Levi x Reader
Angst | Modern - Soulmate AU | 7k words
Summary : being dead since the 19th century, your 200-year-old house in the countryside had been sold to Levi Ackerman. He stumbles upon your old diary and reads it, only to slowly fall in love with you as he continues to read the pages.
Who would have known love could exist between two people separated not only by centuries, but also by death itself ?
" —in the next life, where there is no marriage, but where souls find each other through intimacy, may I attain true love. "
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Characters: Levi, Kuchel, Kenny, Hange, Erwin, Miche, Rod
Content Warning: cancer, implied domestic violence, implied suicide, misogyny
AO3: https://t.co/B7Jq6k5q0v
Note: I made the reader a feminist because I don't think there are much fics that include feminist political themes. Also, I usually use they/them pronouns for Hange, but I will be using she/her pronouns in this work.
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“Here are the keys. Enjoy your new home, Mr. Ackerman.”
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The real estate agent had an air of arrogance, one that Levi Ackerman couldn’t help but detest. Caught up in his own thoughts, Levi barely noticed how the man’s eyes were far too big for his head.
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Ah yes, real estate agent Rod Reiss, whose egotistic demeanor struck an odd contrast to his shabby appearance. That seemed to be an enigma to Levi. However, the Ackerman didn't care to figure out which of those two qualities was more irksome.
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He just wanted to get the transaction over with and move into his newly-bought home.
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The house stood tall with its Victorian style architecture, surrounded by a lush forest and lonely hills. The rural areas of Paradis were the last place on Earth he had expected to live in. However, this had been his mother’s wish since they had gotten the news that she had cancer—to grow old in a home she loved.
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Kuchel wasn't gravely ill, but Levi still wanted to grant her wish. An hour drive from here to his job in the city was a small price to pay in exchange for his mother’s comfort and happiness.
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The house seemed even lovelier than it did in the pictures. And Kuchel soon felt as though she had lived here for years. Levi had always been her son, but now she saw something new in him: he had grown into a man who was kind and sweet.
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The real estate agent seemed hesitant, but nevertheless, was still determined to speak up. “Also, keep everything the (l/n) family left behind. Their belongings come with the house you paid for. If I may have a say, put it up for auction. Century-old antiques cost a fortune!”
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“So we’d have to throw all that ye olden times junk away ourselves?” Levi mumbled more to himself than to Rod Reiss—who was now taking his leave after successfully selling the estate.
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Kuchel had always adored antiques, so she didn't quite appreciate her son's rude remark. “It isn’t junk! I even heard Kenny say there was a piano in the living room. Maybe you could get back into playing.”
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A comment was then heard from the mentioned uncle, Kenny, who was quite displeased with the lack of help in unloading their stuff from the van. “Oi, what ya waiting for, runt? Let’s get settled in.”
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“Keep calling me a runt and you’ll be sleeping in the attic, old man.”
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The castle-like detail of their new home felt like being part of the romance and history of a by-gone era. From the vibrant flowery wallpaper, to the steeply-pitched roofs. Levi didn’t mind the design though, it made him happy to see how this house had captured his mother’s heart.
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His only concern was the thick layers of dust which covered everything in sight; it was a depressing dirty grey—contrasting the elaborately decked out home that reveled in its bright colors.
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“Filthy.”
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There it was again, Levi’s obsession with cleanliness. Kuchel giggled at the thought, it had become an inside joke within the family. “Yes, filthy indeed. Just like your uncle. I had to put a handkerchief over my nose the entire ride so I wouldn’t smell the three-days-no-shower stench.”
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The subject of their conversation then appeared in the room, “No shit, I have been blessed with the misfortune of calling you a sister.”
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“Kenny, when was the last time you took a bath? And I’m not even trying to be offensive, you really do stink.”
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“Aight aight, I get your point, gonna wash up when I’m done cleaning. I’ll mop the kitchen and dining. Levi, you do the rooms and the attic.”
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Though the shorter man thought the division of tasks was unfair, he decided to remain quiet and nod in agreement.
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The attic was, by far, the most interesting part of the house, and much to his dismay, also the dustiest.
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Levi made his way through the junk, broken furniture, and trinkets. It was like reading the story of somebody’s life, he thought, as he gazed at all these things that had been used once, that had been part of every day in the house below.
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Someone had savored each page of the books on the shelf, or maybe someone used to watch the minutes of the grandfather clock tick with interest. But those people were long dead, or gone away, and now the oddments of their lives were piled up here, forgotten.
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It was a bittersweet thought.
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The man decided to start with the bookshelf that expanded across the wall. Halfway through dusting, he spotted something in the corner of his eye. It was a book with a gleaming golden spine, reflecting the sun’s rays that welcomed itself in from the windows.
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Levi was an apathetic individual by nature. He didn’t particularly care about things that weren’t his own business. But there was an odd vibe to the mentioned book; it was so inviting.
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A tingling in his bones warned him that he shouldn’t open it, but his curiosity placated him, driving him onward against his instincts.
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The dust beneath its aging covers represented how patient time was—how the book allowed dust particles to hide its golden touches until the waiting time was over.
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Without any further ado, he flipped it open. Eyes widening at realization, the book was actually a journal.
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(y/n) (l/n)
1821
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“What an ugly name.” Levi snorted, never really understanding parents and their poor naming choices.
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Dear reader, I dare you not to turn the page if you refuse to read of a lousy, miserable life. Yet, if you do wish to seek such knowledge even after warning, then must I say you are one nosy fellow!
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His interest in the book—or more accurately, his interest in the journal—immediately vanished as he didn’t want to snoop into a random dead girl’s business, into your lousy and miserable business.
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He reckoned it was going to be about boy problems anyway, which was what most women he knew in high school wrote about in their stupid diaries. And surely, that wasn’t any interesting.
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However, a thought abruptly entered his mind. In many ways, diaries chart unmapped territory, especially diaries of those who had lived in the past. Levi wondered what lives were like before—to get a sense of the attitudes, opinions, and beliefs that motivated individuals of a different era.
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Written on a regular basis, journals provide commentary on life as it is lived. And this sense of immediacy pulled Levi in and fueled his curiosity in reading about the past in a direct, unfiltered way.
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Making the final decision to indeed snoop into your business, he flipped the pages, eyes following the words of what seemed to be the first entry:
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12th of January, 1821
Last night at dinner, I tried to convince father that I am not meant for marriage, and marriage is not meant for me. My husband-to-be’s ignorance is only one reason in the long list of his shortcomings. Yet, there was no possibility in changing father’s mind.
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Today, I had been wandering in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning. The cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so somber, and a rain so penetrating, that further outdoor activity should be forbidden. But that did not matter, I needed to get away from that cursed household, even if the winter were to freeze me with its icy breath.
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“How melodramatic.” Though he pitied the misogynistic situation you found yourself troubled in, Levi couldn’t help but cringe at the thought that he was indeed right—it was about boy problems.
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The man took a peek at the outside world through the high windows, taking in the sight of the orange sunset.
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Kenny and Kuchel were probably waiting for him downstairs, wondering what was taking him so long when dinner was soon approaching. He closed your journal, and placed it back on the shelf.
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Letting out a tired sigh, he had barely started on the reason behind why he even came here in the first place. Cleaning the attic would have to wait another day then.
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At Kuchel’s check-up session two months ago, it was discovered that she was terminally ill, and her cancer was incurable. The only reason she was still taking palliative chemotherapy was for less suffering.
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Kenny had never prayed a lot. He hoped hard, he wished hard, but he didn't pray. Yet when he discovered his sister’s impending death, he prayed to whatever deity that was up there—hoping for her recovery even when there was nothing else to hope for.
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But hope is what keeps us going, right? Without it, the struggle against cynicism and loss of spirit would be greater than the slow, inevitable death of cancer. So Kenny held onto that little hope in his heart and supported his sister at every step of the way.
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Though, what he didn’t support was Kuchel’s decision of hiding the truth from Levi.
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“The runt is going to find out sooner or later. For fuck’s sake, you are dying. Don’t you think Levi deserves to know that? ”
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“First of all, stop calling my son a runt. Second, I will tell him. Not now, but soon.” The frail woman took a slow and long sip from her tea, eyeing her brother from the rim of the cup. She knew Kenny was right, but still refused to listen to his argument anyway.
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“Soon? When you’re already on your deathbed?”
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A pair of approaching footsteps were heard. Kenny immediately zipped his mouth shut while Kuchel greeted her son. “Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?”
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“Good morning.“
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“Ahh fuck it, I can’t take it anymore. Levi, your mother has something to tell you.” All attention quickly drifted to the tall male, who was annoyed by how his sister was skirting around the issue they had been discussing only a minute ago.
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The tension in the room grew thicker by each passing second, especially when Levi demanded to know what this was all about, “What’s going on?”
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“I’m just. Aah…” The frail woman’s dilemma had not went unnoticed by the two men. She was clearly buying time, “I’m just upset. Chemotherapy has been causing my hair to fall out. It’s just really upsetting… especially for an ex-model.”
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Part of Levi was relieved to hear that the news wasn’t as serious as he thought it would be, but he still couldn’t help but feel bad for his mother, “I see. Would you feel better if I bought you a wig?”
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“Yes, I’d very much appreciate that. Thank you, sweetheart.”
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Kenny rolled eyes at his family’s exchange of words, not pleased with Kuchel’s dishonesty.
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“If not today, I’ll get you the wig by tomorrow. I’m going now. See you later.” With that, the young adult left for his 10 am shift at work.
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“When are you going to tell him?” Inquired Kenny, choosing to speak only once he was certain his nephew was out of earshot.
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“When I am ready.”
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Hange fixed her glasses and wore a sinister grin, eager to annoy Levi so early in the morning, “Good morning, how’s my favorite sour face?”
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“Never miss a good chance to shut up.” He prayed that Hange would someday finally learn to appreciate peaceful silence, but clearly, today wasn’t that day just yet.
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“Now is definitely not a good chance to shut up. Someone has to be responsible enough to fill in the duty of annoying you.”
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“Makes sense. It does seem like the only aspect you’re capable of being responsible at.”
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“Okay, rude. How’s your mom-“ The bespectacled brunette had barely finished her sentence when Levi pinched her nose. “Ow!”
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“Here's your nose, I found it in my business.”
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Levi then shifted his gaze to the two familiar blond men approaching—who seemingly have heard the banter between him and Hange.
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Scratching his nose, “No, really, Levi. how is Mrs. Ackerman?” Miche hasn’t heard of Kuchel in a long time. since Levi refused to bring the topic up, so he was curious as to how she had been coping up with cancer.
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“I thought the years we’ve spent working together would grant you the knowledge that my mother’s name is Ms. Ackerman, not Mrs. Ackerman.”
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“My apologies.”
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The shorter fellow ran a hand through his black hair, letting out a sigh. “And about mom—she’s alright, though the more intensive course of chemotherapy has been kicking her ass.”
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An awkward silence descended for a moment. Kuchel was always a sensitive topic, not to mention, Levi’s crass choice of words made the entire situation more uncomfortable.
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Erwin finally decided to contribute to the conversation and break the growing tension, “I’m sorry to hear that, we hope her chemotherapy will be worth it in the long run.” The tall blond also cued for their small group to walk along to their respective desks, where piles upon piles of paperwork awaited.
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Though Levi would never verbally admit it to his mother, he was starting to get attached to the rural landscape. There was a sense of serenity from the sight of swaying grasslands during his drive home from work. Maybe the countryside wasn’t so bad after all.
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“I’m home.” He hung his coat on the rack and walked to the kitchen, where he assumed his mother would be. It was a rather amusing scene before Levi: Kuchel hitting Kenny with kitchen utensils as he tried to sneak a piece of meat into his mouth.
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The frail woman’s facial expression turned from threatening to gentle as she heard her son’s approaching footsteps. “Oh, hello sweetheart. Did you just arrive?
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“Yeah. Although I wish I had gotten home sooner to see more of Kenny getting assaulted with a spatula.”
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A pair of eyes rolled in annoyance, “Not funny. And before I forget, there had been some sounds from the attic. Probably mice. Check it, will ya? I’d prefer you throw it away, but if you’d like a new addition to your small circle of friends, I won’t judge.”
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“Hmm. just say you don’t have the balls to check it yourself.”
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“Boys, please mind your language!”
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Once more, the attic had an eerie abandoned feeling to it. The very clearness of silence drew an intense feeling Levi couldn’t shake off. The air around him hummed with an energy that was foreign yet nostalgic.
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And there it was again, the familiar book resting on the shelf. Its shiny golden spine, a contrast to the dimly lit room. It was a mysterious journal really, seeming to know secrets he didn’t, inviting him to take another peak. After all, the unknown draws people in—
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No. He came here for one purpose only. And that was to search for the source of the sounds. That and that only.
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However, it doesn’t take a genius to recognize when someone is being pushed by a circumstance to do something. And for Levi, this was it. Destiny’s (or whatever you call it) interventions can sometimes be read as an invitation to explore.
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With that said, the man abandoned his original purpose and flipped your diary open, picking up at where he last left off.
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3rd of February, 1821
Elliott Dickens, the man I am expected to marry. The main reason why father wants me to wed him is because he is a duke in Marley.
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I don’t even know a single thing about dukes! Except maybe for the fact that dukes are the highest-ranking title among nobles, and that they own large amounts of inherited property.
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But I have no interest in them, their wealth, nor their corrupt practices. Moreover, I have no interest in moving away to Elliott’s hometown.
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People are beginning to flock from rural areas to large urban locations like Marley. Though I cannot blame these people for wanting more job opportunities in the city, but I love it here in Paradis! I do not intend of leaving this province behind.
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This is where I grew up. Every spot here is familiar history.
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I know I can't own a prairie, a meadow, nor a mountainside. But keeping the beauty of Paradis a secret somehow makes it mine.
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Only here may you see nature revealing herself in all her glory. A poet can write of it, a painter can paint of it, but neither can reproduce the same air of reality that sinks deep into the soul of the spectator.
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Both my eyes and mind are delighted in this place I’ve known as home.
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There was a pause, then Levi’s lips stretched into a smile. You were right. You convinced him that Paradis was indeed a place of solace.
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It was refreshing to look across vast spaces of grassland, to lift one’s eyes with delight, to feel the peace that rests on lonely hills. Levi had only been living here for a short while, but Paradis was already starting to feel like home to him.
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This is where he had learned to appreciate silence in a world that never stops talking.
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His entire life, Levi Ackerman had fallen into a naiveté where he looked at the world based solely on what his physical senses can ascertain. But once he saw life through your eyes, through your own words, perhaps he was wrong.
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The world perceived by our senses is different from the world perceived through our essence.
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Perhaps Levi misjudged you, you weren’t as shallow as he initially thought you were.
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Snapping out of his reverie, he started to look for the rodent Kenny was pertaining to. The man made a mental note to come back here and continue reading the journal… and to clean as well, since he wasn’t able to do that last time.
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30th of March, 1821
Dear reader, I hope you had a lovely day, good for you because I did not.
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Elliott told me, “Do you know when it is no misfortune for a young lady like you to lose her good name? It’s when a man like myself gives her a better one.”
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What an audacious remark! Bold of him to say that to me when is last name is Dickens. I refuse to associate myself with a God-awful title that sounds like the filthy thing between a man’s legs.
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Forgive me Shakespeare, but I beg to differ from Romeo & Juliet: “What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet.” Everything’s in a name; and I refuse the lousy title of ‘Mrs. Dickens’!
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The raven-haired man snorted, Dickens was indeed a horrendous name.
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Over the past weeks, Levi often felt like a voyeur sneakily reading your private writings—spending a decent amount of his personal time trying to decipher your handwriting and piecing stories together from your diary.
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Funnily enough, he roughly knew of your existence before; he never knew of your name and life, because you were an individual from an era he would never get to live in. Yet here he was, seemingly the only person to have ever known you in such an unfiltered way.
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He liked it. He liked the feeling of being a confidant to all your secrets.
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‘Mrs. Dickens’, a big no. I refuse to inherit that title, moreover, I refuse to marry him, and any other man like him.
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I am convinced that a husband will only ruin me, for in this society, women struggle to shape a life and sense of identity outside of marriage.
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So, I must seek wisdom and improvement from books, as knowledge is a tool to reinvent myself!
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These recent feminist political movements have deeply inspired me, and I have decided to devote a great deal of time and energy to recording my thoughts on them in writing books and diaries. Women want equality in education, labor, electoral rights, and opinion in marriage.
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My pursuit of knowledge is linked with feelings of self-worth. It is a quest to remodel myself, not so I could better serve the men in my life, but so that I could better serve myself.
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A mind so deep and a will so strong could never have failed to give Levi a peek on these excursions over the domains of literature and feminism that reflect on your mental prowess.
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With the more he flipped the pages, with the more he got to know you, he found himself squeezed under a new astonishment.
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He liked it. He liked you.
He liked you to the point that he even refused to cleaned the attic. Because by dusting off, it felt like he was erasing your footsteps, allowing your final touches upon these dusty, old things to vanish, like there was no more trace of you in this house.
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Levi sighed. He’d spoken about you to his mother. He told her about your hobbies, your adventures, and that you’re a wanderer who knows nothing of borders and cares nothing for rules in a misogynistic and unfair society.
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He told her almost everything, but nothing about you being the dead ex-owner of this house... that little detail was to remain a closely guarded secret to himself.
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”When will I meet her? This girl you talk so much of. I bet she’s a lovely lady.”
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“Ah, about that… it’s just, I have no hope of ever calling her mine.”
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“Why so? You’re a handsome and kind young man.”
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Levi so badly wanted to tell his mother why he couldn’t introduce you to her. However, he didn’t want Kuchel to think he had a loose screw and needed his head for examination if he tried to explain this strange circumstance of romance—being in love with the dead.
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“I better go and sort out my paperwork for tomorrow.” He tried, attempting to avoid the topic, but the older woman could see right through him.
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She grabbed his arm just before he could leave. Kuchel looked like she wanted to say something important, yet the defeated look in her grey eyes seemed to convey that she had decided against it.
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“Make sure to get some rest, okay sweetheart? I don’t want you staying up all night long again.”
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Responding with a soft smile, Levi left the kitchen and made his way upstairs, leaving his mother to simply sigh in dismay at the fact that her son was clearly keeping something hidden from her.
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But she couldn’t blame him though, she herself was keeping secrets too.
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Levi found himself in the attic again, where there was a feeling of safety. A calm sanctuary, a dependable sense of home.
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All these ye-olden-times junk, were filled with memories, filled with faded echoes that had ebbed and flowed into the walls over the years. Maybe that’s why the attic felt so homely. It was full of history and love.
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Curiosity was difficult to satisfy; it was a force of nature that looked for answers even before asking questions. Curiosity had been unfairly maligned and characterized as a dangerous pursuit, as we were always taught that curiosity killed the cat.
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But Levi knew better. Curiosity created connections. It cultivated wonder, inquiry, and delight. It sprouted the desire to try, test, and tweak.
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He had been reading wisdom from a diary he formerly did not want to read. He had been finding beauty in places he formerly did not want to look in. And he had learned so much from journeys he formerly did not want to take.
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It made him wonder: how much of our lives are just luck and good timing, and how much of it was actually choice? How could it be that tiny serendipitous events could change so much of us?
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He felt like each choice he had made along the way was part of something bigger than himself. Fate has a funny way of intervening just when we think we have everything in order. And as he thought about all the events that led him to this place, it struck him: so much of life is just blind luck and random chance. With every twist and turn, our lives take us in different directions: you never know what's around the corner.
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Levi understood that the world was governed by randomness. That's why he pursued his curiosity with passion, because he understood that chance favored the prepared mind.ㅤ
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The short man rummaged through the attic, looking for more answers about you from outside the journal. He came across what seemed to be a pile of belongings, covered by an old, dusty cloth. Yanking it off, the sudden movement sent a vortex of dust into the previously stagnant air.
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And there it was, a portrait of you.
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It reflected the perfect image of your figure, with all the brilliant picturesqueness of your beauty. It was strange, the way in which you looked at Levi, looking so steadfastly at him through the medium of the oil painting. It’s like you were actually there, watching him with curious eyes.
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The power of your beauty held him fast, seizing him and filling a gap in his essence. There was grace in your every feature; it sparkled in your deep eyes, lurked in the corner of your lips, and even in the rich tone of your skin.
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It was nice to finally put a face to the name, Levi thought.
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The more he got to know you, the more he realized that you tick in all the boxes for the qualities he never knew he wanted in a woman.
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However, all of this was depressing. Because no matter how much he knew and liked you, he would never have the chance to call you his.
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3rd of September, 1821
I always tell myself that I would rather be happy than be dignified. That I can live alone, and I need not to sell my soul to marriage.
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But sometimes, my mind slips, gradually and subconsciously. And there is an involuntary mental process that conditions me to accept reality despite my desperate efforts to never give in to societal pressure.
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Once dreams wrangle with reality, we must rub our eyes open and wake up. The heavy weight of my circumstances has yet to fully sink in, but I am certain of one thing:
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I am to marry Elliott Dickens, duke of Marley.
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Everything moves so fast. My life will rush from heaven to hell in two weeks, when the wedding will take place. And the future will always happen, no matter how much I try to run away from it.
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The decision has been made, and I am going to be a new woman soon, I am going to be Mrs. Dickens. And I will be leaving everything behind, including this diary.
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To write my heart out—it was freedom to a degree I have not experienced much of before.
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But did that mean all my freedom had been used up? Because at the moment, I am unsure of what to write… How strange it is that when I feel most fervently, it is as though my hands and tongue are tied; I cannot express myself!
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This is going to be the last entry, thank you for making it this far with me.
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Last entry?
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A sense of sorrow set deep inside him. The persistent feeling of emptiness practically had Levi forced into submission and taken hostage by it. All he could do was stare into space, letting it wash over him.
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Was this it? Despite all your efforts, you still chose to marry the duke?
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Then what was the point of writing? Wasn’t it for silent revolution? For feminism? For freeing yourself?
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Or was it only meant for catharsis?
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Maybe it was. After all, writing was meant for those whose thoughts wouldn’t fit their limited mind. So, you used the power of words as a tool to pour your soul on paper. And Levi knew that.
Levi did not think of you as future Mrs. Dickens, a soon-to-be aristocratic wife of a duke. To him, you were simply you. For he knew you better than anyone else could have. He knew you were just a lonely girl, waiting to be read by someone, hoping that you would make sense to at least one person.
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He yearned to stay in this in-between place. Where he was both in modern times and in the past. Where romance existed everywhere and nowhere all at once.
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And just as you had written these entries for him to read, he knew with unshakable certainty that in those little moments, even in a dream, were more real and better than anything he’d known.
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How beautiful it was to replace the world inside him with someone else’s reality. The way you allowed him to look into your deepest fears and desires, your artful poems, your treasured secrets, your worst nightmares, and your most beautiful dreams.
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Your writings unraveled emotions inside him, uncovered new parts of him that were hidden, and breathed a new him into existence with each word that was written.
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It made him feel alive and vulnerable. It made him feel human.
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It made Levi feel so much that sometimes he wished all your poems he were written for him, because his heart, with its hooks, was looking for something—or someone—to love.
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It had been an awfully long day at work for Levi. Piles upon piles of documents never seemed to lessen. It also didn’t help that all he could think of was you, keeping his mind away from successfully accomplishing work.
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He was just about to enter his car when a small bell-like sound from his phone was heard.
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Clicking his tongue, he mumbled a quiet ‘what now’ out of frustration. It was a text from Kenny, which was weird since Kenny rarely contacted him.
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KENNY
5:27 PM
“Where the fuck are you?”
KENNY
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Frowning, Levi continued to read the message.
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5:28 PM
“It's your mother. The doctor is here at home, but they say it’s likely she wouldn’t make it through the night.”
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A heavy weight settled in his stomach. His heart pounded out of control.
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Shit.
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Kenny’s words kept playing on his mind like a broken record as he drove as fast as he could to get home, not caring about beating the red light. He mentally cursed at the fact that it took nearly an hour to get back to the countryside from work.
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The sun dipped below the horizon—the fleeting colors of dusk beginning to fade away—indicating the end of another day, and the end of another life.
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Upon parking the vehicle, Levi didn’t even bother closing the car door as he ran into the house and up the stairs.
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Dread increasing with every step, he saw Kenny and a short lady—most probably the doctor—standing in front of his mother’s room by the end of the hall, as if they were waiting for his arrival.
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Before the man could even yank the door open, he was stopped by the doctor. “I assume you’re Levi, Kuchel’s son? I’m Petra Ral, an oncologist from the specialist cancer team of your mother. May I have a minute?”
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It took everything in him to not scold at the ginger woman. What could possibly be so important that it couldn’t wait after he’d check up on his mother?
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Despite the glare Levi was shooting at her, Petra continued her words, trying to phrase her message in a concise fashion, “The cancer in her breasts have spread to her lymphatic system, her lungs, liver, and bones-“
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“Just get to the point. So it’s incurable?”
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“I’m sorry Mr. Ackerman. There’s nothing more we can do about it.” There was a brief pause. Heavily sighing, the doctor continued, “As you know, according to her latest consultations these past months, the more intense chemotherapy sessions haven’t been successful so we-“
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“As I know? I wasn’t informed of this at all.” Levi shifted his gaze to his uncle, sending him an icy glare, “Kenny, you knew about this all along, haven’t you? That the cancer was terminal…”
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“It was Kuchel’s wish that I had to respect.”
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The younger Ackerman hasn’t even fully grasped the reality of his mother’s imminent death, and suddenly this bombshell was dropped on him? That he was kept in the dark all this time? He knew her condition wasn’t getting better, but he hadn’t expected death to be knocking on her door so early.
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He took a deep breath and reached for the door's handle, emotionally preparing himself from what he would be witnessing on the other side.
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Finally entering the room, “Mom,” Levi’s eyes had softened at the sight before him, “Why didn’t you tell me?” He questioned right away, wasting no time. There was no malice in his voice, only pain.
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He knew why she kept this from him, but he still wanted to hear it from her.
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It was a good thing that Kuchel had closed her eyes, for if she had seen her son’s sorrowful expression, she might not have answered. “You’ve been under a lot of pressure at work, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell you.”
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“That’s irrelevant, you should have told me so I don’t have to take this all in just one night!”
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A few heartbeats were spent in silence. Both of them knew this would be their last night together, and the thought itself had them struggling to look for the right words to say in their limited time.
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There was a knot in her throat which seemed impossible to swallow, “Do you… do you forgive me..?”
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That was it; that was Levi’s breaking point. He couldn’t keep his normally stoic façade anymore, the tears that threatened to roll down his cheeks finally fell. He hurriedly knelt at the bedside and his arms clasped around her tightly. If hugs healed people, he’d hold her all night.
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“Of course I do! I love you.”
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She smiled tenderly, though it was the saddest smile she had worn.
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“You have been a good son—the best even,” his dying mother said, “and all the love in your heart will help you along in the world.” One last rattling breath escaped Kuchel Ackerman’s lips as she was greeted by everlasting death.
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He kissed his dead mother’s hand and wept bitterly. Then, he lifted his feet to leave her bedroom.
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The rusty iron hinges of the door creaked loudly as Levi swung it open. He gave his uncle a knowing look: the look of grief.
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“I see.” was all Kenny muttered as the younger Ackerman hastily walked away to his own bedroom.
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He cried for hours, head under the pillow. And even in those hours, Levi could not find solace in tears. Overcome by weariness, darkness was finally kissing the edge of his vision and he surrendered himself to sleep.
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It was a strange dream. He saw his mother well and strong again, and heard her laugh as she always used to laugh when she was happy. And then appeared another woman—one with familiar deep eyes. It was you.
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He was confused. Why? Why were you and his mother standing before him?
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You stretched your arms out to give him a warm embrace. Levi didn’t care if this was all just a product of his imagination, he crashed himself against you, wanting to savor every second.
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It was a foreign feeling to be in your arms. Foreign, yet so nostalgic, so familiar, so… right.
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“I wish I were granted a good life, for life is a precious gift, almost too great to understand. Levi, thank you. Thank you for the gift of your love. It made me stay alive even after I am gone.”
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His hug tightened as your words registered in his head. Whatever this was, dream or reality, he just wanted to hold you, to feel you. You brushed his hair reassuringly, continuing with what you were saying, “And to think that this earthly affection will only continue to grow in another life, throughout eternity. I can barely conceive of it!”
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The man was speechless. He wanted to say something, anything, but not a single word came from him.
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Levi shifted his gaze to his mother, silently searching for an explanation to this surreal circumstance. “Son, see what a charming girl you’ve won.”
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He gazed back at you, nothing but sincerity in his eyes. All it took was one look, and both of you knew. He pulled you in and pressed your mouth over his, claiming your lips so soft.
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So this is love, huh? And suddenly, Levi was just a man with the taste of honey upon his lips.
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He awakens from his slumber, and the pleasing sight was gone. Kuchel was gone. You were gone.
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Tears were running down his cold cheeks, yet his lips were warm. Wait, could that mean… could that mean that the kiss was real?
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Glancing to the clock: 8 in the morning. It seems as though he had slept through the night, giving temporary rest to his embittered soul. Though, he knew that the grief in his heart would not let him sleep for the next days to come.
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Recalling his dream, the man immediately got onto his feet with a specific destination in mind—the attic.
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As always, the dusty particles in the air reflected the sun-rays, looking like pixie dust. He walked farther into the attic, recognizing it as a place of enchantment.
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Although he considered himself a logical person, he believed there existed a kind of magic in the books placed on the shelf, particularly in your diary. Secrets are magic after all, and years upon years that they've been written down on a book that had gotten dusty with age has added to its power.
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Between the aging covers—represented by black letters on sheets of paper—were voices from the past. Voices that reached into the future, into Levi's own heart, and echoed in the walls of his mind.
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He pulled the familiar diary from the shelf that expanded over the wall, hoping that despite your farewell, there was still going to be another entry, another piece for him to read, and another kiss of comfort to his writhing heart.
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It was as if someone had literally knocked on the door; but in this case, his heart. With heavy anxiety, he opened to the part where he left off. Levi was certain that whatever deity or god was up there, they surely heard his heart's desperate pleas. Because much to his luck, there indeed was another page left unread.
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14th of December, 1824
To whoever is reading this: we meet again at last! It is the first time in years that I have visited Paradis and since I have picked up a pen to write in this journal. Yet, this will also be the last time I do so.
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All I wanted was to live a life where I could be me; I had no need for material possessions, money, nor dowry. And in all of my intercourse with society, there was nothing that made me feel as if I belonged to it. I never understood people very well, and they never seemed to understand me either.
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I write to understand myself as much as to be understood, but who am I kidding? Who else is ever going to read these personal writings other than myself?
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Even my own husband would not lend me some of his minutes to understand me.
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Elliott had not much affection for his own mother and sisters, then who am I to think I will make an exception to this behavior? Every nerve in my body feared him. Our servants were seemingly blind on the subject: pretending they never saw him strike nor abuse me. No one wanted to offend the duke by taking my part against him.
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But dear reader, I married him.
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Oh my poor heart, only death could release me from a life-sentence of agony in his hands! And the only regret I will have in dying is that it is not for love.
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In the next world, where there is no marriage, but where souls find each other through intimacy, may I attain true love.
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What?
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Instead of the familiar coal-tar ink, the bottom half of the page was covered in splatters of blood—the ink of death. Levi’s breath caught in his throat as he tried not to tear at the sight. He wanted to look away, needed to bring his eyes away, but he couldn’t.
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Flipping the next pages, it was all the same: empty. He knew what that meant.
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You had long been dead, but he felt it was as if you had just died in his arms that night. “You too? How the fuck have you managed to reach so far inside my heart?”
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The love you shared with him was liquid, not literally of course: you reminded him that sometimes you were a friend, sometimes a teacher, and sometimes, even a soulmate. Levi used to laugh at the idea of soulmates—a supernatural concept not intended for mortals. But when you bridged the gap between life and death, perhaps soulmates weren’t a silly thing after all.
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You found solace in this diary, and he found himself in your memories. You kissed the words unto his lips and skin, and his heart always heard and understood.
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a like & reblog would be appreciated <3