MTIJ | Ch.39 1:90, I've Fallen (Oops, It's 1:91)
pairing: levi ackerman x reader
summary: a girl with a variety of hidden complexes has to live with a french asshole for nine months. easy? on the surface. problematic? definitely. romantic? not too much, or at least they’d make it a point to say so everytime when asked. the end? please, their dynamic isn’t as simple as that.
In the second week of December, rain was slowly freezing over in the mornings. The hovering clouds were more aware of the gradual drop in temperatures than the people below, who were concerned only with the coming of the grand winter holiday. Every shopping center was packed. Annie and I, on this occasion, were part of them. At a store for male fashion I wouldn’t be promoting, I’d taken a dark green suit off its rack and nudged Annie’s side.
My best friend looked like a philosopher from Ancient Greece, rubbing her chin, squinting and estimating.
“More of a blue type of guy,” was the wise conclusion. I put the suit back with a groan and browsed the other colour options, deciding to be selfish by getting Levi something I wished to see him in – namely, an alluring light grey suit which had called my name the moment we’d walked in.
Five minutes later, I’d extended the card with closed eyes to not see the transaction going through and received the bag containing the suit, reassuring pats on the shoulder from my best friend. My father would skin me alive if he glimpsed this purchase among the rest.
“Now, I have to get Eren those socks he’s been whining about. Remind me to fetch his console, too,” I said as we walked and Annie was warming her free hand by blowing on it. And blowing some of her snot on it as well. Our next destination was a store Eren Jaeger adored for it sold boxers with prints of jalapenõs, grenades, Captain America, boxing gloves, etc. Yes, that was where the turquoise ones on the polka dots originated from.
“Your parents?” Annie was trying to stuff her hair into her hat. I’d invested too much in the suit, but she couldn’t judge me for it because she’d just gotten Erwin a limited edition leather suitcase that her father, much like mine, would slaughter her for. It bumped my leg as we walked – the good kind of reminder that we were being stupidly frivolous to make our respective targets happy.
Come on, you wanted to say boyfriends, asshole-me chimed in, nudging at my pride and putting a sour expression on my face as we neared the underwear store. It’s a shame, though. Annie is getting her actual boyfriend an expensive gift, but you’re just doing the usual – trying to buy someone who’s not yours. This isn’t generosity and we both know it. I wanted to slap myself across the face.
“My father wants a tie and my mother wants a new set of brushes,” I summed up.
“So Ackerman’s the hard part,” Annie remarked, making me shrug as the bell rang at the our entrance.
“Yeah and no. I know what he likes, but… I don’t know how good a gift that would make. I’m thinking about expensive tea besides the suit.” I was quiet after that, greeting the smiling seller and asking for the socks Eren had described to me from their site. I got him an additional pair I thought he’d love because in what world was Eren Jaeger supposed to say no to wearing Nicolas Cage’s face on his feet? Annie spoke up when both pairs were being packed for me.
“He doesn’t seem like someone materialistic.” I threw her a pointed look and proceeded to thank the seller before heading for the door. “You know I’m right. Why not… I don’t know, print a picture of you together or write him something?” I quirked a brow at her as we returned to the cold and the harsh wind almost blew Annie’s hat off her head.
“Write?” I echoed like a retard. My best friend smacked me with Erwin’s limited edition leather suitcase.
“You’re a fucking Creative Writing major, (Y/N). Yes, write.” She lowered her expensive weapon when I put my hands up in surrender.
“Let’s focus on Erwin. What do you have besides the leather torture device?” My inquiry made her glare as she lifted it in the air threateningly. I visibly inched away with a wary scowl.
“Pomade and that old DVD of The Godfather he wanted. He has a collection.” Her eyes softened whenever she spoke of him. The dreamy countenance crumbled when I raised my brows mockingly. “Don’t make faces. Yours only works. Mine at least has a hobby.” She was pointing an accusatory index finger at me, and I gave an offended gasp, pointing back at her, only to realise my mistake before I’d made it.
“I’ll have you know that— You’re right, actually. Ever since Thanksgiving, he hasn’t had time for anything besides forms and presentations. He looks like a zombie.” I rolled my eyes just as we entered the cosmetic store. Levi did work too much – my father, too. They were barely home and even then, only to sleep.
“I see,” Annie mused as I picked a pack of pads. “You didn’t react when I called him yours.” My expression turned constipated, to which my best friend’s eyes narrowed. “Something’s been happening. Come on, be honest.” I sucked in a breath and realisation hit her when she saw the panic. “Uh-oh. I was thinking a kiss again, but the look on your face is too guilty for that. What the fuck did you do?” Her tone was motherly and her question was one I didn’t want to answer. Not this late into hiding the truth anyway.
“… sex?” My shoulders were rigid and my voice was like that of a squeaky toy.
“WHAT?!” I couldn’t tell whether Annie was angry or shocked, and neither could the other clients of the store, who began looking for the source of the startling scream. I cringed and watched the blonde slap a hand to her mouth, then her forehead, and then she looked at me like she wanted to slap me, too. “When, how, I—Back the fuck up! How didn’t I hear about this?” The stages were clear – anger, shock, disbelief, and complete bafflement. I didn’t think this was how I’d be telling her about my virgin ass losing its title in the summer.
“It happened in August.” I was far from proud, and Annie gaped at me. “And it’s been going on… regularly. He hasn’t touched me since November, though! He’s too busy.” I waved my hands in a futile attempt to prevent a sharp reaction, which was entirely absent. I grabbed her shoulders and shook her, frantic gaze searching for the dim light in her eyes. The blonde stared through me, limp in my hold. “Ann, please, I don’t want to have to call an ambulance. Oh, God, is this shock – did you die?”
“I feel like… your fucking idiocy obliterated my brain cells. You’ve been fucking Ackerman for four months now.” Her voice was flat and the syllables were hollow.
“Something of the sort,” I muttered elusively. The blue of her eyes became a tad clearer.
“And you’ve never talked about feelings?”
“I told him I was interested in the sex because he was my first.” I shrugged and released her from my hold when she pushed at my chest and put her other hand to her forehead. I watched her blank look turn into a twitchy frown and picked up the pads I’d dropped in my panic over her near-death experience. In the course of that, I noticed three middle-aged ladies spying on us past the turn of the aisle.
“I need time. And you were jealous of Ariane? And didn’t take the chance with Adam when Ackerman was gone. He even spent Thanksgiving with your family.” Questions turning to statements, Annie masterfully displayed her ability to hit where it hurt. I bit my bottom lip and my shoulders shrank at her pointed look.
“Is that bad?” The mutter flipped her empty-to-angry switch.
“YOU’RE A FUCKING MORON, (Y/N), I WANT TO BEAT YOUR TEETH OUT!”
She was screaming and I was cowering back into the shelf, hearing a member of our audience gasp and wondering how horrifying yet funny we had to have looked on the CCTV footage. Then it occurred to me that I deserved even more shit for hiding this for so long. Annie had found the heart-pussy link and was now thinking that everything would end happily if only I professed my feelings. Newsflash – no.
“What am I supposed to do? Confess when he’s leaving in less than a fucking month? When he might not feel the same?” I was angry and Annie had to hear it, along with the middle-aged ladies spying on us. I crossed my arms and huffed, then the shock on her lines made my teeth bare. “What?!” My best friend blinked and closed her gaping mouth, but there was genuine surprise in her eyes.
“You just said—feel the same.” Her voice was softer now. “So you… I am a proud mother.” Bafflement had turned into realisation, morphing into sparkling joy. I paced off to grab her boyfriend’s stupid pomade with a pout and almost choked at the check-out counter at her sly words. “Maybe give him a confession for Christmas.” I glared, the girl packing my stuff was eyeing us awkwardly, then Annie dragged me to our next destination. Once outside, I could justify my flaming red ears with the cold weather. “We’ll talk about it after we find Erwin’s DVD. And don’t you dare omit anything.”
And here you ticked one problem off the list, asshole-me commented as I snorted, so why not handle the more pressing one? As in the object of your feelings who refuses to pay attention us? You’re not the only sexually frustrated one in here. So I might actually entertain myself while you shop. I gritted my teeth as images played in my head, vivid and
(Levi on top, under, and behind me,
Levi’s hand in my hair, on my side, my throat,
Levi’s teeth on my chest, my neck, my thighs,
Levi’s eyes in the gloom, in the light,
Levi’s voice when—)
very embarrassing. Stop that, for fuck’s sake! WE’RE IN PUBLIC! Annie was waiting for my response, but I was too blindsided by the images of my father’s intern to react. You’ll be telling her the details anyway – a little review won’t hurt. Asshole-me’s innocent phrase made me take a deep breath as I met my best friend’s gaze and grinned.
“I’ll be describing even the different angles, don’t worry.” She slapped me over the head for it. We were done shopping two hours later, settled at a café and proceeded to discuss. We were a bit pensive as I drove her home because the topic of confessing came up again. I wouldn’t do it for anything in the world, was what I told her. She scowled, but withheld her arguments. When I was alone in the car, I knew I’d been honest because confessing was pointless. Because if I could make him happy for the rest of his stay, then my feelings didn’t really matter.
Two days later, I’d drafted seven separate ideas for Levi’s gift and was going crazy. I’d pondered the topic for an hour after wrapping and hiding the rest of the presents in my room, chose to freestyle it and gave up on that, too. The same Monday, I spent six hours writing five contrasting stories only to slam my laptop shut at 2 a.m. and go to sleep.
Today had been the lucky day of morning poetry – I dedicated three of my lectures to blank-verse poems and a sonnet, and all breaks from then onwards to a ballad I almost punched my screen over. The evening was the essay’s time to shine – or not, as I concluded five hours later, having written seven of them with different stances, structures and expressions. Getting irritated at my inability to churn out something to my satisfaction, I pursued an assignment given last week. It was the perfect excuse to pester Levi.
“Don’t look at me like that. I have a question.” I hadn’t bothered to knock and his glare was deadly enough to make me drop and go into cardiac arrest.
“In the middle of the night?” He quirked a brow as I closed the door and pushed at the paperwork on both his sides with my foot.
“Yes. It’s the only time you’re not busy. Supposedly,” I added sceptically, to which he sighed and gestured for me to get it over with. “I have an assignment and need your input.” I grabbed the pile to his left and moved it to his desk, then took its spot.
“I’m a pragmatic,” he droned, bored and eager to convey something along the lines of are you really dumb enough to ask me for imagination? I huffed and hugged my knees to my chest, eyeing the dark bags under his eyes and the way he’d gotten even paler. He’d been overworking himself, and while December might have been the last mile before the finish line, I still thought it stupid.
“Have creativity then,” I snapped, rolling my eyes and going straight for the kill before he could back out. “What does the rainbow smell like?” His deadpan let me in on the fact that his brain had refused to even process the question as worthy of a legitimate answer. I grabbed his sleeve and tugged, doing my best to annoy him into action. “Come on, I need an essay on the topic and thought I could get ideas from you.”
“Rain,” he stated, leaning back with a sigh as I leaned forward in anticipation. “You know, since it’s formed by sunlight reflected off rainwater.” The stiff attempt at dodging made me groan as I pushed at his arm and urged him to do better. He huffed and swatted my hand like he’d chased off mosquitoes in the summer. “Princess, you’re the creative one. I’m the logical one. The myth about the gold at the end comes from the belief that people’s biggest wish is wealth. So maybe it smells like whatever a person wants most.”
“This is… fucking brilliant, actually. Asshole, you’re a genius!” I was bouncing on the bed and the springs were creaking as Levi grabbed my shoulders to still me before my parents got the right idea at the wrong time. I pouted and tried to move around again, so he could keep his hands on me. “What would it smell like for you?” His brows furrowed, palms sliding down to my upper arms. Warm fingers trailing along the veins on the inside of my forearms, their tips halted over the base of my wrists. My stomach flipped.
“Clean sheets, cinnamon, or coffee.” His grey eyes were fixed on my gaze, but it was glued to the tendons in his hands flexing as he gently drew patterns against my palms.
“You don’t like coffee,” was my blunt retort.
“I appreciate caffeine,” he huffed. There was a beat of silence – maybe a minute, during which I captured his fingers and pulled at them like a child with no knowledge of mechanics. “What better take would you have on it?” The question made me hum as I traced the shape of his knuckles.
“For me, it would smell like books, lavender, or rain,” I concluded with a small smile. He glared, fingers tapping mine in annoyance. I chuckled.
“So you disapprove when I say it, but when—”
“It’s not because of physics,” I argued half-heartedly with an otherwise bright grin, thinking back to the day we’d met and how the scent had clung to him ever after. I intertwined our fingers and squeezed, grin melting into a weary smile his eyes narrowed at. “I assume you’re tired.” I was overwhelmed by the urge to comb my fingers through his messy hair.
“Like you aren’t. I fall asleep to the sound of your typing.” My lips pursed at the remark and I was being lax, indulgent, letting casual conversations be joined by casual touches – forbidden ones. Not so much because Levi minded them (he’d initiated them this time, after all), but because they reminded me of what I wouldn’t be able to have in less than three weeks.
“I’m writing something important.” I grasped his hands tighter and one of his thin brows twitched at the tension lining my features. I forced a pouty innocent air, but he could see something was wrong. “So can we… cuddle?” Unfortunately, my question was in no way, shape or form perceived by him as me being a typical spoiled princess – in his role of a mind reader, he gathered I just needed company.
So he sighed and removed the other pile of paperwork from the bed, then rolled his eyes at my haste to crawl under the blanket. He was the big spoon and I was warm all over. I asked him once more why he’d come back and he gave, once more, no satisfactory answer. I dozed off soon after and dreamt of something entirely ridiculous – a long rainbow and me, wearing black slippers, sliding down its length for hours on end, only to drop straight into Levi’s arms. Imagine the blast I had the next morning when he noted I’d been mumbling his name in my sleep.
An hour later, I’d finished my coffee and persuaded my parents to let me travel to Paris, so I could spend New Year’s Eve with Eren and the rest. I picked my time carefully – during Levi’s shower. The argument of Annie coming along
(because she was my impulse control and common sense packed into a separate body)
and Eren being there
(because he’d kept my ass safe for the entirety of our relationship and earned my parents’ trust)
turned all other points I could’ve made unnecessary. Once I’d gotten their blessing to travel overseas to party with my ex-boyfriend and friends, I drove by Annie’s place to pick her up and drop us off at college, where we had a quick chat in the car before I rushed to my first lecture and casually greeted Hitch on the way.
“I don’t mean to be that friend,” Annie’s voice broke my focus as I typed away on my laptop during lunch break, “but we’re here to talk and your nose is literally buried in that screen.” My fingers halted, itching to proceed with my brilliant idea.
“Well, if you’re suffering because you miss my beautiful voice, it’s your own fault. I’m writing what you suggested. I’ve been doing it since Monday – this is the twentieth remake,” I grumbled, saving my progress and turning the laptop so she could look at it. “I actually need some proofing.” Annie squinted at me, then at the screen, before starting to read out loud – something I almost wished to elbow her for.
“One – you have to look weirdly ethereal in the rain.” Her brow quirked. “Two – it’s crucial than you then cuss someone out for being dumb, otherwise the effect will stay. Three – you have to be so unattractively attractive that it evokes bafflement. Four – you have to frown most of the time, even if you don’t feel like it. Five – practice your deadpan in the mirror and use it to your advantage.” Her brows were furrowed as she realised what was going on. “Wait a minute. This sounds… slightly romantic. Who are you?”
“The emotional impact is in the satire, so I’m me. Keep going.” But she kept going without speaking, eyes trailing down the list of flattery – albeit ironic. Not something I did often… or while sober. In the end, she snorted, took a moment to stare at the words before reclining in her chair and shaking her head.
“I’m going to say it,” she claimed with a sigh. I sucked in a breath. “I’m afraid he might like it.”
“That’s the point,” I returned, deflating in relief and turning the laptop back to me.
“What exactly is this supposed to be anyway? It doesn’t sound like a confession or holiday card.”
“It’s a guide. How to be the Perfect Asshole 101,” I claimed, puffing out my chest with a smirk.
“Sounded better than 100.” She rolled her eyes at my reasoning and I resumed munching on the sandwich I’d bought earlier.
“Just tell me I won’t be reading about your sex life during further proofing,” she said, to which I laughed, thinking it inevitable.
“On the topic of that, did your parents agree to the Paris trip?” She was putting down her juice and I was protectively putting my laptop out of the danger zone with a nod.
“My father only needed to hear Eren’s name. He’ll never admit it, but he likes him.” My smile was bitter, because my father did like Eren – something he deserved after being his object of disdain all throughout elementary school. “And Eren told me he’ll be calling later with info on the flights.” I snapped out of the memories when Annie’s foot tapped mine under the table.
“Economy class for me, please.” She blew her bangs out of her eyes and I kicked the sole of her shoe with a chuckle. She’d always been a Scrooge, which made spoiling her all the more pleasant. I recalled buying her lots of stuff when we were kids, thinking it would make her happy and give her more reasons to love me. Most of the gifts had been returned – she only kept those we either shared or those she’d be using for years – even the hoodie she wore under the heavy coat now was a gift from four years ago.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll sneak you into first when the stewardess isn’t looking.” I waved a dismissive hand and we both laughed when she compared the act to me smuggling her like cocaine. “You’re the pain up my ass daily either way.” Her elbow reminded me of its strength, then I pushed her shoulder and gasped in remembrance. “I have to go shopping for your present!”
“Before that, I have to know something. Have you and Ackerman been on dates?” She was grabbing her juice box and I was shaking my head. Her blue eyes glistened with a mischievous twinkle. “Well, they put up the ice-rink a week ago. You can merge shopping and skating, and ask him to come.” Her suggestion made me snort so hard that it almost hurt.
“Ten bucks that he’ll buckle by the second day. Don’t tell him it’s a date and watch,” she challenged. The odds were on my side, along with the circumstances. Annie could only rely on luck and the chance of Levi acting out of character. Not something worth ten bucks, if you asked me.
“You’re on. I’ll ask him today.” I knew I’d win because Levi liked humouring me, but that had been in the spring and summer when he hadn’t been as busy with work and the end-of-year arrangements. True to my word, I headed home later with the intention of seducing my father’s intern into not going out with me.
I’d worked on the guide for three hours when they came home – one glued himself to the kitchen counter and the other locked himself in his office. My mother was quick to join the work-absorbed game in her art room and I was obviously the one who had to make dinner for their workaholic asses. In the meantime, of course, I’d utilise my charm and win ten bucks.
“I was thinking,” I began slowly, watching Levi’s tired gaze not part from the papers. I was in the process of making chicken soup a safe distance from the documents.
“Don’t.” He shut me down. My hand struck down the stubborn carrot on the cutting board in indignation.
“I haven’t even said anything yet!” The exclamation didn’t earn me as much as a glance. So far, so good. Now I just had to make sure not to feel rejected when he rejected me. “There’s an ice-rink by the mall,” I explained slowly, seeing as he waited for me to continue. “And I want to go.”
“Then go,” he huffed, making me groan in despair.
“I meant with you, asshole. I have to shop for Annie’s Christmas gifts and if you could come along—”
“No.” His cold voice made my shoulders slouch – look at me getting hurt by what I’d predicted. Pathetic, but true – still, it didn’t halt my cooking. Ten minutes later, I’d chopped the vegetables, boiled the meat, and mixed them. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I dialled my best friend, hoping she wouldn’t be in the middle of something with Erwin.
“So, I won,” I stated right after she picked up. Naturally, when money was involved, she questioned if I’d really tried. “Yes, I pleaded.” I glanced at Levi, who looked like the epitome of nothing-but-work-matters – I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d even tuned out my voice to concentrate. “He’s busy and you’ll be poor.” My smirk was audible and so was Annie’s competitive spirit.
“You fucking wish. I have two more days. Any news from Eren?”
“Still hasn’t called me,” I said, warily eyeing the soup and humming as my best friend pursued a ridiculous topic on the other end of the line. “Why are you even complaining about that? I’m supposed to be the one who connects the occasion to the kiss.” I was outraged and this has turned into a competition on who had it worse. “At least yours will be because of the distance, not because you don’t have a boyfriend.” I reclined in my hair and tapped my ring against the marble.
“You can always kiss the mirror,” Annie reminded. I spat at her dramatically, getting up and approaching the stove to turn the heat down.
“Yeah, or muscle memory can kick in and I can kiss Eren.”
“Unwise, but I can see it happening,” she admitted.
“Unwise? What’s the other option? Actually, there is one. New Year’s in the middle of a Parisian square – there will be at least one Frenchman up to it.” My voice was dripping with sarcasm as I mindlessly stirred the pot – literally and metaphorically.
“You’re just spiteful that you won’t be kissing Ackerman.” Annie’s verbal jab felt realer than my ring as I sensed its sharp end digging into the side of my ribcage. I speculated that yes, I was spiteful about that, but also spiteful that I’d spend my first New Year’s as a singleton with my ex, whose presence presupposed established routines. Kissing was one of them, and holding hands, and him doing my hair before parties.
“So what? Either way, not a far stretch. Won’t be surprised if Eren also reaches for me.” I could hear the bubbling of the soup and before Annie’s words fell on my ear, also the distinct sound of crumpled paper.
“Be grateful that Ackerman isn’t listening to your bullshit right now because he’d be throwing a fit.” Her declaration made me snort.
“Unlikely,” I muttered, picking spices from the cupboard. My phone, stuck between my ear and shoulder, vibrated with another call while I was in the middle of this one. “Speak of the devil. Eren’s calling,” I said with a smile, pausing in my ambitious spice search.
“Talk to you later,” Annie huffed before hanging up to let me take it.
I pressed the green button and put my phone back to my ear, hands returning to the cupboard. If I toppled over, the floor would catch me. Or Levi, if he weren’t this busy. Speaking of that, I’d never seen him fall or be clumsy. Maybe the score was zero to eighty-something or ninety. Once upon a time, Eren had been the one catching me. The thought was random and warm, and led to a lapsus.
Another crumple of Levi’s unsuccessful report – Eren’s chuckle prevented me from thinking too much about that.
“Don’t fret, (Y/N). I’ve slipped, too. So, about the flight, I saved you two tickets for Premium Economy on the 31st, but the flight is an early one – take-off at 1 a.m., so—”
“Be on the terminal before midnight, yes. No sleep, only packing. I’m so hyped.” I was bouncing gleefully at the mere thought, seasoning the soup and playfully reprimanding: “Don’t laugh, I haven’t seen you in months. Longest time we’ve spent apart by far.” Both of us could hear my voice softening. I couldn’t help but think that I’d love him forever. Not being together didn’t matter if I had him in my life.
“I’ll bring your console – I haven’t forgotten. Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“Same girl who forgot her car keys at my place at least fifty thousand times?” His mockery had me pouting before he asked: “How are things with Levi?” My glee froze. How were things with Levi? I had no idea – we were friends with benefits at best, without the benefits part since the end of November, and talking too rarely for the friends part to be active. If so, what was left?
“Fun. Flat-lining like a man going into cardiac arrest, actually,” I droned. How could I have ever thought that they’d be any different? I had to remind myself that he was here for an internship.
“When will you be confessing?” Normally, the question would’ve made me laugh.
“I won’t be.” Right now, I had no energy to make fun of facts.
“You know why,” I spat coldly into the speaker. A sigh followed, joined at the hip by a sardonic line. “Oh, the woes of being me, I won’t get rejected and I’ll keep my pride.”
“Not everything’s about pride, (Y/N).” Eren’s voice was soft, but his statement was firm and I’d agree if the circumstances allowed it, but these did the exact opposite. While asshole-me was daily counting down the days until Levi’s departure, I felt like pride was the only thing I had left.
“I am all about it. Either way, where’s your new girlfriend at?” Redirecting the topic wasn’t hard when I knew how Eren’s buttons worked. My harshness didn’t faze him – he knew why it had been there. Because I didn’t like this – being stuck in a house with someone I couldn’t say anything more romantic than let’s have sex on the bed this time to. A hopeless and impractical conundrum.
“She’s actually on my screen right now. I picked up a new show.” He was being cheery and I made him promise to binge it with me if he came back in the summer. Out of the blue, however, he pursued another topic. “I was wondering – if you don’t confess and get together, what happens?”
“I’d probably enter a depressive episode for a while – a month, or two, or three. Annie would get me out of it, I guess,” I hummed thoughtfully. “Do you have something in mind?”
“I would’ve made a joke about getting back together,” he replied, serving me a three-course meal of pain, bitterness and nostalgia. An impossibility on a plate.
“Wow, where was that offer in July?” I sounded drained and sarcastic, and my body was heavy. “I’ll think about it.”
“It’s a joke, (Y/N). The distance will be the same. The obstacles haven’t changed in the past six months. I miss you, but we don’t have the money to be hopping on planes back and forth between Europe and the U.S. every weekend. I felt weird starting university here, actually, where we wouldn’t be sharing lectures, but hasn’t the time apart proven that—”
“We were codependent, yes. We’re not codependent anymore. Everything felt weird without you, too, but we can call like this now.” Why did this feel like I was arguing a case? Like I was considering it?
“Expensive calls, unless they’re over Discord. I really was—”
“Joking, yeah. I suppose joking is healthy.” But maybe both of us were considering it. He was such a big part of my life that I barely had memories of my school years that didn’t include him. God, was considering it a crime? For the reasonable part of me, yes. For the selfish one, it was just getting Eren back. Drawing flames on white sneakers, wearing his turquoise boxers, laughing, cutting the crust off his sandwiches, knowing him in and out, and being utterly unashamed by vulnerability with him. The selfish part forgot what I’d done to that blissful routine. I didn’t want to hurt him again.
“And stupid of me, when you think about it,” he said, perhaps sensing how I’d soured my own mood. We decided to end the conversation there, so I sent my regards to Armin and Mikasa, and he promised to text me the exact details of the flight and the tickets before we wished each other goodbye. I put my phone in my pocket and turned from the simmering soup to the counter.
“What happened?” I asked, seeing Levi gripping his pen, surrounded by documents and crumpled sheets.
“Unsuccessful first draft.” My lips pursed at the cold words. His gaze was downcast.
“I’ll be upstairs if you need me. Check the soup in thirty minutes.” He said nothing in return. Didn’t even nod. My ring was burning as I closed the door to my room. I had no idea whether things were complicating themselves or unravelling to the point of suspicious simplicity.
Depends, asshole-me mused as I worked on the guide. Do you want to get back together with Eren because he’s your comfort zone and risk a slightly unfulfilling but nice relationship, or do you want to confess and lose face because of someone you feel more for, but can’t be with? Worded like that, I had no answer. To the simpler question of Levi or Eren, yet again, radio silence. Only time would tell.
The same Friday, I texted Levi to ask him what he wanted for dinner on my way to the ice-rink because I did want to go and if I had to suffer the humiliation of doing it alone, so be it. I’d been skating for half an hour when – and I kid you not – someone’s very attractive back caught my eye. I slowly came to a halt by the railing and he was on the other side – I would’ve attempted to flirt had he not spun in my direction and, ever so embarrassingly, turned out to be Levi. There was his fake surprise and the excuse
(“I was looking for gifts, too.”)
which I welcomed with open arms before inviting him to skate with me. Ten minutes of persuasion later, I admired the way he’d managed to hide for so long one of the few things he wasn’t good at.
His justification
(“I’ve skated years ago on a frozen lake with my shoes and Hanji constantly pushing me, so fuck off.”)
was weak and kind of cute, and I laughed while pulling him along. At one point, he fell and dragged me down with him, and so the mental scoreboard was updated on his end for the first time. Though he was at risk of having hit his head, I took a moment to admire the sight of his cold-induced redness and childish frown under me. It would seem, as he remarked to avoid his own humiliation, that I’d fallen, too. He just couldn’t guess how right he was.
Deciding I’d tortured him enough, I took him to a café for some hot chocolate and forced him to join my gift hunt for Annie. I ended up drooling over some stuff for myself, but knew I couldn’t afford them right now, like a fucking typewriter worth half a grand. I bought my best friend a pack of condoms, the dishes I’d promised in September, a silver necklace that was delicate enough to suit her tastes, and two of the books she’d spent hours ranting to me about.
Levi was stuck in a jewellery store – probably shopping for Isabel – when I called Annie to tell her that I’d realised, about five minutes ago, that she’d won our bet. Her laughter was cute, but annoying and I agreed to give her the money if she proofread my writing – it was a deal. But the day wasn’t done. Levi decided to cook something for us and while I was typing away at my laptop in my room later, he walked in with a prompt and uncharacteristic statement
(“Drop the computer and let me undress you. I’m seriously pissed off right now.”)
that made me redden to the point of giddiness. He locked the door and I took our long-awaited reunion with open arms. The proceedings of him relieving his stress lasted about an hour and an additional two for cuddling, which I didn’t dare take for granted. It hit me as I listened to his deep breaths in the crook of my neck that today had been our first date. Simple, yet completely exhilarating. I might’ve felt happier than the time I figured Ariane was fucking Tanner Junior for housing.
“Princess, where’s my fucking shirt?” Levi’s voice sounded from the second floor. My furious typing halted for a second as my brows furrowed. A week after our date, I’d given Annie ten bucks and forced her into proofreading the half-done guide, Professor Pixis had received my rainbow essay, and Hitch had rather condescendingly shared with me that she’d be spending Christmas with Adam, which made me happy on two fronts: the choice I’d made had been right, and she was sharing with me, which meant progress.
“The blue one’s in my wardrobe!” I called back, seeing him enter my room and realising I’d fucked up. I shot out of my seat and rushed up the stairs, slamming the door open with the ferocity of a wild animal. “Wait, don’t—” Too late. He was looking at the wrapped present with his name on a card on top. “Shit.” My curse made him quirk a curious brow. “It’s your Christmas present, but I guess you can open it now. Go ahead.” I closed the door and watched him pick up the box, undo the ribbon and warily rip the wrapper as neatly as humanly possibly.
“This is a lot of money.” He was frowning, scrutinising the light grey suit and the small metal box of tea leaves. I put an index finger in the air.
“There’s one more thing,” I said, taking the thin booklet out of my nightstand. The covers were grey, the lines were uniform black and white, and the title had a spark of blue. His brows twitched.
“My mom helped with the cover,” I explained as he read the title. My heart was beating fast. I’d gone to my mother two days ago with the design and the project, asking her to print them in secret. She’d brought them back the same evening and I’d spent the night locked in my room, following a YouTube tutorial on how to sew the pages. This was the result. Suddenly, I thought it too sloppy and sentimental to be effective.
“You wrote this?” His gaze was filled with something I perceived as surprise, then, at my vague half-nod, half-shrug – pride. He was about to open it when I put my hand on top of his.
“Maybe read it on Christmas,” I advised out of pure shame. He put it down with a sigh and seemed just a bit smug – maybe he’d felt how clammy my palm had been. Still, he didn’t address it.
“Well, since we’re exchanging.” He headed out of the room and it took him a solid minute to return. I was wondering if he’d hidden my present well enough for even him not to find when he kicked the door open, arms holding up a box the size of a small fridge. He gently put it down on my bed and gestured for me to open it. “Here.”
“It’s big.” That was what she said. He watched me untie the ribbon, which I noted was my favourite colour. My heart swelled as I struggled with the wrapping, muttering an insincere apology while opening the box. My initial reaction was to gasp in shock at the contents. Then, to try to process the presence of the very expensive typewriter I’d been longingly gazing at during our shopping. “Oh, my God, you didn’t—”
“I thought you’d like it.” His voice had gone down a notch and we were standing close when he reached to take a small box from the typewriter’s keys. I inspected the engraved name of the jewellery store – the same one he’d entered back then. My fingers twitched when the lid popped because I was a Neanderthal when it came to some things, but I knew flip boxes were for rings. In accordance with my knowledge, this one contained a thin silver band with an oval grey gem. I was trying to suppress a smile.
“I love it.” Had I not been as happy as I was, I would’ve compared it to literally choking on the feelings I was trying to bottle up. Asshole-me would laugh, but she was nowhere to be found. Levi took the ring out and pointedly waited for my shaking hand to calm before slipping it on my index finger. Except it felt out of place there, so I put it on my ring finger instead, right above the silver band. They sat so well together that I grinned and then, realising the total cost of everything, blew up. “Wait a minute, where did you get the money for all this?”
“I invested the sum you sent me.” His nonchalant response incited my outrage.
“That was for you to use! Yours means not wasting it on me!”
“If it’s mine, then I decide how to use it,” he said, glaring eyes matching the colour of the grey gem. I was rendered speechless, then caught myself bouncing up and down, exalted, clenching my fists so as to not throw myself at him and realising through some shame that it was obvious.
“I’m hyped.” My statement didn’t go unnoticed, but he feigned ignorance and I grinned at him, like I was allowed to initiate a kiss during these two minutes that needn’t end in sex. “I might need to calm down.” He scoffed, but I knew he wouldn’t refuse. As was established months ago, he spoiled me a lot.
His slender fingers brushed against the sides of my face, one hand on the back of my head as the other tipped my chin up. His lips were soft and tea-flavoured. I could smell rain on his skin, but it hadn’t rained in a while, and the ends of his undercut tickled my cheeks as I clung to his body, seeking to quench my endless greed. Annie would probably laugh when she heard this, but I couldn’t think of anything besides the current moment, with Levi kissing me so gently that I could straight-up melt in his arms. Happiness made me light-headed, I figured then.
“Calm now?” A whisper against my lips. Our noses were touching and the blue specks were
(“Count us, (Y/N), count us! And when you’re done, tell us you love us!”)
persistent in their beauty, as per usual. I hummed.
“I’m not sure. Maybe do it again.” The playful murmur contrasted my soft smile and I wouldn’t admit it, but when he kissed me again, I felt the curled corner of his mouth and my whole body tingled for joy. The kiss was chaste and slow, nothing like the previous we’d shared. This was something else. This was me, feeling like I could cry even though I wasn’t sad and this was him, humouring me
(but was he?)
for the hundredth time. This was my hands just barely trembling as they cupped his jaw to hold him close – closer than a breath away because he might pull back otherwise. I was about to burst, would blurt it out any moment now, and waste all my efforts. He’d know my secret, why I kept my silver band, why I kissed him when he was being dutiful, why I didn’t date Adam, why I sent him away, why I cried when he came back, what would make me happiest, why the rainbow’s end smelled of lavender, he’d know—
Except when we parted, and his hand gently slid from my shoulder to grasp my fingers and give them a soft squeeze, our eyes met, and I felt that he already knew.
How to be the Perfect Asshole 101
1. You have to look weirdly ethereal in the rain.
2. It’s crucial that you then cuss someone out for being dumb, otherwise the effect will stay.
3. You have to be so unattractively attractive that it evokes bafflement.
4. You have to frown most of the time, even if you don’t feel like it.
5. Practice your deadpan in the mirror and use it to your advantage.
6. Wear dark, stylish clothing, but stylish in an unapproachable way. Second-hand is fine. The cheaper your clothes are, the more nonchalant you appear.
7. Use nicknames to be derisive. Include words like princess, sugar, and fucking brat in your vocabulary.
8. Make eye contact only when glaring. If not, you might be perceived as kind, which is forbidden.
9. Forget all about talking.
10. Set the mysterious vibe and keep it. Forever.
11. Make sure you don’t apologise to people. Refer to 8. for possible consequences in cases of deviation.
12. Preferably keep your people-oriented insults in the sphere of stupidity – bigger words hurt.
13. Prejudice is important, so appear as hostile as you can and freely assume things about people.
14. You have to take care of sick people, not because you’re kind, but because you hate germs.
15. If you happen to be wrong and wish to break 11., do use acts of service instead of verbal apologies, and don’t worry – only observant people will notice.
16. To play the villain, use derogatory nicknames (see 7.) to embarrass girlfriends and enrage boyfriends.
17. Don’t brag about your physical prowess – only insinuate it occasionally, even though your muscles do that job well enough.
18. If you won’t be an ordinary asshole, but a perfect one, you have to find yourself a damsel in distress. Pick her to be perfectly helpless and oblivious, and opposed to the role.
19. Be a tutor and in that, be strict, explain everything well, and scold often when your pupil spaces off. Be clear about not repeating yourself, then reiterate everything you’ve been lecturing about. Just in case.
20. Point out people’s age when they drink alcohol, but drink a glass with them. Solidarity is key.
21. When you serve as someone else’s alarm clock, be tactless: swing the door open, curse, and slam the door closed. If done harshly enough, it should hide the fact you care.
22. You have to maintain a fine body. This extends from gut health to chiseled pecks.
23. Look like a living painting whenever you leave the shower – slick back the hair in a casual, effortless way, don’t dry the body completely, and don’t forget to glare if someone ogles you.
24. Don’t be clumsy. Why? That’s your damsel’s role. Catch her if she slips, trips or sways, and hold until she reddens to the point of fainting. If you let go first, you cannot prove your dominance.
25. Call randomly in times of need and remember – actions speak louder.
26. Don’t forget to reinforce your mysterious vibe (see 10.) by hanging up when the conversation is done for you, even if the other person still has something to say.
27. Always encrypt the help you offer – that way, it’s not considered help.
28. Be charming. So charming that you’re trusted with a car worth more than 50 mi2 of land in California.
29. If surrounded by girls, act like you can’t see them. The more you don’t care, the more they drool. And, of course, the more you irritate the ones with immunity.
30. Be awkward during small-talk, but witty during banter. The more annoyed the other person is – the better for your image.
31. Drop random facts to flaunt your intellect, but never be smug aloud or a-face.
32. Do not, and I repeat, do not lead normal conversations with anyone – most of all, your damsel. Always degrade or mock, and don’t forget to be mean, but not evil. Balance is key.
33. On the rare occasion you get your shit handed back to you, refer to 5., keep silent, and glare.
34. When you catch your damsel checking you out, remind her about her boyfriend.
35. If you happen to be older than someone, deliberately point it out whenever you can. Make them self-conscious. Superiority in whatever aspect you can obtain it is important.
36. Building upon 35., display your superiority in action rather than bragging. Avoid the peacock paradox.
37. If your damsel happens to compliment you, refer to the tactic in 34. as a solution.
38. Meeting new people as an asshole should be annoying – make it seem so. Handshakes aren’t advisable unless the person you’re meeting is superior in age or social hierarchy to you.
39. Don’t be a homewrecker. The relationship will fall apart on its own if you’re worth it.
40. Be polite in professional settings and stiff in personal ones.
41. Refrain from checking out your damsel (or any other girl, for that matter). Leave it for when she’s not taken – refer to 39.
42. When your damsel is mad at her boyfriend, force them into making up. You aren’t being kind, you’re just sparing your ears their arguments.
43. Be a hypocrite by encouraging others to express their emotions. Tough exteriors get boring for you.
44. If physical contact is necessary, then so be it – but insist it is for your sake.
45. Your dates are not dates. They are subtle and lack romance because you lack such intentions.
46. Humour your damsel by going somewhere or doing something, but don’t buckle fast so as to not hurt your image.
47. Be defensive and keep the ones you consider close safe – how? I’m glad you asked. By hurting them and trying to make them hate you so they keep their distance.
48. When your damsel is harmed by another, you’re allowed anger. Show emotion, but don’t kill anyone. Remember, homicide is a heavy sentence and you have places to be.
49. Hide your concern with reprimands and don’t let anyone see you worry – only good guys get worried.
50. When someone is fishing for a compliment, tell them they: look like shit (when you dislike them) or not that bad (when you don’t mind them). Addition: the truth is allowed only when you’re drunk.
51. Your kisses have to contrast your overall image – gentle with a pinch of passion. Just enough to make the other person want more.
52. If gentle on other occasions, make sure to have a good excuse for it.
53. One of the fundamentals of being the perfect asshole is appearing as though you have no libido. Reject sexual advances, dodge seduction, and be your worst cockblocker. The less you care, the more they do.
54. Have cold hands when the weather is hot and warm ones when it is cold. You never know when your damsel might need a temperature adjustment.
55. Stay composed at all times – this is vital to your mysterious vibe. If you never let your emotions slip, you never appear as a person. And, you know, that’s something you want.
56. A vital part of your shockingly layered image must be your extensive repertoire of memorised Disney quotes. In a fight of citing, you just never seem to pull the wrong lever.
57. Get your priorities straight. Neglect your work for your damsel when she’s sad. At all other times, the papers are the number one girl in your life.
58. If you’ll be a pervert, be exclusive about it. It works because you’re hot, not smooth.
59. In relation, one of your hottest traits has to be how you’re an expert veteran at jumping-from-balcony-to-balcony sports. This skill will help you successfully abduct damsels from towers.
60. Don’t take advantage of drunk people.
62. Trample 60. and 62. if you are drunk enough. Limit yourself to kisses.
63. Ignore your own emotional state for the sake of someone you don’t particularly care about – you are just responsible for them. Why? Well, that way you’re being an asshole to yourself and that counts, right?
64. In your spare time, indulge in zen buddhism and give life lessons to whoever will listen.
65. Make casual contests your favourite hobby. You have to win most of the time. If not, your consideration will be discovered.
66. When in despair, you can always teach others how to dance. Don’t forget to scold them for stepping on your toes too much.
67. Call your family, even if you don’t have time. You’re an asshole, not heartless.
68. Help your damsel pick the perfect gown and make-up. Don’t be her Prince Charming. Just call and let her cry on your shoulder. Ruin her crying by dropping a sex joke.
69. Don’t be disappointed when your damsel hides things from you – in her perspective, you’re someone whose opinion means a lot, which is why she fears to say certain things.
70. Break-ups are hand and you’re clueless when it comes to feelings. It’s a perfect mix and you’re not the asshole you should be when you see tears.
71. As an asshole, you have no depressive episodes or work through them fast, which is why you pester others out of theirs. Not to help, but because their distress is annoying.
72. Don’t be romantic. Be spontaneous, like having dinner on an old staircase, reading books stuffed back to back in a dusty armchair, having deep conversations on a window sill, or drinking tea in a creepy attic.
73. Never forget the ring.
74. Never reveal you might care.
75. Kiss only to calm down. Kiss for duty. When kissed back, don’t comment.
76. Be a pillar of strength – cold, unbiased, unreachable. Have soft eyes as you do.
77. Torment your damsel by playing hot-cold – kisses and consideration mean nothing to you. She thinks there’s no way you feel anything for her, wish as she may for the opposite. Really, you don’t.
78. Act like you’re jealous to add confusion, then deny caring for any other reason besides duty.
79. Don’t go overboard with gifts. Keep it simple, small and meaningful, impossible to forget or toss.
80. Be soft for your damsel and cold for everyone else. When the two mix, you’ll have the pleasure to see her insecurities surface. It’s her own fault she thought herself special really.
81. Your friends know (as well as you) that you don’t have sex just because. Still, you make an exception, but there are no emotions involved. You’re just letting out steam.
82. A mandatory requirement for the perfect asshole is to be great in bed.
83. Predispose without being romantic. The comfort you offer should show when your partner feels fine with laughing during awkward moments. Or straight-up cackling and ruining the mood.
84. Be gentle in the mornings. Your damsel appreciates it and you don’t know how much she treasures the sight of you lying next to her.
85. You don’t have to be good at cooking – just at adapting and developing. Assholes have potential, not talent. To be a perfect one, you have to be diligent and hardworking.
86. Be tactless and oblivious, but realise that you make mistakes, too. You don’t, however, have to admit it – you’ve wronged less than you have been wronged.
87. Once some of your layers have been peeled back, you have to defend yourself. Push at all times. Pull only if you care.
88. When you meet your damsel’s family, be well-mannered and composed. Shock with your honesty and win approval with little effort. Only hold her hand because doing more would be wrong.
89. The key to being the perfect asshole are your eyes. Teach them to speak in the stead of your mouth.
90. They should be able to curse and praise, whisper and scream, reproach and congratulate, sometimes even call names. Make them talk and watch your damsel stare, trying to learn the language and struggling, failing and trying again – until she speaks back.
91. When you depart, don’t get mad if your damsel is cold and proud. She’s keeping herself safe because she’ll miss you and she can’t come to terms with that.
92. Reveal your pride slowly because it’s there, but you can work around it. Still, don’t risk betraying it if it means saying or doing something that goes against this guide.
93. When out on an actual date with a woman who seems more like a goddess, cockblock yourself so hard that everyone in the vicinity takes physical damage.
94. Be observant and patient. Have a good memory. You can use all three to catch your damsel off guard. Don’t worry – she remembers everything, too. She’s just shocked that you’ve cared enough to return the favour.
95. You have your misunderstandings and thoughts on how things should be, but please understand that your damsel doesn’t want to disappoint you. It scares her.
96. What you shouldn’t do is hesitate. If you hesitate, she’ll get the wrong idea – namely, that you feel something. Don’t lead her on like that.
97. Seldom ask for help, but when you do, proceed to be weirdly cute. Maybe like a shy high school girl.
98. Encourage your damsel’s communication for your entertainment and satisfaction.
99. When told you make someone happy, deny. It’s in your nature not to realise that you’re wrong. You don’t suspect that you don’t just make your damsel happy – you are her happiness.
100. You’re allowed to be romantic when you feel nothing – even if sex and consideration are involved. A romantic asshole makes a damsel happy, and that’s enough, isn’t it? Sometimes she might feel like it isn’t, but that’s not something you know.
101. Finally, you’re a free person with free will and your own life. Live it. Even if your damsel cries when you leave and begs you to stay. You’re very dear to her, and she wishes to share with you her life, but she’s too young to understand that you’re not bound by such emotions. Love does not sway you. Still, she hopes hers might.
Once done with this guide, you will have in your hands a perfectly flawed description of the man I love. I do. For being the weird pain in my ass, and my change, and my babysitter, and my bodyguard, and my fiancé, and my fellow secret agent, and my friend with benefits, and my first time, I love you, for your eyes and hands, and humour, and mind, and strength, and kindness, and aloofness, and diligence, and sincerity, and generosity, and awkwardness, and vulnerability, and gentleness, and patience, and everything else. You’re my favourite headache and trusted friend. Thank you for being my father’s intern.
tag list: @unloved-cadillac ; @donaldthrts
