straightens up, cheeks turning pink. âI-It wasnât me!â
âRightâŠ.â Connie murmurs.
Erwin clears his throat. âI have one.â
âAlright!â Armin says, eager to change the topic.
âNever have I ever left in the middle of a date.â He says.
Quite a few people life their cups on this oneâ Connie tilts his head back, downing the whole thing, Mikasa sips on her cup, and to your surpriseâ
âLevi?â You blurt out.
âWhat?â He snaps, throat bobbing as he swallows his drink.
âI thought you said you werenât playing?â Hange teases, leaning in.
He flicks her forehead, clearly annoyed.
âWell? Details.â Connie asks, and Levi clicks his tongue.
âUnimportant.â
âLevi, thatâs the point of the whole game.â
âFuckâs sake. She was a messy eater. Dropped half her spoonful on the restaurant table and then proceeded to scoop it back up and eat it.â
ââŠI thought everyone did that.â Jean mumbled.
âShut up, ass-eater.â Eren pipes up.
âDo you know how fucking dirty restaurants tables are? They clean that shit with the same sloppy rag they use to clean the fucking toilet seats.â He almost visibly recoils at the memory, lip curling in distaste.
You giggle a little, hiding your face behind your glass. His eyes dart to you, but not as cold as before. He looks away before you can think on it too much.
The chatter of the game and lively festival spirit soon blur into one, and the buzz of the drink youâre nursing gets a bit louder. Despite the food being brought in by Erwin only moments ago, you quietly excuse yourself.
Standing up from your cross-legged position you make your way out of the living area, unbeknownst to Leviâs gaze which follows you as you walk out. You cringe slightly, your initial plan had not been to leave this early. But youâd been caught up in the game, as did the rest of the people there. As much as youâd like to deny it, you had a lot of fun. Social activities normally drain you, but it felt like the opposite when you were with this group.
But you donât want to insert yourself where you arenât wanted. For all you know, they couldâve just decided to be polite since it was Thanksgiving, a one time thing. When you all return to school, you were one hundred percent sure that youâd find yourself on the sidelines again.
Whatever. No point dwelling on it.
You head upstairs quietly, the boisterous chatter in the living room getting fainter as you get further away. Locking yourself in the bathroom, you take a a deep breath.
But then you pause.
In the mirror, you see yourself. Obviously. But the image you were seeing reflected in the mirror wasnât one that youâd seen in over a year. You lookedâŠ. lively. To say the least. Granted, your skin was still a bit dull-looking, and the eyebags under your eyes were still there, but they looked natural, like the genetic ones. Not the stress induced ones.
Was this because you stopped taking the suppressants?
No, that doesnât make any sense.
Those are meant to make you feel better, so why on earth would you look healthier after not taking them? Ever since you got the official diagnosis from your doctor about your unusual condition, there hasnât been a day that you havenât downed atleast 2 pills.
You know all those sketchy conspiracy theories, like âWhat if oxygen was actually just poison the kills us slowly?â
Thatâs what you felt like right now.
A sharp knock on the door shocks you out of your train of thoughts.
âHurry up. I need to take a shit.â A familiar, gruff voice comes through.
You scoff, turning around and unlockjng the door before pulling it open to be met with an unbothered looking Levi.
âWhat, was the game that intense?â You jest.
âIt was boring as fuck. And you were in here for over 15 minutes. Could tell you werenât using anything.â
âWhy? Are you an expert on bowel movements? You seem to have some sort of fixation.â You grin.
You swear you see the corner of his lip tilt up slightly, but you donât have the chance to process it before he lets out a soft âTch.â and walks past you into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
Guess heâs not in the mood to talk, then.
You take in a deep breath and head towards the room you slept in last night. His room. Pushing open the door, youâre reminded of how itâs so distinctivelyâŠ.. Levi. If that even makes sense.
The smell, the look, the furniture, the vibe, everything. Itâs like a piece of him. It feels as if youâre intruding on something private. Which you kind of are, technically. But⊠heâs letting you. You hadnât really put much thought to it. The fact that heâs letting you sleep in his room.
Other than the fact that any decent person would do it, Levi is clearly a very private person. So you feel a bit more grateful that heâs allowing you this comfort.
You lie on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as you allow the hard planes of the wood to provide a semblance of comfort to your aching muscles. Youâve learnt to block out the pain, itâs been over a year that youâve had to deal with it. But the second that the noise quietens down, that youâre alone and behind closed doors again, thereâs nothing to distract you from the agony.
And the worst thing is, the pain isnât all physical. Itâs hard to explain, but thereâs a deep, emotional pain that lingers costantly at the bottom of your heart. You know what it is. This yearning, for your second half. It is frustrating. Why canât your body simply just handle life on its own? Why must it need some stupid counterpart, just to not self destruct?
And the worst thing is, majority of people your age havenât found their soulmates either. Most people find theirs in their late 20s. After theyâve found themselves, their identity, who they truly are. Youâve never had that luxury. It was snatched from under your feet that fateful day you first felt the pain in your chest.
Itâs so constant, so immanent that you wonder if you would feel incomplete without it. The pain.
You donât realise that youâre crying until salt starts to prick at your tongue, tears skimming your lips. You raise your hands and wipe them away furiously, fed up with everything.
You turn your head to the side, met with a clear view under the bed. Not a speck of dust. You almost laugh, at how uncanny and unusually clean this guyâs room was. And then your eyes catch on something. A small black box, underneath the bedframe. You wouldâve thought that it slipped there unintentionally, but with the way it was pushed under, into the corner, it was clear that it wasnât.
You were more hesistant to poke around this morning, the bookshelf in the corner still seemed to be taunting you. But you werenât going to waste any time now.
Rolling onto your front, you stuck your arm under the bed and waved it around wildly, until your fingers brushed against the small, velvet box. You pulled it out and sat up, cradling the item in your hands. It looked⊠precious. You had no idea as to why it would be shoved under the bed. The velvet covering was soft and plush, and you could tell that despite its unusual location, it had been taken out and looked after often.
Gently, you press your fingers against the front and pry it open.
Huh. Itâs empty.
Your met with the sight of the bottom of the box, seemingly empty. Confusion was evident on your face. Why would it be empty? Maybe whatever was in it was taken out recently.
But then, you pause again.
The floor of the box was slightly uneven, as if there was something pushing up against it from underneath. Wiggling your pinky finger into the corner, you try your hardest to try and pry off the fake bottom. Eventually, it gives.
Thereâs a small, dainty necklace that lays against the plush velvet, almost protected by its furs. The chain is thin, but you can tell itâs been made with an expensive material. You eyes run along the chain, until you see a locket in the shape of a clover.
You chew on your lip nervously. Thereâs clearly something personal in there. At first, you were just expecting to find something embarrassing, like a diary of some sort. But even just looking at the locket sent a deep sense of something ambiguous into your chest. But youâd gone too far just to chicken out.
With the utmost care, you carefully open the locket. Inside, is a photo of a woman. She has striking, wise grey eyes, which almost feel as if youâre looking into the sky during a storm. Her face is kind, yet to be touched by the cruel hands of time. She looks young. Too young to have been dead, you realise. Your eyes flick over to the other side of the locket, reading the message enscribed.
âDo not trust what they call fate.â
A deep, sudden chill settled deep in your bones. You were expecting something sweeter, such as âGone too soonâ, or âForever in our heartsâ.
But this?
This felt foreboding. Like some sort of warning. You knew that you werenât meant to see this, yet at the same time it felt like it was directed at you. There was no context, but you knew exactly what that message meant. And that was what unsettled you.
Heart pounding, you close the locket shove it back into the velvet box with half the care you did it with earlier, and slide it under the bed. You climb into the bed and pull the covers up to your chin, and stare at the ceiling. You took deep breaths, but your heart wouldnât stop racing.
You were scared. Because your entire world had just collapsed with mere message.
You wake up in the late hours of the morning, the sun already high and bright, caressing your skin and bathing the almost clinical room with a warm glow. The house is alive with people setting up, making last minute trips to make sure everything is ready before guests start arriving. The clutter of pans and pots and the soft chatter can be heard from the room youâre in. No one even thought to wake you up. You donât know whether to feel thankful, or like a waste of space. Guess both can exist at the same time.
Rubbing your eyes, you sit up and stretch your limbs, feeling refreshed for the first time in a while. You groan quietly at the stretch, your mind clear. Despite your sleep being interrupted, and not having any of your suppressants, you feel lighter.
Leviâs room isâŠ. bare, to say the least. Simple and rectangular, the double bed you currently lay in is placed in the middle against the wall, with a small nightstand on each side. A clean cigarette tray lays on one of them, and an old lamp on the other. Your curiosity tells you to snoop through one of the drawers, just for a glimpse into the mind of that cryptic man. But your respect for Leviâs privacy outweighs it and you control yourself. Neutral colours make up most of the palette, mahogany wood and the lingering scent of tobacco and ash thatâs impossible to get out no matter how hard you scrub the walls. The lack of decorations aside from the few odd paintings makes the already sizeable room feel vast, and your eyes catch on a bookcase pushed into the corner. The only piece of furniture that has some kind of personality, it seems.
You didnât take him for the kind of guy to read. Not to be stereotypical, but you couldnât exactly picture such a stoic guy like him curled up in a corner, reading glasses on and his nose buried in a book. It didnât really suit him. But that only fueled your fascination with the books. Eyes lighting up with newfound interest, you push off the covers, your socked feet padding softly against the floorboards as you make your way over to the collection. The wood is cold, a chill managing to sneak its way through the cotton of your socks and into your skin. You suppress that shiver that tries to run through you. You ignore the wave of lightheadedness that washes over you, used to it. There are various books packed closely together on each shelf, each one different than the next. Thin and thick spines, worn and new covers, various names of authors printed onto them. Some even plain. Numerous classics, a few you recognise, but they arenât the ones that catch your eye.
In the bottom left corner, a thick, clearly well-used book stays tucked against the wood, the spine bare. No title. Instinctively, your hand reaches out for it. Considering how tightly packed together the books are, it takes you a surprising amount of strength to wedge it out. The cover is as bare as the front, threads fraying and pages sticking out from the side.
The book seems foreboding, some sort of tense, sinister air surrounding it. Goosebumps rise on your arms.
Who are you kidding? Itâs just a book. Nothing special about it.
Yet you still find yourself hesitating to open the cover, as if youâll find something youâll regret seeing. But something drew you to the book in the first place.
They say curiosity kills the cat.
The toughened cover of the book groans when you pull it open, an eerie sound, and the first thing you see are the telltale signs of pages being ripped straight out of the spineâ small tufts of paper clinging to the threads and sticking out awkwardly.
The other side makes you pause. The pages, yellow and crinkled, have unintelligible writing scrawled haphazardly across them. Majority of the words have been scrawled overâ blacked out and redacted, yet if you squint hard enough, you can make some of it out.
You only get to read the words âsoulmateâ and âmistakeâ before a knock at the door shocks you out of your body.
Fuck.
Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest, racing erratically. Soulmate? Mistake? What does that even fucking mean? What the fuck is this book?
The door shakes slightly with the second knock as more force is put behind it, and you force out an answer.
âIâm indecent!â You yell out, snapping the book closed and shoving it back onto the shelf, using practically all your strength to squeeze it back into that impossibly tight space. You step away from the bookshelf like it personally offended you.
You stand there for a moment, rustling around with your clothes to make it seem like youâre actually changing, before mumbling out a meek âcome inâ.
The door opens, revealing Levi, as striking as ever, the characteristic scowl on his face only slightly softened by sleep. You raise an eyebrow at him, as if questioning why heâs come to interrupt you.
âEveryoneâs already up. I heard footsteps in here.â He says flatly.
âGood morning to you too, I guess.â You jest, and only receive a half-assed eye roll in response. âSorry. Not really a morning person. Iâll make myself useful.â
You step towards the door, towards him, and he find himself wanting to correct you. âThatâs not what i meant. Sleep as much as you need.â lingers on the tip of his tongue but he holds it, itâs too personal, too out of character for him to say.
Instead, he keeps quiet and steps to the side, keeping the door open for you to walk past. You flash him an awkward smile and slip past quietly and head downstairs, where you hear the others.
But what you miss is the way his eyes flick over the bookshelf, noticing that the book was placed back in upside down. He mutters a curse under his breath, before shutting the door and following you back downstairs.
âŠâŠâŠ
Youâre curled up on the couch in the living downstairs, bundled up in warm clothing and a hot mug of tea clasped between your hands. Youâd been tasked with welcoming guests, against your wishes.
Despite insisting to Erwin that you are socially inept and struggle to hold a conversation with someone for longer than five minutes, he insisted that it was endearing and gently pushed you towards the crowd.
The living room was warm and inviting, lit by the crackling fireplace and the soft glow of lamps. The smell of pumpkin pie and roasted turkey hung in the air, making the chilly evening outside feel worlds away.
And here you were. A few idle conversations flowed around you, and you chipped in occasionally to not seem too out of it.
Eren, one of Mikasaâs âfriendsâ (soulmate) had been the first of the guests to arrive, shaggy brown hair pulled back into some sort of bun. He was a bit hard-headed, stubborn as a mule. But he wasnât a bad guy at heart. Jean and Connie, were new faces that had come in not too long after he did. Connie was a lot less uptight, constantly making stupid remarks and managing to make every serious moment an absolute joke.
You appreciated the distraction. And Jean. Although he clashed heads with Eren a lot, he was a lot more gentle and considerate than his other two companions. Even compared to Sasha, he seemed to be the most normal one.
That was until Armin had walked in. All blonde hair and pink cheeks, so softly spoken and acted like a fucking angel. Then a few more of his friends entered, and you hadnât really gotten a chance to talk to them, like Annie and Reiner, and a tall brunette boy who resided in the corner of the room.
There were others, some of Erwinâs friends, but to be honest, you were hardly paying enough attention to be able to tell them apart, let alone learn their names. You also couldnât tell if it was because of the lack of suppresants, or the presence of alcohol. Youâd been slumped on the couch in the corner for what felt like hours, nursing a drink in your hands and burning a hole into the wall with how hard you were glaring. One look would have been enough to see that you werenât really feeling the Thanksgiving vibe.
You felt a warm hand brush against your shoulderâ lightly, just enough to catch your attention but not enough to startle you.
You still jumped a bit.
âYou left my room looking like a fucking tip.â
Looking up, you spotted Levi stood next to the couch, next to you, eyes fixed on a random point ahead of him. Heâd changed outfits from when you saw him this morning, youâd noticed. A comfortable pair of straight slacks, and a sweater that screamed autumn, matching the browning leaves and comforting winds outside. Like you, he was also nursing a drink, but without the flushed cheeks you could feel on yourself. The way he managed to always keep composure pissed you off.
â..I didnât. I made the bed and everything.â You retort, unable to hide the slight pout in your voice. A while after youâd gone downstairs, youâd crept back into his room to leave it absolutely sparkling. Youâd heard about his fixtation with cleanliness from Hange and made sure to tidy it up to the best of your abilities to avoid any comments.
Guess that didnât work.
Deep down, he knew there was nothing wrong with how you left his room. He had wanted to ask you how you slept, but couldnât bring himself to without feeling⊠some sort of way. So he defaulted to what was comfortable for him. Which was being an asshole. Even if heâd held his room to his unusually high standards of cleanliness, it wasnât anyway near as messy as he was making it out to be.
âI left the pills inside the nightstand.â You almost laughed at the way he said it, like it physically pained him to get the words out. Not to mention the random subject change. He brought the drink to his lips, as if to hide his face. What a shame, for it was a pretty one at that.
Youâd managed to stop feeling guilty about the pills last night, but shame filled you once again when he brought it up. Youâd spent half the night reminding yourself that youâre a good person who doesnât lie to others. Which clearly wasnât true.
But there was hardly any other option. Other than telling him. Which wasnât fucking happening. It was a promise youâd made to yourself after the appointment in which the doctor prescribed the suppressants. You remember the way your heart skipped a beat, or a few, and you finally stopped seeing the world through rose-tinted lenses. Life wasnât fair, and it was clear that God had favourites. You were not one of them.
You didnât want the way people viewed you to change, regardless of whether your life was to be cut short or not. You donât want to be seen as weak or pitiful, and if that meant lying to everyone, even your parents, then youâd do exactly that.
Despite how understanding Levi had been with the insomnia, you could see he was clearly at his limits. He was probably only understanding of it because he clearly has it himself. He couldnât even look you in the eye when talking about it to you. Obviously, it was a struggle for him to be this out of his shell. And youâd rather not push him any further, and end up causing a problem.
Heâs still an asshole.
âThanks.â You murmur, swirling the drink in your hands. The slight buzz you felt wasnât enough to mask how out of place you felt at this gathering, and it had barely even started.
Levi skulked off before you could even think to say anything more, and you inwardly groan at the absurdity of the situation. You allow yourself to lay eyes upon his lithe frame as he disappears into the crowd, the black crop of hair fading away into the distance. You felt the last of your energy fade away with it.
You forced yourself to slowly ease back into the conversation. At least until the food came. Then you could make up some excuse about the food making you sleepy and then clock out.
To your left, there was a sudden cacophony of noise.
âShit!â Jean groaned, whilst Eren roared with victory. The others erupted, everyone having been on their toes after an intense game of Ludo had ended up with those two knobheads as the final players, which was clearly not a good idea in hindsight.
Mind you, they were battling for 2nd and 3rd place. Annie had won first over twenty minutes ago and was on the other side of the room, not interested in seeing the ending of the game. Armin had ended up dead last.
Setting your drink down on the table, you plant your feet and rise, walking over to the group. You crouch down next to Mikasa, peeking into the circle from over her shoulder. You watch Erenâs hand sweep over the game board, knocking over the dice and other respective game pieces.
âReally?â You snort.
A dozen of pairs or eyes snap towards you, not realising that youâd joined them.
âAh, the recluse finally makes her way over!â Connie announces, spreading his arms wide as if the mere idea of you sitting with them was unthinkable.
Mikasa reaches over and flicks his forehead, muttering out a harsh âStop, Connie.â
âItâs fine. I admit, Iâve not been the most social today.â Resting a hand on Mikasaâs shoulder, you shoot Connie an apologetic look. He flashes you a grin.
âI donât blame you. These two have been yelling for the past hour over a board game.â Armin says softly from across the circle, a soft smile on his face.
âJust say youâre jealous that you didnât win.â Eren boasts, âThis wimp came last.â
âWell, Iâm sure he tried his hardest.â You murmur.
âStop being a dickhead, Eren. You didnât win either.â Jean pipes up, still sulking from his earlier loss.
âShut it, horse face!â The brunette yells back, and before you know it, the two of them are bickering back and forth like kids.
Then, as if on cue, Hange bursts in from the corridor.
âAlright!â She claps her hands together, a mischievous grin on her face. âItâs time for the main event!â
Fucking finally. Your stomach rumbles silently, longing for food to fill it. Naturally, your eyes go behind her, waiting for Erwin or someone else to walk in with a tray filled with delectable treats, but instead, she just squeezes into the circle and plops down on the floor.
It goes silent, save for the sound of Sasha chewing crisps.
ââŠSo?â You question expectantly.
âSo what?â She responds.
âWhere is the food?â Sasha asks.
âIn your hands.â Connie snides, snickering.
âWhat? The main event isnât the food, silly. Itâs the games!â Hange is almost bursting at the seams with excitement.
âWeâve been playing games for quite a bit now.â A meek voice came from across the circle.
âWhat, you kids think Ludo is the pinnacle of Thanksgiving games?â She snorted.
âIâm only two years younger than you.â Jean noted.
âWhatever, thatâs beside the point.â Hange dismisses him, and you hear the laugh Eren holds back. âWhat i mean is, itâs time for the drinking games!â
âSurely there are other ways to have fun without trying to get half of the group blackout drunk, Hange.â Erwin chastises, strolling into the already bustling room with ease.
âIf you didnât already know, sheâs unable to have fun without alcohol.â Levi deadpans, following in behind him.
âAw, câmon Levi! You know thatâs not true!â She slings an arm around him, to which he shoves off almost immediately, scowl deepening.
âDonât touch me.â
âAlright, alright. Just take a seat so we can get started!â
âIâm not partaking in whatever foolish activity youâve cooked up.â
âWhat a party pooper.â
âIâm sure we can still play without him.â You butt in.
Honestly, you just wanted a distraction until the food came out.
Grey eyes flick over to you, harsh and unforgiving. Or at least, thatâs what it feels like to be under his gaze. He huffs, rolling his eyes and turning away after a long moment. Air fills your lungs again.
âOf course. We canât let Mr. Grumpy over here ruin the mood.â Hange insisted.
âSo, what do you want to do, then?â Mikasa asks.
âNever Have I Ever!â She gushed.
âDoes it look like we are still in secondary school?â Levi drawled, to which Hange decided to pointedly ignore.
âRules are, we each take a turn saying an experience. For example, having sex outside of the bedroom! Those who have done it must drink, and feel free to give us a little story time. Others are let off the hook. Simple, right?â She announced.
âSounds easy enough.â Jean replies. âIs everyone down?â
âIâm in.â You say.
âMe too.â Sasha says around a mouthful of crisps.
âMe three.â Connie chips in.
âAlright. Whoâs going first?â
âNew girl.â Eren says expectantly.
You pause.
ââŠMe?â You question.
âYeah, you.â
You hadnât realised that was what he thought of you as. New girl?
âSure. Well⊠never have i ever broken a bone?â You hesitated.
âKeeping it tame, I see.â Connie hums.
âWell, itâs always good to start off the game nicely.â Armin comes to your defence.
âSorry. Was that a bad one?â
âIt was perfect!â Hange grabs her glass, taking a large swig of whatever concoction she made. Erwin also drinks, and so does Sasha.
âThe rest of you have never broken a bone before? I kind of expected everyone to drink for this one.â You wonder aloud.
âWhat, so you admit youâre trying to get us drunk?â Jean teases.
âThatâs not what I meant!â You faltered.
âBreaking a bone is a skill issue.â Connie declared smugly, earning a few looks.
âThats rich coming from you.â Mikasa retorts calmly.
âWhatâs that meant to mean?â He pouts.
âNext!â Eren barks. âIâll go.â
You roll your eyes, and let the conversation fade out. Almost instinctively, your gaze finds Levi from across the room. Unlike everyone else, he sits on a couch nearby, refraining from sitting on the floor. A look of annoyance is plastered on his face, but if you knew any better, you would dare to think that there was a bit of amusement hidden somewhere in there.
âYouâre a fucking virgin, dickhead!â Eren barks.
Youâre unsure of how the conversation went from the game to this, but you stifle a laugh anyway.
âThatâs not the point! Mikasa only popped your cherry out of pity.â Connie piped up.
âShe did not pop my fucking cherry.â
âDoes Eren argue with anyone about anything?â You mumble, and Mikasa simply nods, used to his antics.
âAlright! Shut up, Iâve got a good one!â Sasha beams, and the two of them shut up.
A beat.
âWell?â Erwin asks.
âNever have I ever gone farther than kissing in a car.â Sasha teases.
âJean, drink right now.â
âWhat the fuck, Connie?â Jeanâs face turned bright red in an instant. âHeâs lying.â
âIâm not!â
âHow the fuck did horseface hit it in a car?â Eren moans, clearly unimpressed.
ââŠHow did you even know, Connie?â Armin asks.
âConnie, shut yourââ
âI was coming back to our flat after a long night out, but then I notice that one of the cars outside had the lights on inside, and it was kind of bouncing.â
âScandalous!â Hange chirps.
âSo naturally, I went closer. The windows were all fogged up, so they couldnât see me approaching and I couldnât see them. I wiped the backseat window, andâŠ..â
ââŠ..â
âJean was eating someone out!â
The room immediately erupts, sounds of embarrassment and denial from Jean who had somehow became even redder, mocking laughs from Connie and Sasha, and concerned looks from Armin and Mikasa. Hangeâs jaw dropped, and you even heard a scoff from Levi.
âI must say Jean, I didnât take you for that kind of guy.â Erwin muses.
âI respect the hustle, Jean.â Hange claps a hand on his shoulder, which he immediately pushes off.
âConnie is just making up damn stories.â He retorts.
âConnie may be an idiot, but he never lies.â Eren grins wickedly, clearly relishing in his frenemyâs humiliation.
âYou want to get loud Eren? Fucking fine. Never have I ever been pity-fucked by my childhood best friend just so that I wouldnât be a virgin.â Jean sneers.
âIt wasnât a damn pity-fuck!â Eren roars, and you almost burst out in laughter at the look on his face.
âSo you admit it happened?â You grin, and Eren shoots you a deathly glare.
âWell, Mikasa. Anything to say?â Hange prods.
âWhyâd you assume it was me?â Mikasa deadpans, nonchalant as ever, and immediately, all eyes flick over to Armin.
He immediately straightens up, cheeks turning pink. âI-It wasnât me!â
âRightâŠ.â Connie murmurs.
Erwin clears his throat. âI have one.â
âAlright!â Armin says, eager to change the topic.
âNever have I ever left in the middle of a date.â He says.
Quite a few people life their cups on this oneâ Connie tilts his head back, downing the whole thing, Mikasa sips on her cup, and to your surpriseâ
âLevi?â You blurt out.
âWhat?â He snaps, throat bobbing as he swallows his drink.
âI thought you said you werenât playing?â Hange teases, leaning in.
He flicks her forehead, clearly annoyed.
âWell? Details.â Connie asks, and Levi clicks his tongue.
âUnimportant.â
âLevi, thatâs the point of the whole game.â
âFuckâs sake. She was a messy eater. Dropped half her spoonful on the restaurant table and then proceeded to scoop it back up and eat it.â
ââŠI thought everyone did that.â Jean mumbled.
âShut up, ass-eater.â Eren pipes up.
âDo you know how fucking dirty restaurants tables are? They clean that shit with the same sloppy rag they use to clean the fucking toilet seats.â He almost visibly recoils at the memory, lip curling in distaste.
You giggle a little, hiding your face behind your glass. His eyes dart to you, but not as cold as before. He looks away before you can think on it too much.
The chatter of the game and lively festival spirit soon blur into one, and the buzz of the drink youâre nursing gets a bit louder. Despite the food being brought in by Erwin only moments ago, you quietly excuse yourself.
Standing up from your cross-legged position you make your way out of the living area, unbeknownst to Leviâs gaze which follows you as you walk out. You cringe slightly, your initial plan had not been to leave this early. But youâd been caught up in the game, as did the rest of the people there. As much as youâd like to deny it, you had a lot of fun. Social activities normally drain you, but it felt like the opposite when you were with this group.
But you donât want to insert yourself where you arenât wanted. For all you know, they couldâve just decided to be polite since it was Thanksgiving, a one time thing. When you all return to school, you were one hundred percent sure that youâd find yourself on the sidelines again.
Whatever. No point dwelling on it.
You head upstairs quietly, the boisterous chatter in the living room getting fainter as you get further away. Locking yourself in the bathroom, you take a a deep breath.
But then you pause.
In the mirror, you see yourself. Obviously. But the image you were seeing reflected in the mirror wasnât one that youâd seen in over a year. You lookedâŠ. lively. To say the least. Granted, your skin was still a bit dull-looking, and the eyebags under your eyes were still there, but they looked natural, like the genetic ones. Not the stress induced ones.
Was this because you stopped taking the suppressants?
No, that doesnât make any sense.
Those are meant to make you feel better, so why on earth would you look healthier after not taking them? Ever since you got the official diagnosis from your doctor about your unusual condition, there hasnât been a day that you havenât downed atleast 2 pills.
You know all those sketchy conspiracy theories, like âWhat if oxygen was actually just poison the kills us slowly?â
Thatâs what you felt like right now.
A sharp knock on the door shocks you out of your train of thoughts.
âHurry up. I need to take a shit.â A familiar, gruff voice comes through.
You scoff, turning around and unlockjng the door before pulling it open to be met with an unbothered looking Levi.
âWhat, was the game that intense?â You jest.
âIt was boring as fuck. And you were in here for over 15 minutes. Could tell you werenât using anything.â
âWhy? Are you an expert on bowel movements? You seem to have some sort of fixation.â You grin.
You swear you see the corner of his lip tilt up slightly, but you donât have the chance to process it before he lets out a soft âTch.â and walks past you into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
Guess heâs not in the mood to talk, then.
You take in a deep breath and head towards the room you slept in last night. His room. Pushing open the door, youâre reminded of how itâs so distinctivelyâŠ.. Levi. If that even makes sense.
The smell, the look, the furniture, the vibe, everything. Itâs like a piece of him. It feels as if youâre intruding on something private. Which you kind of are, technically. But⊠heâs letting you. You hadnât really put much thought to it. The fact that heâs letting you sleep in his room.
Other than the fact that any decent person would do it, Levi is clearly a very private person. So you feel a bit more grateful that heâs allowing you this comfort.
You lie on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as you allow the hard planes of the wood to provide a semblance of comfort to your aching muscles. Youâve learnt to block out the pain, itâs been over a year that youâve had to deal with it. But the second that the noise quietens down, that youâre alone and behind closed doors again, thereâs nothing to distract you from the agony.
And the worst thing is, the pain isnât all physical. Itâs hard to explain, but thereâs a deep, emotional pain that lingers costantly at the bottom of your heart. You know what it is. This yearning, for your second half. It is frustrating. Why canât your body simply just handle life on its own? Why must it need some stupid counterpart, just to not self destruct?
And the worst thing is, majority of people your age havenât found their soulmates either. Most people find theirs in their late 20s. After theyâve found themselves, their identity, who they truly are. Youâve never had that luxury. It was snatched from under your feet that fateful day you first felt the pain in your chest.
Itâs so constant, so immanent that you wonder if you would feel incomplete without it. The pain.
You donât realise that youâre crying until salt starts to prick at your tongue, tears skimming your lips. You raise your hands and wipe them away furiously, fed up with everything.
You turn your head to the side, met with a clear view under the bed. Not a speck of dust. You almost laugh, at how uncanny and unusually clean this guyâs room was. And then your eyes catch on something. A small black box, underneath the bedframe. You wouldâve thought that it slipped there unintentionally, but with the way it was pushed under, into the corner, it was clear that it wasnât.
You were more hesistant to poke around this morning, the bookshelf in the corner still seemed to be taunting you. But you werenât going to waste any time now.
Rolling onto your front, you stuck your arm under the bed and waved it around wildly, until your fingers brushed against the small, velvet box. You pulled it out and sat up, cradling the item in your hands. It looked⊠precious. You had no idea as to why it would be shoved under the bed. The velvet covering was soft and plush, and you could tell that despite its unusual location, it had been taken out and looked after often.
Gently, you press your fingers against the front and pry it open.
Huh. Itâs empty.
Your met with the sight of the bottom of the box, seemingly empty. Confusion was evident on your face. Why would it be empty? Maybe whatever was in it was taken out recently.
But then, you pause again.
The floor of the box was slightly uneven, as if there was something pushing up against it from underneath. Wiggling your pinky finger into the corner, you try your hardest to try and pry off the fake bottom. Eventually, it gives.
Thereâs a small, dainty necklace that lays against the plush velvet, almost protected by its furs. The chain is thin, but you can tell itâs been made with an expensive material. You eyes run along the chain, until you see a locket in the shape of a clover.
You chew on your lip nervously. Thereâs clearly something personal in there. At first, you were just expecting to find something embarrassing, like a diary of some sort. But even just looking at the locket sent a deep sense of something ambiguous into your chest. But youâd gone too far just to chicken out.
With the utmost care, you carefully open the locket. Inside, is a photo of a woman. She has striking, wise grey eyes, which almost feel as if youâre looking into the sky during a storm. Her face is kind, yet to be touched by the cruel hands of time. She looks young. Too young to have been dead, you realise. Your eyes flick over to the other side of the locket, reading the message enscribed.
âDo not trust what they call fate.â
A deep, sudden chill settled deep in your bones. You were expecting something sweeter, such as âGone too soonâ, or âForever in our heartsâ.
But this?
This felt foreboding. Like some sort of warning. You knew that you werenât meant to see this, yet at the same time it felt like it was directed at you. There was no context, but you knew exactly what that message meant. And that was what unsettled you.
Heart pounding, you close the locket shove it back into the velvet box with half the care you did it with earlier, and slide it under the bed. You climb into the bed and pull the covers up to your chin, and stare at the ceiling. You took deep breaths, but your heart wouldnât stop racing.
You were scared. Because your entire world had just collapsed with mere message.
You're sat at the back of your lecture, staring off into space rather than focusing the red-cheeked balding man whoâs current trying to teach you. Youâve always spaced out during lectures, and although you try your hardest to keep on top of things, itâs difficult to ignore the decline in your grades ever since your condition worsened.
You suppose thatâs why your fingers fly to your keyboard, clicking on a search that always lingers in your history. The search that doesnât do anything but bring up a bunch of purple links youâve already clicked on a dozen times each.
Soulmates.
Such a normal, fundamental part of life that you hardly ever hear someone mention in other than in passing. Everyone is used to it. Itâs not a new buzzing topic, and itâs nothing that everyone hasnât heard of before.
Itâs cases such as yours that are different. Soulmate deterioration is rare. Not rare enough that people donât know of it, but rare enough that if you were looking especially sickly or ill, no one would think it ask you, âhave you met your soulmate yet?â
Everyone just assumes. If youâre dating someone, itâs your soulmate. If youâre not, then you and your soulmate havenât connected yet.
Itâs not easy to comprehend soulmates when you havenât mer yours yet. Itâs not as simple as love at first sight, or you have a matching mark on your body or whatever bullshit the fantasies say.
You could very much have met your soulmate, but not connected with them. Your soul is unable to connect with them if thereâs no bond between you.
But the second you do meet your soulmate, you will feel drawn to them. A deep sense of longing for them, to be near them, and to someone who hasnât experienced that before, it may just seem like a crush, or as if theyâve found a really good friend. Thereâs been some cases of platonic soulmates, too.
Thereâs also been cases where people end up falling in love with someone else. And their soul can end up living off of that deep, passionate love. But itâs extremely rare.
The chances of falling in love with someone other than your soulmate is already absurd in itself.
The realisation that youâve met your soulmate is hard to describe, but when you feel it for yourself, youâll understand. Itâs as if the world was grey before, and has suddenly become vibrant and full of colours. Itâs as fireworks were going off in your heart. Or itâs as if your eyes can see no one but them.
Itâs different for everyone. But itâs that same, content feeling that your soul gets when it finds itâs missing half.
âSoulmates, huh? Interesting topic to be researching during Criminology.â
You flinch, closing the tab suddenly as you turn to look at the voice which snapped you out of your thoughts.
Erwin. Just as blond-haired, blue-eyed and charming as he was yesterday. And heâs decided to sit next to you.
âOh, IâŠ. I find the topic interesting.â You tell a half truth. Genuinely, you do find the whole thing interesting. But you also hate it. Though your opinion could be biased due to the fact the current âtopicâ is actively killing you.
âDo you have a soulmate?â You inwardly sigh with relief when he says that. He didnât notice that you were specifically researching on soulmate deterioration.
ââŠ.I donât. Do you?â
He chuckles quietly, âIâm not sure if you could it that.â
âSo you have someone in mind, then?â
He simply nods, a knowing smile on his face as if heâs aware of something you arenât. Subconsciously, your mind goes back to when you saw him at the cafe.
ââŠ.Did Levi get his gift?â you ask tentatively, wary of his answer.
Another chuckle. âHe did, actually.â
You simply blink at him, not breaking eye contact as you wait for a better answer.
âHe wasnât exactly thrilled.â
You visibly deflate. You must have picked the wrong tea. Maybe he doesnât actually enjoy black tea. Or if couldâve been the quality of the actual one you bought. It cost so fucking much tooâŠ. Mustâve been a scam of some sort. Shit, you canât believe you fell for it.
Your eyes widen slightly as he brings the box of tea out of his bag and places it in your lap.
âTry giving it to him in person. With a name, too.â
You look down at the intricately detailed box in your lap, able to smell the subtle aroma it gives off. Almost⊠calming.
You guess youâll have to try again.
âŠ
âWhat about this one?â
âAre we going to a funeral or something? Change.â
Your jaw drops, oftended by Sashaâs words as she scarfs down mouthfuls of spaghetti.
Itâs around 4pm, the sky already darkening as the cool breeze of autumn filters in through the open windows.
âWhat? You told me to be honest!â She huffs, getting defensive after being on the receiving end of your accusing look.
âYeah, i said be honest. I didnât say be a bitch.â
âWell, honesty is a bitch. Go change, quickly. We only have half an hour till we have to go.â
âSasha, you do know Thanksgiving is tomorrow? On Saturday? We are only going tonight so we can help Mikasa set up.â You point out, eyes narrowing.
The two of you had been at it for an hour. Sasha has probably rejected over 20 outfits by now. Mikasa left the conversation ages ago, and now sheâs flitting around the apartment, making sure that she hasnât forgotten to bring anything.
âYeah, but we have to get there early so they donât get the chance to hide the food from me.â
âHalf the food wonât have been made yet.â You mutter under your breath, rolling your eyes in jest as you carry yourself back to your room.
Your clothes spill out of your cupboard in a haphazard mess, an array of colours and patterns in a heap on the floor. You arenât even a neat freak, but the sight is unsettling. Another harsh breeze flings your curtains open, and you can feel a slight chill starting to settle in your bones as you take off the outfit you just tried on.
Your suitcase also lays open on the floor, filled with clothes and toiletries. Atleast that was one thing you didnât have to worry about, as youâd already packed there. It was the outfit that you were going to wear on the drive there, which Sasha claims is more important that actually getting there on time.
Thanksgiving was tommorow, and the drive to Mikasaâs family home wasnât a short one. And since she was the only one out of you three who had a car, the rest was self-explanatory.
However, she was going to be staying over there for the weekend, you and Sasha decided to stay and keep her company, like a sleepover of some sort.
Which leads you to your current situation. You stuffed basically all of your nice outfits (you donât have many) into the suitcase, leaving you with nothing to actually wear to the damn place.
You had a few nice outfits. You werenât necessarily struggling with money. You wouldnât go as far to say that you were, because thereâs definitely people out there that have it worse than you. Even though you have to work for it, you still manage to get your tuition fees paid and to keep up with your part of the rent. Just about.
But money is always tight. Like a leash around your neck, tugging whenever you try to step out of your comfort zone. Invited out with friends? The leash tightens. Want to treat yourself? The leash tightens.
And the main reason is because suppressants cost a pretty penny. You canât ask your parents to help you pay for them. If they got
even a whiff of your condition, theyâd pull you out of school so fast and put you in a hospital. Youâd probably stay in that hospital till you succumbed.
Out of nowhere, someone bursts into your room, and you scramble to cover yourself in your state of undress. Youâd been stood in your underwear and staring at the mess of clothes on the floor for the past five minutes, youâd forgotten someone had been waiting for you.
âSasha, what the hell?â She storms past you as you squeak, shoving an arm into the heap of clothes as pulling out a random item of clothing.
âThis is ugly.â
She reaches in again.
âToo slutty.â
And again.
âIâm borrowing this.â
Before she finally pulls out something decent. And by that, you mean some random lounge set that you splurged on a few months ago and never ended up wearing.
âWear this.â She tosses it at you, and you catch it.
âGood eye.â
You hold it up against your body. Will this even fit you anymore? Youâd lost maybe around a kilo or two, and the set was a bit big when youâd bought.
Well, itâs worth a try.
Ignoring the presence of Sasha, you slip on the set and turn to look in the mirror.
You looked like a child trying on her motherâs clothing. Huffing, you turn and shoot a withering glance at the girl on your bed.
âWhat?â
âIm drowning in this.â
âNo, it looks cute! Seriously.â
She stands, abandoning the packet on crisps you hadnât even noticed sheâd picked up, adjusting the way the clothes hung on your body.
She spends around a minute doing that, peeking over your shoulder every so often to see what sheâs doing.
When sheâs done, she taps your hip and steps to the side with a triumphant grin.
âTada!â
âHuh. Howâd you manage to do that?â You say, genuinely surprised. The outfit lookedâŠ. flattering. Hardly anything had looked flattering on you recently. âYouâre in charge of my outfits from now on.â
âNo, but I appreciate the sentiment.â She makes her way back to her packet of crisps.
Turning and twisting in the mirror, you brush off her bluntness and admire your frame. Youâd never felt insecure until recently, but this managed to make you feel a bit more confident.
âBy the wayâŠ.. you really should eat more.â She comments.
âJeez Sasha, really?â Your mood sours slightly, pride bruised by the innocent jab. You canât tell if she meant it because she thinks youâre underweight, or because youâre not as much of a foodie as she is.
Eithwr way, it hurt a bit. Regardless of how thick or thin youâd been the past few years, youâd always had some sort of gaunt, sickly look. not extreme enough that people would constantly ask if youâre okay, but enough that someone who knew you closely might point it out.
A knock at the door breaks the tense moment, followed by Mikasa peeking in.
âThe car is loaded with everything downstairs. Are you guys ready?â
You and Sasha both respond meekly, you turning to zip up your suitcase and her disappearing to find her own.
It hurt, to say the least. Mikasa had stopped making comments or asking questions about your health a while ago. Youâd been able to pretend you were okay, and that no one noticed anything off about you.
Sighing, your drag your suitcase out of your room and towards the front door. The kitchen looks unusually bare as most of its contents have been stripped and shoved in the car.
Sasha reappears only moments later, her own suitcase in hand a meek expression on her face.
âI didnât mean to hurt you.â She mumbles, referring to the comment she made earlier.
âYou didnât.â
âReally?â
âYou kind of did.â
Her face immediately turns apologetic, her hand reaching out to yours.
âIâm sorry. I shouldnât have said that.â
âItâs fine, really.â You acquiesce, but she shakes her head.
âItâs not. I know I have a tendency to be blunt, and I have a really
big mouth, but you can always tell me to shut-â
You nudge her, rolling your eyes. âSeriously, itâs fine. I like your bluntness.â
âYou do?â She says hopefully.
You nod, and she reaches into a compartment of her suitcase and pulls out an unopened packet of crisps.
âFor you.â
Eyes widening, you shoot her a baffled look. âYouâre being serious?â
She nods this time, and you quickly shove the crisps into the pocket of your own suitcase before she can get a word in.
âYouâre real sweet, you know that.â You say, smiling.
âYouâre only saying that because I gave you snacks.â Sasha grumbles.
âWhat? I donât like food as much as you do.â You pout, offended. âIâm happy we became friends. I donât have a lot, soâŠ.â
Suddenly, your cheek is pressed against hers as she pulls you into a hug, squeezing so tight you think you might burst. âYouâre so cute, I love being your friend.â
The both of you walk out of the front door together, walking to the lift in your apartment building. While the building wasnât run-down, it had seen better days. Years and years of college students passing through it has taken its toll.
It isnât until you step out of the building and start walking towards the car that you remember.
Stopping abruptly, you turn to look at Sasha, a panicked look on your face. âWait, i forgot something. Wait for me, iâll be really fast.â
You turn back towards the apartment without looking back, jogging straight past the elevator and heading for the stairs. You only lived on the 2nd floor, anyways.
Taking the steps two at a time, you reach your apartment much faster than you wouldâve in the lift. However, it was at the price of your lungs instead.
Standing outside of your door, you fumble for your keys and hastily shove it into the door. It opens. You dash into your room, and there it is, on your bedside table.
The box of tea.
Youâd made a promise to yourself that youâd give it to Levi at Thanksgiving. Face to face.
Sighing, you grab it and jog back out of your room, out of the front door, and down the stairs, almost tripping over your own feet.
Itâs safe to say that youâre out of breath when you reach the car again. Cheeks warm, the back of your throat dry, and your chest heaving. You hadnât gone to the gym in a while, out of fear that youâd collapse on the treadmill or something in front of everyone. Youâd never live that down.
Sasha and Mikasa had packed all the suitcases and bags in the meantime, meaning there was nothing for you to do other than to trudge round the car and get into the passenger seat.
Settling into your seat, you catch Mikasaâs eyes as she looks at you through the rearview mirror, clearly wondering why you did all of that for the box of tea currently sitting in your lap.
âDonât even ask.â You pant, resting your head on the window.
âYou should totally hit the gym, by the way. Your panting sounds concerning.â Sasha calls out from the backseat.
âGee, thanks.â You huff. Not like you could explain to her whatâs really going on with your body.
Mikasa reverses out of the parking spot, the car driving straight down the road rather than turning left.
âDidnât the directions say to turn left, Mika?â Sasha speaks up from the back.
âYeah, but we have to make a quick stop first.â
âWhere?â You say.
âAt my cousins place.â She turns onto the motorway, picking up speed. âThereâs no more space in their car for some of the stuff they need to bring. We still have some space, so theyâre going to put it in our car instead.â
ââŠThey?â You mumble.
âHim and his friends.â
The box of tea on your lap suddenly feels heavier. You quickly pick it up and gently shove it under your chair, out of sight. Youâd rather not give it to him now. If you even end up seeing him.
The drive is only a few minutes long, and you spend the most of it staring out the window with meaningless thoughts running through your mind.
The car stops outside another apartment, at lot more upscale than yours. Not luxury, but definitely nice.
You reach forward and unlock the car door, stepping out it to get a good look at their place.
âDamn.â
âRight? Howâd they manage to get this place?â Eyes widening in awe, you follow Mikasa as she simply shrugs and walks towards the building.
âTheyâre a few years above us.â She explains. Eventually the three of you come to a stop by their door, her hand raising to knock on the wood.
You flinch when you hear the sound of something crashing, a panicked yelp, and rushed footsteps towards the door. The door swings open and you take a step back as youâre face to face withâŠ. Hange?
Her hair is pulled up messily into some sort of half up half down style, and she sports a welcoming grin when she notices Mikasa.
âMikasa! Youâve gotten way cuter since the last time I saw you.â She remarks, pulling her into side-hug.
âCuter? Hange, itâs only
been a few months.â Mikasa sighs, yet she leans into the hug with a small smile on her face.
âAnd you brought your friends? Aww, all of you guys are so cute!â She reaches a hand out and pinches your cheek, taking you by surprise. Sasha nearly chokes on her snack.
A voice comes from behind Hange, hidden behind her tall frame. âStop harassing my cousin, Hange.â Low, and with an extremely bored lilt to it. You already know who the voice belongs to.
A frame much shorter than Hangeâs shoves her out of the way, revealing the familiar crop of black, inky hair and slate grey eyes.
âThe shit you guys need to pick up is in the kitchen.â You watch as his eyes go from Mikasa, to Sasha, then finally landing on you.
Pausing.
You couldâve sworn he looked at you for a split second longer than the others, but youâre forced to drop that thought as he disappears into the apartment. The three of you follow close behind.
As you step in, your eyes wander around the humble abode. Itâs almost as if you could see touches of both Levi and Hange in each little trinket you notice on the shelves and desks.
Before you enter the kitchen, you notice a flight of stairs. A second floor to their apartment? Are they even college students anymore? You donât really get to have the real college experience if you arenât broke the entire time. However, you failed to notice the blonde standing on the stairs until he calls your name.
âErwin?â Your eyes widen, and you do a double take at his form perched on the stairs. âI didnât know you lived here too.â
âMy apologies. I shouldâve mentioned that.â He says, coming down to meet you.
âNo, itâs fine. I mean⊠I never asked.â You respond meekly, clasping your hands behind your back.
It feels almost awkwardly intimate now, to be standing in front of him in his own house. You wouldnât call yourself an anxious person, but the way his gaze is fixed on you, so steady and unwaveringâŠ
Itâs almost as if he knows what heâs doing.
You donât have any sort of feelings towards him. Those were all extinguished when he mentioned having someone he sees as a soulmate the last time you saw him.
This feeling is simply because youâre holding eye contact with an attractive man. The same feeling of awe that someone gets when looking at something really pretty.
The moment is interrupted, as always.
âWhy the fuck are you just stood there? Go and help load the rest of the stuff.â Levi grumbles as he walks past the two of you with box in hand, the harsh comment directed mostly at Erwin.
Erwin simply shifts his gaze from you to Levi, giving him a knowing look before sauntering off to the kitchen, leaving you with him.
Levi looks you up and down, and ultimately finds nothing to say as he barks out a harsh, âYou, too.â
âRight. Sorry.â Great. Way to piss him off already. But to be honest, when is he not pissed off? Itâs as if he walks around with a stick shoved halfway up his ass. Prick.
But⊠he doesnât seem to remember you. Itâs only been a few days since you met him at the cafe, but you guess you didnât leave much of an impression, then. His gaze didnât seem to change when he looked at you, there was no hint of recognition. He simply thinks youâre one of Mikasaâs friends.
Shit. Wouldnât it just be pointless to give him the gift? He doesnât even remember you. It would just be weird if you randomly gave him a box of tea as thanks for something he doesnât even remember happening.
Suddenly, you flinch as you feel a quick, sharp pain to the middle of your forehead. Rubbing the sore spot, you refocus to see him standing a lot closer than before. Close enough that your eyes could see every detail of face, and that you could feel the box he was holding brushing against you.
He retracts his hand, turning away without another look. âYou were spacing out.â Thatâs all he offers as he walks out of the apartment and towards the car.
âŠDid he just flick you? It seriously fucking hurt. Not to mention the fact that you bruise easily due to your damn condition.
Huffing, you turn towards the kitchen and watch the others walk past you, all with boxes in hand. There are only around 3 medium sized boxes left, so you place them atop each other and pick them up.
Itâs heavy, and you canât really see past the boxes, but you should be able to make it to the car without too much struggle.
You stick your head out to the side to see past the boxes, and start the walk from the apartment to the car. There arenât any apartments on the bottom floor, only a reception and a communal area. Luckily for you, they live on the first floor, meaning that itâs not too far.
When you reach the elevator, you notice that you canât actually press the button without putting down the boxes. And to be honest, if you put the boxes down, itâd be a struggle to to pick them up.
So you opt for the stairs. Itâs only one flight, you should be fine.
Tentatively, you step down the stairs, ensuring to take your time. You werenât an idiotâ you werenât going to rush down and then injure yourself.
However, when you reach the bottom of the stairs, the box obscures the final step from your vision. You step out, expecting to meet the ground floor but rather youâre met with a much larger gap gap the expecting.
You fall forward, landing on top of the boxes you were carrying, and you wince as the bottom edge digs into your ribcage. Thatâll leave a bruise too. Your hand that was wrapped around the front
of the boxes meets the ground first, and it gets crushed between the floor and the boxes. And then you land on top of all of that.
It hurt. Like hell. You slide off the boxes, landing on the ground as you try to ease out your hand from beneath them. Your hand wasnât completely crushed or anythingâ that wouldâve been a much more gory scene. But it felt numb, yet it felt like it was on fire at the same time.
When you finally manage to retrieve your hand, you notice the cracked glass in your peripheral vision. One of
the boxes seemed to have ripped open under your weight, and the delicate, intricate vase inside had broken under impact, shattering
into pieces and spilling out, creating some sort of horrifyingly beautiful mosaic on the floor.
Shit. You could cry right now. How much did that cost? Hundreds, definitely. Hundreds that you donât have. How are you meant to even buy a new one for them? How are you even meant to tell them what you broke in the first place?
Suddenly, you hear hurried footsteps rush towards you, getting louder and louder until a pair of shoes come into vision. Shoes that were on the smaller side.
âWhat the fuck happened here?â Levi says, eyes darting over the scene in fromt of him.
âIâm sorry. I didnât mean to break your vase.â You start to ramble, unable to look at him in the eyes out of shame. âI know itâs expensive, and I donât know how long it will take me to pay you back but i promise i willââ
âIâm not talking about the damn vase. Iâm talking about you.â He interrupts, his face holding an annoyed yet concerned expression.
âIâm fine.â You respond quickly, almost automatically. The response always comes out whenever someone asks you any question regarding your wellbeingâ answering truthfully is exhausting. If you arenât fine, it only follows with an onslaught of questions which only serve to stress you out more.
âThen why are you cradling your hand like that? And your ankle, too.â Your ankle, you turn to look at it, your eyes widening slightly. Itâs not broken, but itâs definitely twisted into some sort of unnatural position.
You tentatively right the position of your leg, your face twisting in pain as you refuse to let any sounds out. It hurts, but youâll be fine. Just a bit more. Itâs nearly back in the rightâ
âDonât move anymore. Iâll get youââ
Mikasa suddenly appears next to Levi, worried. âAre you okay? What happened?â She crouches down next to you, holding out an arm to help you up.
âIâm really sorry, I broke your-â
âDonât start with that shit.â Levi cuts you off, as cold as ever. âMikasa, take her to the car. Iâll clean this up.â
She nods in response, allowing you to use her body as a crutch. Her grip is steady and comforting, and it helps clear your mind as you move towards the car. Sasha is leant against it, scrolling on her phone and snacking at the same time. She hasnât noticed the two of you.
In the distance, you can see Hange and Erwin having an animated conversation by a different car. Itâs probably the one theyâre taking.
Gently, you slip yourself out of Mikasaâs grasp. âI think iâm okay to walk. Itâs better if i put weight on it.â
âAre you sure?â
You nod firmly, trying to seem as confident as possible. You hesitantly place your weight on it, hissing under your breath as pain surges through your ankle. However,
you manage to walk. With a limp, but it must be convincing enough as Mikasa allows you to walk to rest of the way by yourself.
When Sasha sees you, she rushes over, immediately fussing. You brush of her off, easing her concerns with a forced smile and a tight-lipped âIâm fine.â
âThereâs not really enough space for your leg in the passenger seat. You should move to the backseat.â Mikasa advises.
âShe canât.â Sasha says, pointing into the car. âThey put some of the luggage in our backseat because car boot got full.â
âJust move to their car, then. Probably has more leg room in there.â She sighs, coming to a conclusion.
ââŠ.I should move to their car?â Youâre unsure about that. You know for a fact that the drive isnât short, and to be stuck in a car with three people you donât knowâŠ
Itâs not really Erwin of Hange that are the problem. Itâs Levi.
Mikasa holds out her arm again, givimg you a look when you try to wave her off. Together, she helps you limp your way to what seems to be Erwins car.
âHey, whatâ Oh! Whatâs happened here?â Hange exclaims, her face turning pitiful. Erwin looks slightly concerned as he eyes the swelling thatâs visible.
âShe twisted her ankle. Can she go in your backseat? Not enough space in our car.â
âYeah, she can.â Erwin frowns, stepping forward to take you from Mikasaâs arm.
âThanks.â You mumble as your shifted between the two solid bodies. You tune the conversation out, your eyes choosing a random spot to focus on as Erwin helps you lean against the car to balance yourself.
Soon enough, he helps you into the backseat, as gentlemanly as ever. He leans down, hand holding onto the top of the car as he speaks to you. âIâll be driving. Yell if you need anything, alright?â
âYeah. Thanks.â He closes the car door and you close your eyes, leaning your head back. You canât ignore the throbbing pain in your ankle, so youâd rather sleep it off than stress yourself out for no reason.
As the minutes pass, you start to feel lightheaded. Your pills are lodged deep in your bag which is currently in the other car. Youâll have to take them later. Even if you had them on you, you mightâve waited till you were on your own to take them.
They have a distinct look, as you wouldnât be able to disguise them as painkillers.
Erwin and Hange get in the car, Erwin in the drivers seat, and Hange in the passenger. Shit. That means you have to sit next toâ
The backseat door opens, and Levi slides into the seat next to you. If heâs bothered by having to share the back with you, hw doesnât show it.
He hardly even spares you a glance as Erwin starts driving, scrolling on his phone and minding his own business. Which is precisely what you should be doing too, but you canât help but stare at him.
He drops a plastic bag heâd been holding since he entered the car on your lap, and you cringe at the cold, wet feeling. Quickly picking it up you open the bag to see two bags of ice.
Despite the cold patch the bag left
on your thighs, your heart grows warm at the gesture.
âThank you. But thereâs two in here.â You frown, looking up at him just to see him staring right back.
âFor your hand, too.â He says, looking away, almost embarrassed by the fact he remembers your hand was hurt.
You, however, are practically on the verge of tears. Itâs pathetic almostâ he hardly did anything. But that gesture coming from someone like him means a lot.
You lift your ankle onto your thigh, slipping off your shoe and placing the ice onto it. Your fave contorts slightly at the icy burn, but you donât dare complain. Your good hand grips the patent leather of the car seat, nails digging into it slightly.
Huffing, he snatches the bag from
you, pulling out the other ice pack and bandages you handnt even noticed were there. With much gentler movements, he takes your bad hand and places the ice pack on top of it, and then wraps the bandage around it to keep it in place.
He then slides closer to you, shoulder pressing against yours as he wraps a bandage around the ice pack on your ankle too.
He moves away again, and you have half a mind to tell him to move closer again, but you know better.
âThank you.â You speak up.
He doesnât respond, as usual, only glancing at you before turning to look back out the window. But this time, you take no offence.
âIt feels as if youâre always helping meâŠ..â You trail off, looking away. His eyes a distant, as if heâs focused on something else. He must not be listening.
âIâve only helped you twice.â He says, and it catches you off guard.
So he does remember. The cafe. With the way heâs been acting, you assumed that the incident had been swept away to the back of his mind. Heâs fucking difficult to read, you realise.
âIâve never been of help to you.â You murmur, almost ashamed. When have you ever helped any of your friends?
Mikasa practically saved you from the streets when she let you stay in her apartment free of charge. Levi helped you when you were about to pass out on the streets, too. No matter how bitchy or prickly he was about it, he did something.
âIâve never needed help.â He responds.
That makes you smile.
âI guess not.â You say, and you rest your head against the window as another wave of sleepiness washes over you.
People who don't find their soulmate by a certain age will eventually wither like flowers, not being able to live a life without the second half of their soul.
âYour soul can only last so long without itâs second half.â
Rain poured in heavy sheets, each drop soaking through your layers of clothing without an ounce of resistance. Your footsteps splashed through shallow puddles, your mind not registering the cold water that started to well in the soles of your shoes. Your hair, which at some point earlier in the evening was once neat, now stuck to your face and neck. Droplets slid down your forehead tracing paths along your skin before vanishing into the drenched fabric of your collar. Your tears did the same thingâ but there was a clear difference. The rain was ice cold, unforgiving and cruel yet your tears were disgustingly warm.
But itâs okay. Itâs not like anyoneâs around to see you cry.
The doctors office was a long way away; when you looked over your shoulder you were only just about able to make out its gloomy figure. His words ran around your mind, getting louder with each step you took.
âYour soul can only last so long without itâs second half.â
Fuck that. You didnât need some shitty second half to survive. Youâve done just fine on your own for the past 20 years, you can last another 60 till your time comes.
But that seemed to contradict with the fact that you were starting to wither. For the longest time, youâd tried to ignore the rustiness of your joints, the subtle yet constant throbbing in your skull, and the fact youâd been losing kilos without even trying.
Your time was approaching must faster that it should have been.
It was fucking horrifying.
Your tears were salty on your lips, and you rubbed at your eyes harshly, a futile attempt at drying them. But then, youâd spotted something further down the road. A shop with its lights still on. Just one light inside. Maybe if you get there, you can sit down and rest your knees for a bit.
That had seemed to motivate you, your feet moving faster than before as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to conserve your body heat. You finally reach the shop, and upon further inspection you realise itâs a cafe of some sort. You canât see anyone inside, but you lean on the door slightly and it opens, so you push it open and step inside.
Instantly youâre hit with the smell of tea, different aromas wafting through the air. Your nose wrinkles slightly at the onslaught of scents, and you stagger towards the nearest table you see. Slumping into the chair, you gulp in air as if youâd been drowning just moments ago. Your clothes still clung uncomfortably to your skin, and you made an attempt to brush away the hairs that were plastered to your forehead and clouded your vision.
âCanât you read the fucking sign? Weâre closedââ
That harsh voice youâd just heard from the back of the shop suddenly trailed off, and you lifted your head to see the owner of it.
You immediately tense up the second you spot him. Cold grey eyes that look as if theyâre scrutinising and judging you, peeling away every layer of your skin until youâre nothing but a mess before him. Sharp, angular features with a hidden femininity lingering behind them, and a glare that could kill.
His nose wrinkles in distaste as his eyes followed the path youâd walked to the table, frowning at every bit of mud and rainwater youâd tracked into the shop.
âFor fuckâs sake.â You hear him mutter, and he skulks off into the door at the back of the shop, a staff room of some sort.
Humiliation swims through you, your body burning hot despite the chill that clings to your skin. Not only had you stumbled into a shop and dragged your filth into it, youâd pissed of an extremely attractive man whilst youâd done it.
The staff room door opens, and said man walks out, carrying a myriad of cleaning supplies for the mess youâd created. You avoided making eye contact with him, and you felt cheeks flush with shame as he started to scrub the floor.
Under any other circumstances. you wouldâve gotten up to help him. You really would have. But it felt like your knees had turned to stone, stuck in this position, rendering you unable to stand. When he finally rose from the floor, he turned to look at you, catching your eye.
No matter how desperately you wanted to avoid eye contact, you couldnât look away. His eyes were so fucking grey, but it seemed as if they were alive, shifting between hues of silver, steel, and even a deep blue.
They had a soft, smoky intensity, like weathered glass hiding secrets behind its pale sheen. They seemed ancient and wise, yet distant, as if theyâd seen too much and learned to keep their truths well guarded.
âThereâs a hairdryer.â
That snapped you out of your trance.
âWhat?â
âTheres a hairdryer in the staff bathroom. You look like you need it.â He said, unable to hide the way his eyes lingered on the droplets of rainwater falling from the tips of your hair, clearly displeased.
âOh⊠okay.â
He raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting you to stand up and head to the bathroom, but you stay planted in your seat, unable to explain the fact that your knees are fucking killing you.
âIâŠ. think I need a moment, please.â You mumble, your voice small and pathetic.
âNo. Youâre going there now.â
Huh?
âI donât need you fucking flooding the whole shop with rainwater. Go to the staff bathroom and use the hairdryer. You look likeââ
âIm sorry. Iâll go now. Could i just have some space?â
He scoffs, clearly unimpressed, and walks back into the staff room to give you your âspaceâ.
Gripping onto the edge of the table, you force your knees to straighten as you stand, your fingertips paling as the blood leaves them due to your intense grip.
You stumble towards the bathroom, trying to walk in a straight line and not collide into any tables at the same time you try not leave any more mud from your shoes anywhere.
Luckily, the bathroom isnât to far away, and you near it within the minute. You lean against the wall by the door, your chest heaving as you catch your breath.
This is bad. Your health had been deteriorating for over a year now, but you didnât know it got this bad this fast. Because your soul hadnât met its second half yet.
Because of some fucking stupid soulmate system, or whatever you call it.
âYour soul can only last so long without itâs second half.â
Your doctor had said that to you today. Heâd also prescribed you pills that were currently shoved deep in the pocket of your jeans, and told you to take one every day.
Suppressants.
Some sort of medical miracle provided to people who hadnât yet found their soulmate. It purely suppresses the âsignsâ that you body gives you when itâs trying to tell you that it needs the second half of its soul. The headaches, the weight loss, loss of mobility, the whole fucking thing.
It was only prescribed to those who were nearing their end. Such as you.
The suppressants donât necessarily lengthen the time you have left until your body succumbs. They might do so by a few months, but that isnât their main purpose. It simplyâŠ. makes the process of slowly dying more bearable. And less noticeable to others. Everyone has a certain age that they have to meet their soulmate by. You donât know what age it is until the symptoms get bad enough. At that point, itâs probably already been a year since youâd reached your soulmate age.
Some people get lucky, and get an age like 60. Plenty of time to meet your soulmate before your body succumbs. Others arenât so lucky. The lowest recorded soulmate age ever is 16. Your number wasnât so far off. Youâd started your slow deteriation at 18. You hadnât noticed until you were 19, and youâre turning 22 this year. Youâd been deteriorating for about 4 years now. Some peoples bodies deteriorate much faster. They only last a year before they die. Others last for around 10 years before they die. But the thing is, if your soulmate dies before you meet them, youâre destined for death too.
A sigh escapes your lips as you push open the bathroom door, putting the depressing thought away. Thereâs no way that your soulmate is dead. You wouldnât be that unlucky. You grab the hairdryer and turn it on, hoping the sound of it will drown out your thoughts. You peel your shirt off your body, cringing at the way the cotton sticks to your skin.
You alternate between drying your hair and your shirt. In those moments of silence, your mind slowly starts to overwork itself with thoughts that arenât helping anyone or anything.
What if your soulmate truly is dead? Where does that leave you? Are you really just meant to suffer in silence until you succumb?
Surely the only answer would be to end your suffering yourself?
You think of yourself as someone with pretty strong mental health. But, if it were to get to that point?
Youâd do it without a heartbeat.
The sudden knock at the door lands like a punch to your gut.
âWait!â you rush out, your eyes darting around the bathroom for anything to cover yourself with that wasnât your soaked shirt plastered to the sink.
Your eyes land on a towel and you wrap it around your shoulders, before wrapping it around your front to to cover yourself.
Your hand, still shaky from the cold outside, cracks the door open large enough for your head to fit through.
Your eyes meet with a pair of unamused grey ones, and the man they belong to clicks his tongue in annoyance at your still-wet state, albeit slightly drier.
âHow much longer is this going to take? I need to close up in five minutes.â
You feel uncomfortable. Not because heâs making you feel so, but because you canât tell what heâs thinking. His voice is so void of any particular emotion, to the point where you canât tell if heâs annoyed with the fact that youâre still here, or if he doesnât mind at all.
Youâll just have to go with the safer option.
ââŠ.Iâll be finished in a minute. Thank you.â
You close the door quickly and drop the towel, grabbing your shirt from the counter and pulling it back on.
Itâs still wet. Unbearably so. You hold back a groan, not wanting the man outside to hear you as you wipe down the surfaces you used and put the hairdryer back.
You noticed to way he reacted to the mud you brought in earlier, so you look around and make sure than everything is in pristine condition, just how you met it.
The next time you open the door, heâs not longer stood right outside, but instead leaning against the wall opposite the door.
âIâm finished. Thank you so much for letting me use the hairdryer.â
He lets out a quiet grunt, barely acknowledging your apology as he grabs his jacket and bag.
You follow behind him as he walks to the door, turning off lights and switches, before he pauses abruptly and turns round to face you.
âYou have a ride?â He says, as you compose yourself underneath his harsh gaze.
âUmâŠ. yeah. There was service in here, so i was able to call myself an uber.â
He doesnât say anything more as he sighs and leans against the wall just by the entrance of the shop.
You shoot him a confused glance, unsure as to why he hasnât left yet.
âItâs not like I can lock up the shop if youâre still in here.â He mumbles, his gaze focused on the heavy rain outside rather than you.
âRight.â
A beat passes.
âIâm sorry. For⊠this whole situation.â
Another beat.
It seemed the man was set on making this moment as awkward as possible. You allowed your gaze to drift over him whilst his mind was focused elsewhere. Although he was shorter than most men, that couldnât take away from the fact that he looked like something akin to a dream.
Your blood turns to ice when his eyes flicker over to you, every muscle in your body tensing as his gaze takes over you.
You donât miss the way his lip curls in distaste as he notices your still damp shirt, but he chooses to say nothing about the matter.
A sigh leaving his lips, he kicked off the wall and starts walking towards the door.
Heâs leaving? Why? You must be the reason for his sudden departure. Of course. Just him looking at you must have pissed him off. What have you done? Ticked off the only person who seemed to show an ounce of kindness to you in the past month. You ruined it, just like you always doâ
âWhy are you just stood there? Fucking snap out of it. Thatâs your ride.â
Oh.
You quickly follow behind him as he turns off the last light in the shop, walking out the front door.
The wind nips at your skin as you step out of the shop, and you watch as he fishes out his keys to lock up. He doesnât seem to be affected by the cold.
âUmâŠ. thank you again.â You say as he turns to face you.
Silence.
âIs there any way I could pay you back, maybe?â
âNo.â He snaps.
âAre you sure? I could pay for theââ
âI donât want anything from you. Go home.â
You blink, pushing down the annoyance you feel from his harsh words. Is he implying you have nothing of worth for him? What a bastard.
âIf you pass out in front of my shop, iâm not helping you.â
Pass out? Do you look like youâre about to pass out? Now that me mentions it, you do feel a little lightheadedâŠ..
âDo⊠do you have a ride?â You ask, feeling slightly guilty for wasting his time and keeping him out so late.
âI have a car.â
Right. Of course he does.
Your cab driver honks his horn loudly, clearly impatient with how long youâre taking.
âThank you again. Iâmâ iâm going to go now. Thank you. Bye.â You rush out, not bothering to wait for a response that you know wonât come.
Turning your back on him, you quickly walk over to the cab and open the door. You donât realise how fatigued you are until you finally sit down in the car.
The cab driver shoots you a withering glare which you quickly look away from, staring down at your hands in your lap and choosing to watch how your blood slowly returns to your fingertips.
You want to look out the window. See if heâs still there. You know you shouldnât, but you really want to. Youâre a curious person at heart. Fuck it.
Quickly raising your head, you look out just to see him looking right back at you. He doesnât look away. Neither do you.
You should probably do something. To make this less⊠awkward.
Slowly, you raise your hand and wave.
No response.
As expected.
You sigh quietly, and turn away from the window, resting your back on the seat as the final wave of fatigue washes over you, pulling your eyelids closed and deepening your breaths.
However, if youâd looked for just a bit longer, you wouldâve seen the way his expression softened slightly; moving from an extremely pissed one to only a slightly sour expression.
The pills in your pocket feel heavy, but you push the thought of them away for the nth time that day, and allow sleep to claim your exhausted body.
You wake up in the late hours of the morning, the sun already high and bright, caressing your skin and bathing the almost clinical room with a warm glow. The house is alive with people setting up, making last minute trips to make sure everything is ready before guests start arriving. The clutter of pans and pots and the soft chatter can be heard from the room youâre in. No one even thought to wake you up. You donât know whether to feel thankful, or like a waste of space. Guess both can exist at the same time.
Rubbing your eyes, you sit up and stretch your limbs, feeling refreshed for the first time in a while. You groan quietly at the stretch, your mind clear. Despite your sleep being interrupted, and not having any of your suppressants, you feel lighter.
Leviâs room isâŠ. bare, to say the least. Simple and rectangular, the double bed you currently lay in is placed in the middle against the wall, with a small nightstand on each side. A clean cigarette tray lays on one of them, and an old lamp on the other. Your curiosity tells you to snoop through one of the drawers, just for a glimpse into the mind of that cryptic man. But your respect for Leviâs privacy outweighs it and you control yourself. Neutral colours make up most of the palette, mahogany wood and the lingering scent of tobacco and ash thatâs impossible to get out no matter how hard you scrub the walls. The lack of decorations aside from the few odd paintings makes the already sizeable room feel vast, and your eyes catch on a bookcase pushed into the corner. The only piece of furniture that has some kind of personality, it seems.
You didnât take him for the kind of guy to read. Not to be stereotypical, but you couldnât exactly picture such a stoic guy like him curled up in a corner, reading glasses on and his nose buried in a book. It didnât really suit him. But that only fueled your fascination with the books. Eyes lighting up with newfound interest, you push off the covers, your socked feet padding softly against the floorboards as you make your way over to the collection. The wood is cold, a chill managing to sneak its way through the cotton of your socks and into your skin. You suppress that shiver that tries to run through you. You ignore the wave of lightheadedness that washes over you, used to it. There are various books packed closely together on each shelf, each one different than the next. Thin and thick spines, worn and new covers, various names of authors printed onto them. Some even plain. Numerous classics, a few you recognise, but they arenât the ones that catch your eye.
In the bottom left corner, a thick, clearly well-used book stays tucked against the wood, the spine bare. No title. Instinctively, your hand reaches out for it. Considering how tightly packed together the books are, it takes you a surprising amount of strength to wedge it out. The cover is as bare as the front, threads fraying and pages sticking out from the side.
The book seems foreboding, some sort of tense, sinister air surrounding it. Goosebumps rise on your arms.
Who are you kidding? Itâs just a book. Nothing special about it.
Yet you still find yourself hesitating to open the cover, as if youâll find something youâll regret seeing. But something drew you to the book in the first place.
They say curiosity kills the cat.
The toughened cover of the book groans when you pull it open, an eerie sound, and the first thing you see are the telltale signs of pages being ripped straight out of the spineâ small tufts of paper clinging to the threads and sticking out awkwardly.
The other side makes you pause. The pages, yellow and crinkled, have unintelligible writing scrawled haphazardly across them. Majority of the words have been scrawled overâ blacked out and redacted, yet if you squint hard enough, you can make some of it out.
You only get to read the words âsoulmateâ and âmistakeâ before a knock at the door shocks you out of your body.
Fuck.
Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest, racing erratically. Soulmate? Mistake? What does that even fucking mean? What the fuck is this book?
The door shakes slightly with the second knock as more force is put behind it, and you force out an answer.
âIâm indecent!â You yell out, snapping the book closed and shoving it back onto the shelf, using practically all your strength to squeeze it back into that impossibly tight space. You step away from the bookshelf like it personally offended you.
You stand there for a moment, rustling around with your clothes to make it seem like youâre actually changing, before mumbling out a meek âcome inâ.
The door opens, revealing Levi, as striking as ever, the characteristic scowl on his face only slightly softened by sleep. You raise an eyebrow at him, as if questioning why heâs come to interrupt you.
âEveryoneâs already up. I heard footsteps in here.â He says flatly.
âGood morning to you too, I guess.â You jest, and only receive a half-assed eye roll in response. âSorry. Not really a morning person. Iâll make myself useful.â
You step towards the door, towards him, and he find himself wanting to correct you. âThatâs not what i meant. Sleep as much as you need.â lingers on the tip of his tongue but he holds it, itâs too personal, too out of character for him to say.
Instead, he keeps quiet and steps to the side, keeping the door open for you to walk past. You flash him an awkward smile and slip past quietly and head downstairs, where you hear the others.
But what you miss is the way his eyes flick over the bookshelf, noticing that the book was placed back in upside down. He mutters a curse under his breath, before shutting the door and following you back downstairs.
âŠâŠâŠ
Youâre curled up on the couch in the living downstairs, bundled up in warm clothing and a hot mug of tea clasped between your hands. Youâd been tasked with welcoming guests, against your wishes.
Despite insisting to Erwin that you are socially inept and struggle to hold a conversation with someone for longer than five minutes, he insisted that it was endearing and gently pushed you towards the crowd.
The living room was warm and inviting, lit by the crackling fireplace and the soft glow of lamps. The smell of pumpkin pie and roasted turkey hung in the air, making the chilly evening outside feel worlds away.
And here you were. A few idle conversations flowed around you, and you chipped in occasionally to not seem too out of it.
Eren, one of Mikasaâs âfriendsâ (soulmate) had been the first of the guests to arrive, shaggy brown hair pulled back into some sort of bun. He was a bit hard-headed, stubborn as a mule. But he wasnât a bad guy at heart. Jean and Connie, were new faces that had come in not too long after he did. Connie was a lot less uptight, constantly making stupid remarks and managing to make every serious moment an absolute joke.
You appreciated the distraction. And Jean. Although he clashed heads with Eren a lot, he was a lot more gentle and considerate than his other two companions. Even compared to Sasha, he seemed to be the most normal one.
That was until Armin had walked in. All blonde hair and pink cheeks, so softly spoken and acted like a fucking angel. Then a few more of his friends entered, and you hadnât really gotten a chance to talk to them, like Annie and Reiner, and a tall brunette boy who resided in the corner of the room.
There were others, some of Erwinâs friends, but to be honest, you were hardly paying enough attention to be able to tell them apart, let alone learn their names. You also couldnât tell if it was because of the lack of suppresants, or the presence of alcohol. Youâd been slumped on the couch in the corner for what felt like hours, nursing a drink in your hands and burning a hole into the wall with how hard you were glaring. One look would have been enough to see that you werenât really feeling the Thanksgiving vibe.
You felt a warm hand brush against your shoulderâ lightly, just enough to catch your attention but not enough to startle you.
You still jumped a bit.
âYou left my room looking like a fucking tip.â
Looking up, you spotted Levi stood next to the couch, next to you, eyes fixed on a random point ahead of him. Heâd changed outfits from when you saw him this morning, youâd noticed. A comfortable pair of straight slacks, and a sweater that screamed autumn, matching the browning leaves and comforting winds outside. Like you, he was also nursing a drink, but without the flushed cheeks you could feel on yourself. The way he managed to always keep composure pissed you off.
â..I didnât. I made the bed and everything.â You retort, unable to hide the slight pout in your voice. A while after youâd gone downstairs, youâd crept back into his room to leave it absolutely sparkling. Youâd heard about his fixtation with cleanliness from Hange and made sure to tidy it up to the best of your abilities to avoid any comments.
Guess that didnât work.
Deep down, he knew there was nothing wrong with how you left his room. He had wanted to ask you how you slept, but couldnât bring himself to without feeling⊠some sort of way. So he defaulted to what was comfortable for him. Which was being an asshole. Even if heâd held his room to his unusually high standards of cleanliness, it wasnât anyway near as messy as he was making it out to be.
âI left the pills inside the nightstand.â You almost laughed at the way he said it, like it physically pained him to get the words out. Not to mention the random subject change. He brought the drink to his lips, as if to hide his face. What a shame, for it was a pretty one at that.
Youâd managed to stop feeling guilty about the pills last night, but shame filled you once again when he brought it up. Youâd spent half the night reminding yourself that youâre a good person who doesnât lie to others. Which clearly wasnât true.
But there was hardly any other option. Other than telling him. Which wasnât fucking happening. It was a promise youâd made to yourself after the appointment in which the doctor prescribed the suppressants. You remember the way your heart skipped a beat, or a few, and you finally stopped seeing the world through rose-tinted lenses. Life wasnât fair, and it was clear that God had favourites. You were not one of them.
You didnât want the way people viewed you to change, regardless of whether your life was to be cut short or not. You donât want to be seen as weak or pitiful, and if that meant lying to everyone, even your parents, then youâd do exactly that.
Despite how understanding Levi had been with the insomnia, you could see he was clearly at his limits. He was probably only understanding of it because he clearly has it himself. He couldnât even look you in the eye when talking about it to you. Obviously, it was a struggle for him to be this out of his shell. And youâd rather not push him any further, and end up causing a problem.
Heâs still an asshole.
âThanks.â You murmur, swirling the drink in your hands. The slight buzz you felt wasnât enough to mask how out of place you felt at this gathering, and it had barely even started.
Levi skulked off before you could even think to say anything more, and you inwardly groan at the absurdity of the situation. You allow yourself to lay eyes upon his lithe frame as he disappears into the crowd, the black crop of hair fading away into the distance. You felt the last of your energy fade away with it.
You forced yourself to slowly ease back into the conversation. At least until the food came. Then you could make up some excuse about the food making you sleepy and then clock out.
To your left, there was a sudden cacophony of noise.
âShit!â Jean groaned, whilst Eren roared with victory. The others erupted, everyone having been on their toes after an intense game of Ludo had ended up with those two knobheads as the final players, which was clearly not a good idea in hindsight.
Mind you, they were battling for 2nd and 3rd place. Annie had won first over twenty minutes ago and was on the other side of the room, not interested in seeing the ending of the game. Armin had ended up dead last.
Setting your drink down on the table, you plant your feet and rise, walking over to the group. You crouch down next to Mikasa, peeking into the circle from over her shoulder. You watch Erenâs hand sweep over the game board, knocking over the dice and other respective game pieces.
âReally?â You snort.
A dozen of pairs or eyes snap towards you, not realising that youâd joined them.
âAh, the recluse finally makes her way over!â Connie announces, spreading his arms wide as if the mere idea of you sitting with them was unthinkable.
Mikasa reaches over and flicks his forehead, muttering out a harsh âStop, Connie.â
âItâs fine. I admit, Iâve not been the most social today.â Resting a hand on Mikasaâs shoulder, you shoot Connie an apologetic look. He flashes you a grin.
âI donât blame you. These two have been yelling for the past hour over a board game.â Armin says softly from across the circle, a soft smile on his face.
âJust say youâre jealous that you didnât win.â Eren boasts, âThis wimp came last.â
âWell, Iâm sure he tried his hardest.â You murmur.
âStop being a dickhead, Eren. You didnât win either.â Jean pipes up, still sulking from his earlier loss.
âShut it, horse face!â The brunette yells back, and before you know it, the two of them are bickering back and forth like kids.
Then, as if on cue, Hange bursts in from the corridor.
âAlright!â She claps her hands together, a mischievous grin on her face. âItâs time for the main event!â
Fucking finally. Your stomach rumbles silently, longing for food to fill it. Naturally, your eyes go behind her, waiting for Erwin or someone else to walk in with a tray filled with delectable treats, but instead, she just squeezes into the circle and plops down on the floor.
It goes silent, save for the sound of Sasha chewing crisps.
ââŠSo?â You question expectantly.
âSo what?â She responds.
âWhere is the food?â Sasha asks.
âIn your hands.â Connie snides, snickering.
âWhat? The main event isnât the food, silly. Itâs the games!â Hange is almost bursting at the seams with excitement.
âWeâve been playing games for quite a bit now.â A meek voice came from across the circle.
âWhat, you kids think Ludo is the pinnacle of Thanksgiving games?â She snorted.
âIâm only two years younger than you.â Jean noted.
âWhatever, thatâs beside the point.â Hange dismisses him, and you hear the laugh Eren holds back. âWhat i mean is, itâs time for the drinking games!â
âSurely there are other ways to have fun without trying to get half of the group blackout drunk, Hange.â Erwin chastises, strolling into the already bustling room with ease.
âIf you didnât already know, sheâs unable to have fun without alcohol.â Levi deadpans, following in behind him.
âAw, câmon Levi! You know thatâs not true!â She slings an arm around him, to which he shoves off almost immediately, scowl deepening.
âDonât touch me.â
âAlright, alright. Just take a seat so we can get started!â
âIâm not partaking in whatever foolish activity youâve cooked up.â
âWhat a party pooper.â
âIâm sure we can still play without him.â You butt in.
Honestly, you just wanted a distraction until the food came out.
Grey eyes flick over to you, harsh and unforgiving. Or at least, thatâs what it feels like to be under his gaze. He huffs, rolling his eyes and turning away after a long moment. Air fills your lungs again.
âOf course. We canât let Mr. Grumpy over here ruin the mood.â Hange insisted.
âSo, what do you want to do, then?â Mikasa asks.
âNever Have I Ever!â She gushed.
âDoes it look like we are still in secondary school?â Levi drawled, to which Hange decided to pointedly ignore.
âRules are, we each take a turn saying an experience. For example, having sex outside of the bedroom! Those who have done it must drink, and feel free to give us a little story time. Others are let off the hook. Simple, right?â She announced.
âSounds easy enough.â Jean replies. âIs everyone down?â
âIâm in.â You say.
âMe too.â Sasha says around a mouthful of crisps.
âMe three.â Connie chips in.
âAlright. Whoâs going first?â
âNew girl.â Eren says expectantly.
You pause.
ââŠMe?â You question.
âYeah, you.â
You hadnât realised that was what he thought of you as. New girl?
âSure. Well⊠never have i ever broken a bone?â You hesitated.
âKeeping it tame, I see.â Connie hums.
âWell, itâs always good to start off the game nicely.â Armin comes to your defence.
âSorry. Was that a bad one?â
âIt was perfect!â Hange grabs her glass, taking a large swig of whatever concoction she made. Erwin also drinks, and so does Sasha.
âThe rest of you have never broken a bone before? I kind of expected everyone to drink for this one.â You wonder aloud.
âWhat, so you admit youâre trying to get us drunk?â Jean teases.
âThatâs not what I meant!â You faltered.
âBreaking a bone is a skill issue.â Connie declared smugly, earning a few looks.
âThats rich coming from you.â Mikasa retorts calmly.
âWhatâs that meant to mean?â He pouts.
âNext!â Eren barks. âIâll go.â
You roll your eyes, and let the conversation fade out. Almost instinctively, your gaze finds Levi from across the room. Unlike everyone else, he sits on a couch nearby, refraining from sitting on the floor. A look of annoyance is plastered on his face, but if you knew any better, you would dare to think that there was a bit of amusement hidden somewhere in there.
âYouâre a fucking virgin, dickhead!â Eren barks.
Youâre unsure of how the conversation went from the game to this, but you stifle a laugh anyway.
âThatâs not the point! Mikasa only popped your cherry out of pity.â Connie piped up.
âShe did not pop my fucking cherry.â
âDoes Eren argue with anyone about anything?â You mumble, and Mikasa simply nods, used to his antics.
âAlright! Shut up, Iâve got a good one!â Sasha beams, and the two of them shut up.
A beat.
âWell?â Erwin asks.
âNever have I ever gone farther than kissing in a car.â Sasha teases.
âJean, drink right now.â
âWhat the fuck, Connie?â Jeanâs face turned bright red in an instant. âHeâs lying.â
âIâm not!â
âHow the fuck did horseface hit it in a car?â Eren moans, clearly unimpressed.
ââŠHow did you even know, Connie?â Armin asks.
âConnie, shut yourââ
âI was coming back to our flat after a long night out, but then I notice that one of the cars outside had the lights on inside, and it was kind of bouncing.â
âScandalous!â Hange chirps.
âSo naturally, I went closer. The windows were all fogged up, so they couldnât see me approaching and I couldnât see them. I wiped the backseat window, andâŠ..â
ââŠ..â
âJean was eating someone out!â
The room immediately erupts, sounds of embarrassment and denial from Jean who had somehow became even redder, mocking laughs from Connie and Sasha, and concerned looks from Armin and Mikasa. Hangeâs jaw dropped, and you even heard a scoff from Levi.
âI must say Jean, I didnât take you for that kind of guy.â Erwin muses.
âI respect the hustle, Jean.â Hange claps a hand on his shoulder, which he immediately pushes off.
âConnie is just making up damn stories.â He retorts.
âConnie may be an idiot, but he never lies.â Eren grins wickedly, clearly relishing in his frenemyâs humiliation.
âYou want to get loud Eren? Fucking fine. Never have I ever been pity-fucked by my childhood best friend just so that I wouldnât be a virgin.â Jean sneers.
âIt wasnât a damn pity-fuck!â Eren roars, and you almost burst out in laughter at the look on his face.
âSo you admit it happened?â You grin, and Eren shoots you a deathly glare.
âWell, Mikasa. Anything to say?â Hange prods.
âWhyâd you assume it was me?â Mikasa deadpans, nonchalant as ever, and immediately, all eyes flick over to Armin.
He immediately straightens up, cheeks turning pink. âI-It wasnât me!â
âRightâŠ.â Connie murmurs.
Erwin clears his throat. âI have one.â
âAlright!â Armin says, eager to change the topic.
âNever have I ever left in the middle of a date.â He says.
Quite a few people life their cups on this oneâ Connie tilts his head back, downing the whole thing, Mikasa sips on her cup, and to your surpriseâ
âLevi?â You blurt out.
âWhat?â He snaps, throat bobbing as he swallows his drink.
âI thought you said you werenât playing?â Hange teases, leaning in.
He flicks her forehead, clearly annoyed.
âWell? Details.â Connie asks, and Levi clicks his tongue.
âUnimportant.â
âLevi, thatâs the point of the whole game.â
âFuckâs sake. She was a messy eater. Dropped half her spoonful on the restaurant table and then proceeded to scoop it back up and eat it.â
ââŠI thought everyone did that.â Jean mumbled.
âShut up, ass-eater.â Eren pipes up.
âDo you know how fucking dirty restaurants tables are? They clean that shit with the same sloppy rag they use to clean the fucking toilet seats.â He almost visibly recoils at the memory, lip curling in distaste.
You giggle a little, hiding your face behind your glass. His eyes dart to you, but not as cold as before. He looks away before you can think on it too much.
The chatter of the game and lively festival spirit soon blur into one, and the buzz of the drink youâre nursing gets a bit louder. Despite the food being brought in by Erwin only moments ago, you quietly excuse yourself.
Standing up from your cross-legged position you make your way out of the living area, unbeknownst to Leviâs gaze which follows you as you walk out. You cringe slightly, your initial plan had not been to leave this early. But youâd been caught up in the game, as did the rest of the people there. As much as youâd like to deny it, you had a lot of fun. Social activities normally drain you, but it felt like the opposite when you were with this group.
But you donât want to insert yourself where you arenât wanted. For all you know, they couldâve just decided to be polite since it was Thanksgiving, a one time thing. When you all return to school, you were one hundred percent sure that youâd find yourself on the sidelines again.
Whatever. No point dwelling on it.
You head upstairs quietly, the boisterous chatter in the living room getting fainter as you get further away. Locking yourself in the bathroom, you take a a deep breath.
But then you pause.
In the mirror, you see yourself. Obviously. But the image you were seeing reflected in the mirror wasnât one that youâd seen in over a year. You lookedâŠ. lively. To say the least. Granted, your skin was still a bit dull-looking, and the eyebags under your eyes were still there, but they looked natural, like the genetic ones. Not the stress induced ones.
Was this because you stopped taking the suppressants?
No, that doesnât make any sense.
Those are meant to make you feel better, so why on earth would you look healthier after not taking them? Ever since you got the official diagnosis from your doctor about your unusual condition, there hasnât been a day that you havenât downed atleast 2 pills.
You know all those sketchy conspiracy theories, like âWhat if oxygen was actually just poison the kills us slowly?â
Thatâs what you felt like right now.
A sharp knock on the door shocks you out of your train of thoughts.
âHurry up. I need to take a shit.â A familiar, gruff voice comes through.
You scoff, turning around and unlockjng the door before pulling it open to be met with an unbothered looking Levi.
âWhat, was the game that intense?â You jest.
âIt was boring as fuck. And you were in here for over 15 minutes. Could tell you werenât using anything.â
âWhy? Are you an expert on bowel movements? You seem to have some sort of fixation.â You grin.
You swear you see the corner of his lip tilt up slightly, but you donât have the chance to process it before he lets out a soft âTch.â and walks past you into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
Guess heâs not in the mood to talk, then.
You take in a deep breath and head towards the room you slept in last night. His room. Pushing open the door, youâre reminded of how itâs so distinctivelyâŠ.. Levi. If that even makes sense.
The smell, the look, the furniture, the vibe, everything. Itâs like a piece of him. It feels as if youâre intruding on something private. Which you kind of are, technically. But⊠heâs letting you. You hadnât really put much thought to it. The fact that heâs letting you sleep in his room.
Other than the fact that any decent person would do it, Levi is clearly a very private person. So you feel a bit more grateful that heâs allowing you this comfort.
You lie on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as you allow the hard planes of the wood to provide a semblance of comfort to your aching muscles. Youâve learnt to block out the pain, itâs been over a year that youâve had to deal with it. But the second that the noise quietens down, that youâre alone and behind closed doors again, thereâs nothing to distract you from the agony.
And the worst thing is, the pain isnât all physical. Itâs hard to explain, but thereâs a deep, emotional pain that lingers costantly at the bottom of your heart. You know what it is. This yearning, for your second half. It is frustrating. Why canât your body simply just handle life on its own? Why must it need some stupid counterpart, just to not self destruct?
And the worst thing is, majority of people your age havenât found their soulmates either. Most people find theirs in their late 20s. After theyâve found themselves, their identity, who they truly are. Youâve never had that luxury. It was snatched from under your feet that fateful day you first felt the pain in your chest.
Itâs so constant, so immanent that you wonder if you would feel incomplete without it. The pain.
You donât realise that youâre crying until salt starts to prick at your tongue, tears skimming your lips. You raise your hands and wipe them away furiously, fed up with everything.
You turn your head to the side, met with a clear view under the bed. Not a speck of dust. You almost laugh, at how uncanny and unusually clean this guyâs room was. And then your eyes catch on something. A small black box, underneath the bedframe. You wouldâve thought that it slipped there unintentionally, but with the way it was pushed under, into the corner, it was clear that it wasnât.
You were more hesistant to poke around this morning, the bookshelf in the corner still seemed to be taunting you. But you werenât going to waste any time now.
Rolling onto your front, you stuck your arm under the bed and waved it around wildly, until your fingers brushed against the small, velvet box. You pulled it out and sat up, cradling the item in your hands. It looked⊠precious. You had no idea as to why it would be shoved under the bed. The velvet covering was soft and plush, and you could tell that despite its unusual location, it had been taken out and looked after often.
Gently, you press your fingers against the front and pry it open.
Huh. Itâs empty.
Your met with the sight of the bottom of the box, seemingly empty. Confusion was evident on your face. Why would it be empty? Maybe whatever was in it was taken out recently.
But then, you pause again.
The floor of the box was slightly uneven, as if there was something pushing up against it from underneath. Wiggling your pinky finger into the corner, you try your hardest to try and pry off the fake bottom. Eventually, it gives.
Thereâs a small, dainty necklace that lays against the plush velvet, almost protected by its furs. The chain is thin, but you can tell itâs been made with an expensive material. You eyes run along the chain, until you see a locket in the shape of a clover.
You chew on your lip nervously. Thereâs clearly something personal in there. At first, you were just expecting to find something embarrassing, like a diary of some sort. But even just looking at the locket sent a deep sense of something ambiguous into your chest. But youâd gone too far just to chicken out.
With the utmost care, you carefully open the locket. Inside, is a photo of a woman. She has striking, wise grey eyes, which almost feel as if youâre looking into the sky during a storm. Her face is kind, yet to be touched by the cruel hands of time. She looks young. Too young to have been dead, you realise. Your eyes flick over to the other side of the locket, reading the message enscribed.
âDo not trust what they call fate.â
A deep, sudden chill settled deep in your bones. You were expecting something sweeter, such as âGone too soonâ, or âForever in our heartsâ.
But this?
This felt foreboding. Like some sort of warning. You knew that you werenât meant to see this, yet at the same time it felt like it was directed at you. There was no context, but you knew exactly what that message meant. And that was what unsettled you.
Heart pounding, you close the locket shove it back into the velvet box with half the care you did it with earlier, and slide it under the bed. You climb into the bed and pull the covers up to your chin, and stare at the ceiling. You took deep breaths, but your heart wouldnât stop racing.
You were scared. Because your entire world had just collapsed with mere message.
i was going to post the 3k chapter but i just wrote another thousand words today so im going to try hit 5k and upload later this week!! so sorry for the long wait but exams have been killing me⊠not long left until i finish and we are back to regular updates!!
things I wonât let ai take away from human writers
em dash
ânot x, not y, but zâ
short sentence stacking as a stylistic choice
none of these belong to ai. these are all what human writers have been writing since day one, way before ai was invented. ai was trained to mimic how human writers write â so em dash, not x not y but z and short sentence stacking would never have been used by ai at all if ai hadnât learned and mimicked them from human writers.
no, you are not âfighting against aiâ by accusing every work that has em dash, not x not y but z or short sentence stacking in it as ai-generated, you are helping ai harm the writing community by engaging in witch hunt and scaring human writers away from creating/sharing their works for fear of being wrongly accused of using ai.
speculations, accusations and ai witch hunt harm the writing community as much as ai does, if not more.
