And just like that, sheâd fallen for him.
Spring. Summer. Autumn. The world had its cycles. There had been peace before war, and peace would come after bloodsheds and battles.
Katara looks at Zuko, at how he stares out to the width in the horizons. The curves of his nose and lips are soft, much like the colors of the leaves around them. The lines of his jaw and cheeks are sharp, in contrast.
Heâs a beautiful man; sheâs always thought so, even when they were enemies and heâd sworn heâd kill them. She likes it better this way, thoughâ being friends, confidants, long-time companions. Kindness suits him more, either way. She likes how his face looks when heâs calm, â when thereâs no rage to contort his scar, no scowl furrowing his brow.
She also likes that he knows her. That they can stand, silence pending between them, and itâs never too tense or uncomfortable. Zuko is just that good to her. He never puts too much pressure on her shoulders, â sheâs had enough of that already. Instead, he soothes the rough edges. Lets her make her own choices and never judges her for them.
He looks back at her. An easy smile grazes his features; baffling, tortuous, beautiful. Katara has to fight the urge to freeze some water from her bottle and smash it across her searing face.
âDo you wannaâŠâ, his voice cuts through the wind, raspy as it ever was. When he talks, itâs evident that heâs nervous. That heâs been circling around his thoughts and canât seem to find the words. âI meanâŠâ, he tries again. âDo you wanna stay here until you decide what to do?â
She hums, then turns her gaze back to the gardens. Aang had asked her to travel the world along with him, â to be by his side and help other people, from other nations and villages. She had yet to give him a proper answer.
It wasnât that she didnât want toâ go on missions, hear the massesâ suffering and be present in whatever way she could. Maybe, it was that she simply had pictured something different for herself. She could be so much more than just the âAvatarâs girlâ! She could go home, lend a useful hand to Sokka and her dad advocating for their tribe. She could be an ambassador.
She could be with Zuko.
She can imagine the whole thing all too well, actually, â being on the palace, with him, until she could confront Aang about what to do. They could go for an evening stroll, feed turtleducks by the lake. Zukoâd make tea way past dinner time, and sheâd laugh along with Suki when heâd burn his tongue by the first sip.
âThereâs nothing Iâd like more.â, she tells him, then. They are in one of the many balconies, staring out at the sun. The last scraps of summer have flushed with the breeze, and now the trees look all kinds of reds, yellows, oranges. Almost like theyâve caught on fire.
Zuko smiles at her again. A shy, wonderful thing that makes his eyes glint. His hairâs shaggy and overgrown, and falls limp between the honey of his irises. His cheeks burn a bright pink that, Katara deduces, might be from the gentle light warming up their faces.
âOkay.â, he says. He likes this, as well, â having her around. That he can open up to someone he can share his scars with, both the physical and the ones that lay underneath.
Katara inches close to him, just enough so that their elbows nudge together. The world has its cycles, she believes. Blue skies bleed into the darkness of the night. Ice defrosts when heated-up. And just like that, sheâd fall for Zukoâ delicate, and raw, and over and over. Helpless, like the moon that carries down the tides. Hopeless, like the autumn leaves that fall, ever so slow, and now gather at their feet like sea-foam.
âOkay.â
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Her weight upon his shoulder wakes him up. Jean has no idea how it happened; â them passing out on the couch like that,â but he's not about to question it out just now.
He looks at Pieck, who's still asleep; her head nudging his. The last scraps of sunset frame her long, dark lashesâ flush the bridge of her nose, ever so slightly. She's not at all his type, she shouldn't be. Yet, there's something about her that makes his heart jump. A unique kind of charm that paints her all shades of pretty.
Maybe, he thinks, it's the heavy snores slipping out of her. Maybe, it's that we're our most vulnerable when we're sleepingâ and he's never seen Pieck not put up a fight against him.
"Hey...", he shakes her up a bit, careful not to scare her. The rest of the group has gone to the markets to buy dinner, and he doesn't want them to find them like this, all huddled against one another.
Pieck yawns, then nuzzles further into his crooks and crevices. Her breaths come and go, warm and tender on his skin. A small smile makes her lips curve.
She's beautiful. And tiny. And everything Jean had sworn he'd never fall for. But she can make him laugh, even when she's blissfully unaware. She can have her hair splash out of her low-buns, and somehow make that work, as well.
"I'm so fucked.", he tells himself, when he tucks a black strand behind her ear. His touch lingers, delicate, almost as if she was made of glass. And Pieck hums, content, wrapping an arm loose around him.
She can be fierce at times; so much so, it often gives him headaches. He knows, he shouldn't feel thisâ this tingle in his stomachâ when he guards her close. He shouldn't want to keep her safe from harm, so that she doesn't have to be fierce anymore.
Yet here he is. Damn, here he is.
"I'm so, so fucked."
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If there's anything Levi Ackerman's learnt, is that things never go as expected.
He was born in a place where every day he was put up to challenge. He had lost his mom and friends.
He found it ironicâ some kind of tragedy one almost wants to laugh at. Each time he thought he could finally sit back, get comfortable, relax, life showed him how wrong he was for it.
"Farlan and Isabel, right?", Hanji's voice makes him startle. Their words turn to drawings in the airâ figments of ice that spiral through the night. "Were they your siblings?"
Levi shrugs it off. It's been a year since that day, but the memories still make his chest hurt. Like a wound that has yet to get closed.
"None of your business.", he says. Hanji looks at him through the corner of their eye, then lets out a soft giggle. He never understood them; â how they could still be light-hearted in a world so heavy. He was harsh and closed-off. They could have gotten offended at him for his distanceâ shouted at him for being this cold. But they hadn't. They hadn't and, instead, they could only graze him bright smiles in turn.
"You know...", they speak. They're in the headquarters' rooftop, watching the snow. It's New Years Eve; the first one where they can see the yard turn this pristine shade of white. "My father used to tell me that, upon celebrations, our big, big family table didn't start where he sat, nor ended where I was sitting."
Levi raises a brow. He can see their hair, poking out of their hat, dusted off with snowflakes. The slightest tinge of pink that burns on the bridge of their nose.
Hanji continues.
"He said that the table kept going, and going, and going, until it wrapped around the world and appeared right behind him.", they say. "That everyone we knew was sitting there besides us. Grandpa, my mom... even Farlan and Isabel could be there, too!"
Levi scoffs. He can frame the picture in his mind, actually; vivid, and wild, and colorful. He didn't know Hanji's family, but he imagines them, as well; all with their same brown eyes and glasses. The table's filled with food; warm rice, roast-beef, potatoe soup. He can taste the sweet and spice on his tongue, smell the veil of smoke that comes from the kitchen. His mom sits next to him, graceful as she's always been. She wears a white shirt, a silver necklace ducked underneath.
He turns to her and smiles; a small tug at his lips that resembles hers. He's dying to tell her something, to ask her questions, to introduce her to Hanji.
"It's nice, I guess...", they say, once more. They're leaning on the railings, staring over at the skies. "Dad used to say that, in order to meet everyone again, we had to pretend that we were little kids. That it was important for us to believe in magic..."
Levi stays silent; his eyes closed when the wirlwind blows. He had always expected for miracles, back when Kuchel would return home late. He had always hoped for some force to make her warm again. To fill the tiny holes that'd crack his heart.
Now, little there's left of that child he once was. But he can play pretend, as Hanji's father would say. He can see, instead of just look.
Farlan and Isabel bicker over who'll take the spot next to him. There's a bouquet of flowers, front and center, surrounded by dry leafs and candles. He can hear Erwin's voice, as he pours up some wine for him. He can watch over at his squad, who he's proud of, all passing down the plates and drinks.
It's a sight he grows fond of. An image that's warm and makes him bubble up with joy. He feels less alone, now that he's allowed himself to believe. That he's let kid-Levi have this one wish turn true.
"Hey", Hanji elbows him, almost as if to wake him from his daydream.
He blinks at them, still dizzy, and his breaths swirl into white clouds. Now, they'll go downstairs to have dinner with everyone else, and there won't be roast beef or potatoe soup. The table won't have fresh flowers. There probably won't even be wine. Still, he thinks, Erwin will be there. And Mike. And Nanaba. And his squad, too.
They'll light candles, and there will be a trail of smoke coming from the kitchen. And so, when the clock hits twelve and everyone cheers, he swears, he'll believe in magic. He'll be a child all over. He'll see, and not just look.
He'll sit next to his mother, and ask her the questions he'd been dying to. He'll let Farlan and Isabel take turns on the chair besides him. He'll have champagne with Hanji's dad.
It's okay with him, reallyâ that he'll only get to have this, a small portion of them, for the rest of his life. He's finally come to terms with one's own, human fatality. Erwin's the big brother he's never had, Hanji has that same grace of his mother's.
"Beep-boop", they wave a hand in front of him. "Earth calling Levi?"
He rolls his eyes at them.
"What is it now?"
They pout, then drag him by the sleeves of his parka.
"Have you even been listening? We have to get going!"
Levi stares at them, â at how their glasses have almost frosted. Petra tells Oluo that his cravat's ridiculous. Moblit's rushing over with the food. There's the clink of porcelain and the smell of bread. It all floats up to the roof, where they both have been, then fades off with the snow.
He's aware, this year there won't be dessert, or champagne, or his mother, either. But he has this, insteadâ these people he considers family. A big, big group of misfits that somehow fit together.
He feels less alone, now that he's allowed himself to believe, that love can take shape in such cruel world. This is what kid-Levi would have wanted, he tells himself. The warmth. The company.
"Let's go, then.", he says, and Hanji laughs at him, dragging him further down the stairs.
Truth is, spending New Years like thisâ being a Scoutâ comes as a complete surprise to him. That this isn't at all how he expected things to be.
Then again, he figures, however, he's alright with it. This, â Hanji, the family he's found, being a Scout, evenâ, is the one choice he won't ever regret.
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In the span of 10 years, Hanji writes Levi one letter for each birthday they spend together.
"12 Things I Never Told You" pays homage to his and Hanji's bond through space and time, and depicts the loving light in which they saw him.
You can read the full fic and 12 letters here, on AO3.
In the meantime, here's one of the letters for you to check out;
Levi,
When I gave you the tea-can earlier, the look on your face could have only meant two things:
1) "This must have been expensive as hell."
2) "You're batshit crazy for spending on it."
I told you, though! I wasn't gonna throw you a birthday party, but you had to expect a gift from me, at least. I like going all out!
Anyways, it was a nice surprise that you came down the lab with two mugs instead of one. And that you talked about your mother.
You told me that you had this same tea-can at home, in the Underground. And that your mom had gotten it for trade from one of her clients that lived up here. Your entire face softened when you mentioned herâ how graceful she was. It was like seeing sugar melting on the stove.
Of course, I didn't askâ if she's alive, or what happened to her. I didn't mean to be intrusive. But the way you spoke in past-tense... oh, I'm sorry, Levi. I'm so, so sorry. Really. If she was anything quite like you, then I'm sure she was a wonderful woman.
To be honest, I don't know eitherâ whether my mom's alive or not. You see, I never talk about this for a reason. I ran away from home when I was fourteen. My parents were... well, let's just say... not good people. I was mischievous, and rebellious, and asked too many questions. They most definitely did not like that.
My grandpa was the closest thing I ever had to a father, or a friend. He did die, though. He was mischievous, and rebellious, and asked as many questions as I did. I guess, back then, it not only made my parents uncomfortable, but the Military Police as well...
It was the reason I joined the Survey Corps, you know? You may not believe this, but I was once full of rage, too. I'm just lucky I could turn it into something betterâ passion, purpose. I'm certainly not proud of how it used to be. You should have seen me, all those years ago; shouting down the hallways, kicking titans' heads... I just hope you never get to see it again. If you do, I'm scared you might never look at me the same, and that I never forgive myself for it.
I have no clue how you do it, thoughâ carry yourself through life. Back then, if they'd given me the names of the fuckers who took my grandpa, I'd have killed them on the spot. You, on the other hand, (and I know you'll get mad at me for saying this) are gentle. If you wanted to, you could break necks with a single blow. Or seek revenge towards the world for what it's done to you. But you choose not to. You actively, every day, choose not to.
Yeah, yeah, you probably don't like me reminding you of all this. But you're kind, Levi. You stay in the lab with me while Iâm working, and you trust me enough to tell me about your mother. And you share this expensive-ass-tea I bought for you.
You're a good person. Much better than I'll ever be. I know you donât think that you are, and that you worry others may also think that youâre not. But itâs trueâ youâre a good man.
See? It doesn't even matter I spent half my budget on this! (Youâve been warned, you wonât ever hear a word about it). You deserve to have nice things, little one. Also, it was pretty neat to hear that tiny hum of satisfaction you made when you drank from your cup. I know not many things surprise you nowadays, either. So, I'll take my pride in knowing I didâ HA!
Hope you had a good night. And that you had a great birthdayâ yeah, that too!
Happy you're with me for another year.
See you around,
Hanji x
P.S: Thank you for the tea. Literally the best one I had!
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ââŠSo, I peered through a window
A deep portal, time travel
All the love we unravel
And the life I gave awayâŠâ
To Levi Ackerman, there only existed one truth that night: Hanji Zoe was marvelous. A soft dream came reality.
He could still picture them, vivid in their caqui suit. Their hair poked from underneath their hat, the tie a bit loose around their collar.
âStraighten yourself up.â, heâd told them, back in the hall of the Azumabito mansion. Theyâd just arrived in Marley; the kidsâ bags pouring over the front entrance.
Hanjiâd stared at him through the mirror. They could hear everyoneâs chatter floating up the stairs, feel the buzz in the pit of their stomach.
âMind helping, then?â, they grazed him a smile.
Levi rolled his eyes, but walked up to them, regardless. On the upper floor, the kids fought each other for which rooms theyâd pick; Onyankopon sat by himself in the kitchen.
âWe have to stay put, remember?â, his fingers touched their neck, trying to accommodate the tie, first. It made Hanji yelp and shiver, almost. How his breath trickled their skin; warm, delicate. To see how he could flatten out their shoulder-pads in one swift motion, like he was ever quite the expert. âHold still, idiot.â
They showed him both their palms up.
âFine, fine.â, they said, surrendering, yet laughing, still. Levi was near, maybe too much, even. They could see how blue dappled into his grey irises. The tiny mole that dotted the corner of his mouth, as well. âHow do I look?â
He turned around to face them fully; his back now in front of the mirror. His hands had taken in the tie to knot it, and it seemed, time had stopped, right there and then. As if the air had charged itself with tension, and it was just him and Hanji against the world.
"Much better."
They smiled at him again; a wider grin this time. They were closer now. So much so, he could grasp the heat off their skin, count the freckles on their cheeks. He'd actually never realized how wonderful they were, up from such a short distance. Their eye swirled with golden sun; brown locks brushing over their face. It was like they weren't even trying.
He huffs, lets the faucet run open. Itâs a wet summer night in Paradis; the quarters silent at such late hour. Far behind was left Marley, all across the sea, with its fancy crowds and bustling streets. Eren had stayed there, for reasons he knew, but didnât quite understand. Hanji had cried upon receiving his letter, barely four moons ago.
âWeâd done everything we could, Four Eyesâ, heâd assured them, tossing them a shirt so they could sneak in his bed. âFor better or worse, he's gonna come back.â
He tries to choose a happier memory now, alone in the common showers. They had been joyful the week before, radiant as the early sun. Back then, to him it seemed like they didnât have a worry in the world. Like the past had been buried, and only scars remained as proof. He reminds himself, that that was the Hanji he loved the most, indeed. The one that fed carrots to cars, and smiled at the new with their wide, child-like gaze.
"Leeeeviiiii!", they'd call, with that high-pitched tone they used when they wanted something from him. They had dragged him from one stool to another, never letting him stand in line for more than a minute.
He didn't mind it, though. That their lips had stained with candy, or that the tie he'd knotted had wrinkled. He could have gotten used to it; the light on their heads, the sweet and spice mingling in the air. It felt normal, for once. Like he and Hanji had formed a big, big family of misfits, and they were showing them around the alleys of their neighborhood.
Cold droplets now slide down his back. Tensions were high after Yaeger's disappearance, and he needed to cool himself off. Hanji had been weird, too, ever since getting the news. He could see it, in how violets had bruised around their stare. The way he had been able to touch their ribs the last time heâd bathed them.
"You should eat something.", he'd offered, finally, earlier on that night. They were on their desk, vision fixed into a few tall piles of paper. "We need that shitty brain of yours to stay sharp, you know."
They'd nodded, then looked over at him with their mouth pressed.
"I'll catch you after I finish up with this, alright?"
Levi sighs, shakes his head under the shower. Truth was, he'd tried the same; food, tea, bringing himself to bed.
None of it had worked.
There's a part of him that says it's his fault, at last. That he should have seen this unfold, one way or the other. Back on the Marley markets, everything seemed possible. He'd fooled himself, getting caught up in the magic of it. Hanji'd lace their fingers up with his, walk him through the traffic. And he'd make a song out of their laugh, label it as his new favourite sound.
Damn.
How could have he been so stupid? His teeth clench, his fists squeeze. A weight pulls inside his chest when he pictures them again, standing in their suit and hat. They had never been brighter than in that moment, sorting out the crowds with a million paper bags. He can paint them now, frame their every color, not even having to close his eyes.
Damn.
He takes the soap-bar in his hands. He has no idea how long can a person yearn. But the way his heart churns for the Commander canât be normal. Thereâs a burning sensation that claws at his skin, every time he thinks of themâ all cute dimples and big smiles. A blazing sparkle that sets him on fire, without him being able to put out the flames.
He shakes his head once more. He was a man, first, but a soldier, too. Besides, Hanji was his best friend. His Superior Officer, fuck it. He couldn't feel this way about them. Like butterfliesâ no, horsesâtrickled, and ran all over his body, ever so carelessly.
Who, in his right mind, would allow such messy slip-up?
"...I guess sometimes we all get
Some kind of haunted, some kind of haunted..."
He sighs again. Itâs his fault, too, that Eren and the kids had wandered off that night, while he was at the Azumabitoâs alone with them. It had rained for a short period of time, but he didnât care much for it, either way.
âCanât sleep?â, Hanjiâd appeared from behind him; their voice taking him aback for a second. It was odd, that they were both in the gardens, even under the light drizzle that poured.
Levi didnât turn around to see them. Instead, it was them who walked up to him across the gallery-floors.
âGuess that makes two of us.â, he said, still looking upfront. The Azumabitos were wealthy enough to own a few acresâ land reaching further than the eyes could scope. A mix of rain and dew covered most of it, making plants and flowers glisten with a silver sheen. It was a beautiful, yet melancholic sight to behold; to be just the two of them in the midst of something so grand.
Hanjiâd stretched themselves next to him, holding back a yawn.
âAh, itâs just that Iâm still so pumped about today!â, theyâd exclaimed, loud and clear. After all, it was true. Their first time in Marley had been quite the adventure. They had tried a frozen dessert the locals called ice-cream, even let Onyankopon take a picture or two.
âFour Eyesâ, Levi crossed his arms. His voice was low; a murmur that drowned under the pitter-patter of the drops. They'd been trying to convince themselves they were not worried, but he knew. âYouâre normally clear-headed. Right now, though, youâre acting like youâre trying to hold back a shit.â
ââŠI guess sometimes we all get
Just what we wanted, just what we wantedâŠâ
He shuts his eyes. He wishes he could have turned the tables, back then. That he could have gotten into the labyrinth of their mind, perhaps disentangle their fears, too. He has no idea what he would have done, instead, though. He didnât consider himself as good at speaking, or giving advice, like Hanji was.
He thinks about it for a moment. Maybe, if heâd been brave enough, or just the type of person who hugs people, he would have hugged them, indeed. Heâd have inched closer, much in spite of himself, and hung up an arm around their shoulders. The rain would intensify, almost as if putting them to test, but he wouldnât falter. He would have hugged them tighter, even. Brought them to his chest so that they could share the weight of the world together.
ââŠA slow-motion, love potion
Jumping off things in the oceanâŠâ
He gasps. Some kind of warmth has installed in his stomach, now that he plays the scene inside his head. Itâs a feeling that stings, that leaves him breathless, and that spreads from his middle, then down his legs. He can touch Hanjiâs heat as if it was real, there between his hands. Theyâre wet from the summer downpour, with their suit sticking to every line in their body.
âFuck itâŠâ
His jaw tenses, when he imagines them pulling away for an instant. Brown locks have darkened under the water, framing their cheeks like theyâve been sculpted. Theyâre so gorgeous, it makes his skin flare with desire. So wild and precious, he canât help but unravelâ like the ground is shaking and heâs weak on the knees.
âLeviâŠâ, they tell him, tucked inside his fantasies. They are so near, he can see them blush under pale moonlight. âIâm scared weâll never experience this kind of happiness again.â
He lathers up foam between his fingers, then washes his chest, his arms, his torso. A part of his heart dreams about the shower, or the midnight rain, making it all go away. As if thisâ this electricityâhe keeps for Hanji could be forgotten, just as easy as flushing down the drain.
âShit, Four Eyes.â, he curses. His voice echoes in the empty bathing-room, and in the wide mansion gardens. Truth is, they make this more of a challenge than whatâs supposed to be. Theyâre his best friend. His Superior Officer, fuck it. They shouldnât be cupping his jaw, tracing his contours with their index. He shouldnât be allowing this, either, staring at their lips with a life-time worth of yearn.
âI donât want this to endâŠâ, they whisper, almost skin on skin. âSo, please, just for tonightâŠâ
He kisses them. Were he less of a fool, he would have done it sooner, back then, if he had the chance. Heâd have pulled them by the flaps of their suit, sewn the gaps between them until there was no more space to breathe.
âHanjiâŠâ, their name escapes his mouth, as if heâs written it in cursive letters. His forehead rests against the tile; one hand touching himself, the way heâd have wanted them to do it in the downpour. He can taste them now, fully, all over his tongue. Theyâre the morning dew, and the fierce summer storm. The dampened earth, and the early ocean breeze.
He clenches his teeth. A wave of shame washes over him, when all the pent-up tensions settle deep below his belly. He shouldnât have caved to such primal instincts, after all. He thought he was smarter than this! And yet, there they are again: the butterfliesâ no, the horsesâ making a mess out of him.
âFuck itâŠâ, he strokes up and down, hands tight around his length. This is dangerous, he tells himself. No, worse than that. This is bad. He should probably stop, drape a towel on his waist and call it a day. Still, in his mind, Hanji doesnât quit. They pull him closer, if that was even remotely possible, and he picks up the pace, drinking raindrops off their lips.
"Welp, sure wasn't expecting that...!", they half-laugh, separating for a moment. Their hat has fallen to the ground, their suit so soaked it's turned heavy on their shoulders.
Levi doesn't smile, but there's a gesture somewhat similar to it that's drawn on his face. In the fancy gardens, in the midnight rain, in the lonely showers, he hopes that this will finally wash it all off, indeed. That, next time he stares at Hanji, he won't feel embarrassed, or nervous, or like lightning has struck him in half.
He places a strand of hair behind their ear. His fingers burn at the points where he meets them; their brows, their lids, their nose. He follows the course of the rain, ever so delicately. And then, he kisses them againâ hungrier, deeper, wider.
âFour Eyesâ, he hisses, right at the edge of release. His skin hurts, his muscles ache, his vision blurs. Theyâre moaning against his mouth, and he swallows their sounds along with thunder. Maybe, were he bold enough, or just the type of person whoâs physical, he would have taken them, right there and then. Laid them down on the patio and spread their legs, not even daring to take off their suit. âGuess that makes two of us.â
Oh, how could have he been so stupid?
He opens his eyes, and it dawns on him, like moonlight flicking through the clouds. Hanji stands in the rain, and in the Marley port, and in every corner of his brain. Theyâre wearing their caqui coat, and they smile at him. That sheepish grin that shows him they know theyâre a menace. As if they were saying: âLeeeeviiiii!â, and refusing to leave, if ever.
âFuck it.â, his jaw strains, as he catches back his breath. Perhaps, he realizes, there was no âwashing this offâ, in the first place. No magic tricks to make the horses run away.
Hanji Zoe was marvelous, indeed. A soft dream came reality.
And just like that, heâd fallen for them.
ââŠAll of me changed
Like midnight rainâŠâ
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âWhat if we lived together?â
The first time they think about it, Levi has made them laugh. Someone had killed Sawney and Bean, and they have been crying all morning. It felt like nobody understood, how important they actually were to get a figment of truth. So many comrades were put through the worst of risks, just to capture them alive, it made them buzz with rage, too.
âYour face looks stupid.â, Levi tells them, instead. And heâs right. Their eyes are puffy, to the point they can barely open them. He would have made a joke, if it wasnât because heâs only a bit concerned. âNow are you gonna sit around whining like a baby all day or what?â
Hanji cleans their tears off with the sleeves of their jacket. Itâs not a nice image; their nose is red, and the fabric ends up stained with a splotch of wetness and snot. Levi has the immediate urge to turn his head the other way, but then hands them his pocket cravat, anyways.
âIf youâre not gonna be of help, just go, okay?â, they say, with their tone tired and their voice rough. Theyâre in their lab, where theyâve locked themselves after hearing the news. The placeâs a mess; like a tornadoâs turned it on its axis. There are papers ruffled, thrown upon the floor; books taken out of their shelves, piled up on the desk. To Levi, it doesnât take long to figure out it was them; their wild, seeking for liberation during breakfast time.
âIf you want me to help, then move your ass out to the diner.â, he sits down next to them; his back against the wall. Hanjiâs knees are flexed, pulled towards their chest, and theyâre crying again besides him. âYouâre an ugly crier, you know that, right?â, he speaks once more.
They raise a brow at him. Thereâs a softness that lies within his words that makes them perk their head up, stare deep into his irises. As if heâd wanted to comfort them in that own, unique way of his. Itâs not like heâs completely wrong, either, though. Theyâve seen it. Petra cries beautifully, like tears are snowflakes melting on their cheeks. But theirs are snowstorms, somewhat similar to acid rain. Theyâre not careful, or pretty, or delicate. Their heartâs too emotional, and it burns like fire. After all, they have always been too quick to let their impulses show the worst of them.
Levi sighs.
âYouâd look less stupid if you smiled.â, he says. And then, he does something that makes Hanji freeze with shock. He inches up closer, like heâs calculating his moves, and places down his fingers at the corners of their mouth. Itâs a gesture thatâs too intimate, even for a guy thatâs stuck-up like him. Still, it gets the job done. âSee?â, he adds, when a genuine, whole-hearted laugh bursts out of Hanji. âThere you go.â
âWhat if we lived together?â
The second time, itâs a late autumn night. They have suggested it, though only vaguely. âThereâs so much we could do insideâŠ!â, theyâd said, on a frantic whim, earlier on that day. It was a gentle vision to latch onto, if they were honest; to play family like that. They would knit mittens for the kids before winter, and Leviâd keep the place warmâ brew them his best tea.
âWould you ratherâŠâ, they ask him now. Theyâre lying in bed; his head on their stomach, their hands on his hair. The wooden cabin theyâre staying at is small, yet cozy, with enough room for everybody. âRead peopleâs minds, or⊠be able to flyâŠ?â
Levi shrugs. The ODM is pretty similar to flying, he guesses. Still, itâs not like he ever enjoyed getting involved in other peopleâs business, either way.
âFly.â, he says, short and sweet. And Hanji hums, content. Maybe, because they knew that that would be his answer.
âHm.â, they tug at black locks; fingers lost amidst his scalp. Theyâre staring at the ceiling, dressed in his sweatshirt and pajama pants. For a moment, they can pretend that this is all there ever was, if only. Theyâd tell bed-time stories to the children, about heroes and monsters. But itâd be just fiction, and thereâd be no need to make wishes to the stars. âIf you could fly somewhere, then, where would you go?â
Levi thinks about it for a second. Heâd heard Armin talk, about the content in his books. Lands of fire, where sand would reach beyond sight. Snowed mountains, where earth seemed covered by frozen white. The ocean; an infinite mass of salt-water that touched past the further horizons.
He had always been curious about that one.
âThe beach.â
Hanji closes their eyes. They can frame the picture, even when tirelessly awaken. They have a wide, two-floored house near the shore, with a white fence and a porch. Theyâre not on the run anymore; Titans nothing but a memory that fades with the foam.
Itâd be wholesome, they think. They could have rooms for each the kids, let them decorate the walls however they pleased. Leviâd nag them about it, for being too messy or unclean. Then theyâd brush it off over home-made lunch, sit outside to watch the waves.
âAye, idiot.â, they whisper. And they can listen; their voice melting off to the sounds of the sea. Like theyâre there already; with sun in their hair and sand on their feet. âTell me something nice.â
Levi keeps quiet, probably a minute or two. Heâd never been a man of word, but he can sense it, too. Sashaâd spend the day fishing, bring in weird creatures to cook. Arminâd collect sea-shells on the shore, maybe keep them between the pages of a book. And heâd sweep the floors while humming, sit by the window to breathe in the view.
âYou could put your knitting skills to use.â, he complies, finally. Outside, the word sits silent, only the night to guard this conversation. âItâs getting cold as fuck.â
âWhat if we lived together?â
The third time, they actually speak it. Fearless. Aloud. Like the words have bloomed out of them before they could choke down the feeling.
Maybe, itâs because Levi sleeps, and thereâs no chance he can hear their thoughts. Maybe, itâs because itâs dangerâ thinking like they do. But thereâs some sense of safety in talking truths when no one listens.
âItâd be nice, huh?â, they whisper, more to themselves than anybody. Theyâd dreamed about it, really. Clutched desire to their heart like it was specs of golden. It was the beach, first. But now it didnât even matter. It could be the mountains of white snow, the endless sandy dessert. Or right here, at the forest. Theyâd wear the plaid-shirts Levi hated, then heâd take them off, shut them up between kisses and jokes. Heâd make them his in the bed theyâd share, too; their mornings filled with the smell of pine and burnt log.
âIf we run and hide like this⊠where would that get us?â, he says, barely minutes after. And heâs right again. He always is, Hanjiâs sure. Theyâre a fierce dreamer, indeed. Someone whoâd wish hard, with every fragment of their soul. Yet, they also know, they canât abandon their wildâ the raw nature thatâs in them to see light in this world.
âOhâŠâ, they bit their lip, sharp until it stings. Blood burns in their cheeks, has tinted pink the tip of their nose. âYou did hear me, after allâŠâ
Levi nods, and takes a look at the hand that hurts. Heâs too tired, or too scared to ever dare talk. So, instead, he stares; his eye clung to Hanjiâs, with the intensity of a thousand colored fireworks. Truth is, he does want the same as them, after all. The poppy garden, the greenery, a tea-shop. But isnât it too late to ask now? Isnât tranquility a price that soldiers like them canât afford?
âHanjiâŠâ, his voice cracks at the words. A tearâs falling down their face, followed by one and then another. Itâs not the ugly cry from the years before, where their sobs would resemble a loud, broken water-pipe. Now, itâs all hushed, quiet; like tear-tracks are stars against the dark of their lashes.
The realization of it doesnât make him smile, though.
Isnât it too late now, to confess such a thing? Isnât love the worst of curses in times of war?
It is.
It is.
Itâs too late now.
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There isn't a part of his body that is safe from harm. Every muscle, every crevice and cartilage burns like he has a soaring feverâ pounds and stings worse than in any other battle he's fought.
Is it over yet...?
His cheeks are red, flooded with his own cries of pain. As the silver thread that makes up a stream from across the driest of valleys. It all hurts. It all stings. It all burns.
Damn.
He winces, cleans up his tear-tracks with the back of his hand. If he had to compare this much pain to somethingâ anythingâ really, it'd sure be a black hole, he figures. A force deadlier than gravity that makes him wanna cave into his very own misery.
"They're dead stars, I've read.", Hanji'd told him once, as they'd pointed up to the skies. They were set out to camp for mission, and Erwin had put them both on watch duty. "They bend time and space, and start swallowing everything that's around them! Kinda crazy, huh?"
Their voice fades into an echo, and the vision of them two reaching for the stars is water that slips through his fingers. It's all gone. All set. All done. And now, he's left with nothing but a black hole sitting in his chest. A growing pull that threatens to swallow what little there is of him.
Is it over yet...?
He looks through the blur. The air smells of fire, like a hundred-year drought that brought the land to its end. He can taste it, on every inhale of his lungs: it'll take another hundred years for hope to bloom again. It'll take two thousand lives for dreams to part through all this death.
Erwin, Mike, Petra, Hanji... where are you...?
Are you guys watching...?
Is it over yet...?
His heart clenches, then expands and explodes into the glimmer of a billion different supernovas. There's not a single frame of him that's not empty now. Not a simple trace that hasn't been replaced by utter brokenness.
He falls to his knees, lets his body give in to the shake. Yes. For the first time since he's been taught how to combat, Levi Ackerman allows himself to fall. Rapid. Vivid. Painful.
His skin bleeds when it touches the floor; his throat so closed he can barely breathe. Perhaps, this, he tells himselfâthis endless spiral of acheâ is exactly what happens when a soldier loves. It's the pieces of himself he's lent to the fallen, that now have been lost. The stubborn ways of the soul, to be so foolishly selfless now he's nothing but a living ghost.
He glances up at the skies, there where a ray of sun makes its way through the clouds. Will the black hole in him come and take him, too? Can it bend time and space, and make life the way it was?
He thinks about it for a second. Erwin, Mike, Petra, Hanji; everyone he'd ever longed for, had believed in this world. They had bled, and sworn, and resigned to war, so that the rest could see peace, even if just once. Would it be fair for him to wish he was gone, light as a feather, then? Did that mean he had to persist through existence, still? Even with this void eating him up inside?
He takes another look around. He has no answers, just yet. But, in the midst of destruction, he can make up the contours of something he's always known.
Something that brings warmth to the cool that always lays after stars are born.
Erwin, Mike, Petra, Hanji...
Are you guys watching...?
This is the result...
Of all of your devoted hearts...
And after that, heâs swallowed into the infinites of a black abyss, too.
READ THE COMPLETE FANFICTION HERE
"The Tale Of The Butterflies", a story where Hanji Zoe survives The Rumbling, is out now on AO3!
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Also, just want to point this out.
The original controversy surrounding Reiner and Jean, etc... showing gratitude toward Eren, and people interpreting that as an endorsement of Eren's actions by Isayama, I think the anime went a long way to making sure that wouldn't happen again, by making it clear that Eren is only able to confess the true motivation behind his actions to Armin. I don't think Eren confessed his true motivation to anyone else. He only told Armin, because he knew Armin was the only one who would understand, because he knew, subconsciously probably, that Armin wouldn't condemn him for it. And Armin doesn't. He condemns Eren's actions, but he doesn't condemn Eren himself. Instead he shoulders the blame with Eren and condemns himself in his place. It's made clear that he isn't thanking Eren for killing anybody. He thanks Eren for showing him the world outside the walls. For giving him the means to see that world. But he lets Eren know that what he's done is beyond forgiveness, and he shoulders that blame with him out of love and friendship, as a means of comforting his best friend. And he protects Eren's memory by keeping that secret. By keeping the secret of why Eren really did it. It reminds me of how Levi protected Erwin's memory by keeping his secret too, of never revealing to anybody the true reasons behind his actions. He lets everyone else believe he did it for them. But Armin's always understood and accepted monstrosity, even in himself. He loved Eren to the very end, even when he knew he couldn't be saved. That's beautiful, and heartbreaking.
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Sundays are the perfect day for rain. It's a lazy thought, one that appears when his lids get heavy and he finds himself in the haze of the afterglow. Hanji lays beside him, wearing nothing but sheets that drape around their lower back. Their hair's wild; a tornado that waves over his pillowâ a slight snore escaping their lips.
The air smells of murky earth, and lust, and sweat. They have made love, three times in a row the night before. Now, the early light leaves traces over skin. Like Hanji's bodyâs a canvas for the storm to paint on.
They are lucky they only have one meeting today, later on in the afternoon. Levi canât help but relish in the comfort of his bed, five more minutes than he usually would. He's realized, it's things like these that bring him the most joy. Hanji's little breaths, and full, long hours of staying under covers with not much better to do. He can even lose himself in it, if he tries hard enoughâ these small, mundane stuff. Droplets pat on the window, and he plays to spot rhythmic patterns in the sound, almost like he's writing a song.
Sundays are the perfect day for rain. Skies are grey, the world is quiet, Hanji's naked. He smiles at the sight, if only shyly, and lets his fingers ghost over their spine, careful not to wake them. Sometimes, he figures, in a life so loud, it's good for soldiers like them to have moments like these. Precious specs of infinity. Tiny figments of forever. He wishes that he could capture the instant, trap it into a bottle. That he could prevent time from taunting whatever fragments of bliss he's been granted.
Maybe, that's why he allows himself to wander; to touch, and kiss, and hold. So that he can taste eternity within a second. So that he can stay in bed five more minutes than he usually would.
He sighs, then looks over at Hanji. Their shoulder-blades are specled with moles, dots that have fallen like stardust. They are wonderful, with their long lashes and their hooked nose. They are wonderful, and his hands turn each mark a constellation. As if adventurers that've discovered new paths to travel to.
"Hmmm", they mumble, when he gets carried away, and his caress drifts off below the bedsheets. The noise's hushed, barely audible, even. But it makes Levi smile again, anyways. Soft, delicate, like he's a teen all over. He knows, in a few hours, they'll have to get ready for tea, then probably take a shower. Still, for now, he just wants to enjoy thisâ this little scrap of heavenâ, before it gets taken away. The promise of a cozy morning. The sweetness that only comes with cuddling bare on a shared mattress.
Just as thunder roars, he rolls over, and lays down further next to Hanji.
Oh, Sundays are the perfect day for rain, indeed.
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The Tale Of The Butterflies - Now Out on AO3
CLICK HERE TO READ THE FULL FIC
"This goes out to my grandma
Who fell with the April breeze
And just like the autumn leaves
I hope she grows back to me
When butterflies migrate on to spring."
Grass creaks under their boots as they walk. Itâs their one day-off, and Hanji had insisted on them going out the walls to explore.
âCÂŽmon! Itâll be fun!â, theyâd said. And Levi, though reluctant, had accepted in the end. He had thought about using the spare time to clean around headquarters. But the weather was too nice to waste. Besides, they had already fixed a cleaning-day a few weeks prior. A little sun wouldnât hurt him much.
He sighs, stares at the clearing before him. Itâs early spring, and the first-born sprouts begin to poke from the trees; branches dotted by shy specs of green. Itâs a wonderful sight, he has to admit. Light seeps through the leaves, paints the fields of cellophane gold. And he thinks, heâs quite glad Hanji had dragged him out for a walk, after all. Even when, by walk, he means listening to their rambles or getting his clothes dirty.
âLook!â, he hears them call. They are pointing at a rare flower, lost somewhere in a midst of wood and brown. A butterfly floats around its petals; its wings fragile, fluttering in see-through yellow. âIsnât this beautiful?â
Levi hums. Hanji had taken him discover the pretty to the world. The sparkle that laid in common-detail, so often invisible to the eye. He had a much more different stance at life before he met them, he tells himself. The Underground was harsh, and cold, and ruthless. And so, he thought he could only seek survival, then.
âItâs still a bug.â, he huffs. His voice is rather soft, despite the rough tone.
Hanji laughs at him, as if their fingers had caught the sweet within his words.
âI've never told you about butterflies, havenât I?â, they ask; arms crossed over their chest. The afternoon light splatters over brown hair. Has turned their glasses into a stained kaleidoscope. âCome, quick! Get over here!â
Levi shakes his head, but does so, anyways. Truth is, they had shown him the colors of the wild, helped him understand rain and stars. It made him feel like he belonged, somehow. Like he could always find rainbows hidden in a universe that had unraveled to black and white.
"What is it?"
Hanji extends a finger. The butterfly has perched upon it, foolishly mistaken it for a flower petal. It makes them giggle; how its tiny legs trickle their skin. How Levi gives them a knowing stare, wide-eyed and curious.
âThese babiesâ, they tell him, as they lift their hand up. âOnly live for a single day.â
Levi frowns. His mouth parts open: an expression of sheer innocence. Itâs almost as if heâs just starting to grow, like leaves that crawl from the mud. He doesnât quite understand, yet, the way some things work. And he takes a guess, even if just to entertain the idea, that itâs nice to be a little bit naive, still.
âI call bullshit.â, he grunts. The butterfly sits in quiet; its wings shimmering under the timid rays of dusk. How could something so complex fade away so quickly?
Hanji laughs, louder this time.
âItâs true!â, they try to defend themselves. Their smile is warm and kind, wider than the open fields. âThey start as caterpillars, first.â, they explain, though rather careful. âThen, they go through a transition process known as metamorphosis.â
Levi says nothing for a while, drinks in every trace of sunlight. He canât help but think that they sound like an expert, indeed. That itâs just like theyâve spent their whole lives searching for answers to the mysteries of nature.
He looks at the butterfly first, and at Hanji, after. Theyâre holding their finger up to their nose, so near theyâve turned crossed-eyed and dizzy. He figures, probably, thereâs tenderness about the ways they have for exploring. That his soul is left exposed at the sight of them: skewed glasses, clothes speckled.
âAh, wellâŠ!â, he hears them speak again. âI just find it so incredible! A few months in and ta-da! They completely change forms.â
He scoffs. It seemed gross, in all honesty. But that, he wouldn't say. Hanji most likely knew already, anyways.
âAll that and just to die within a day, huh...?â, he sighs, disappointed.
Hanji nods, and takes his hand into theirs for a moment. Thereâs a thin layer of dust thatâs collected underneath their nails. A warm splotch of sweat that peppers over their palms, too.
Still, Levi doesnât care.
"Super unfair, if you ask me.", he watches them shrug, ever so carefree. The butterfly's fumbled from their finger onto his, made a home out of his embrace. And he feels as though time has stopped, right there and then. Like he's cradling a daydream too good to be true. "So, pay attention, alright? We're probably never gonna see this again!"
He catches his breath. The butterfly spreads its wings, shows them every hue of golden and yellow. It's fascinating, he thinks, as he brings it up close to his face. He'd been told, the world was supposed to be one filled with despair. An irregular battlefield, where love could only come at the cost of loss.
Yet, he notices, there's a beauty that remains precious, even in the simple. Some kind of wonder that stays in moments of quiet: the fading sunsets, the blink of an eye. Hanji goes on adventures, smiles with their heart light. And he finds that it's contagious, really. That passion of theirs. That they can let joy bloom in places others had planted with sorrow.
How do they do it?
âI donât get it.â, he complains. And they let out a giggle: a sound that drifts away with the breeze.
âYou donât have to, Levi.â, they tell him. The traces of their voice hang loose around the edges; his name a soft whisper on their lips. âTo be frank, I donât quite get it myself, eitherâŠâ
He remains quiet for a minute, takes in the perfume that lingers in the air. A smile of his own has blossomed on his mouth, shy as wildflowers that push above-ground. He's aware of how stubborn he can be. How he can seem cool and unfazed, at times. Still, he decides that, maybe, Hanji can be right, if only just for now. That thereâs some kind of comfort in sharing himself with someone who simply understands.
He exhales, and looks up at the butterfly: the way it floats off to the afternoon. It appears to him, somehow, the meadows feel emptier now that itâs gone. Yet, heâs certain, thereâs not much he can do about whatâs finite, after all.
Some things are meant to slip beyond oneâs line of comprehension, anyways.
"I think we should start heading back.", he offers, as he gets up to sweep the mud thatâs on his pants. The sunâs about to set, and all he really wishes for is a long, hot shower before dinner.
Hanji grazes him another smile, and helps themselves off the floor, as well.
âThen admit that you had fun, at least!â, they tease. And Levi figures, perhaps, to them happiness can be only but a butterfly, in the end. The brittle that's in beauty. The fleeting one yearns to keep from the sweet betrayals of time.
He huffs and turns around to stare at them, still walking a few steps behind. He did have a wonderful day, indeed. But that, he wouldn't say. Hanji most likely knew already, anyways.
"Donât be stupid.", he goes, instead. And they laugh in response, loud, and wild, and clear. âWeâre gonna be late for tea.â
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The sky is pink, just like Hanji's skin when they kiss him. There's nothing to keep him from their body, just traces of foam clinging to them like patch-work.
He isn't sure how it's gotten to thisâ the lip-locking and getting naked on the shore. All he knows, is that the kids have gone put up their tents further away. And that it makes him feel as though they're the only people to exist, now that they're alone.
He closes his eyes, and lets himself get lost in the rhythm of it. The sunset on his cheeks, the hush of the winds, the ocean that is Hanji Zoe; wild, rebel, with their hair tangled and their legs spread for him.
"I...", he stutters, though words have always been a weak spot, his Achilles Heel.
Hanji smiles, and pulls him in close again, like they're a sea wonder brought in by the tides. Their tongue strokes his neck, his jaw, then his own. It's like he can almost forget where they are; the hurt washing away with every taste.
"Shhh, Levi...", they tell him, and their voice is a whisper drowning in the waves. "No need to talk..."
He nods, with their index pressed to his mouth. A whole sky of sentences, and rawness, and emotion aches in his chest, waiting for him to set them free. But instead, he touches. His hands are on Hanji's hair first, then on the bridge of their nose. He wants to remember every scrap, every crevice. Like they're built of sand and his palms can make scars turn castles.
Hanji moans; soft, content, their eyes half-open. Their breasts are now dunes, slipping between Levi's fingers. Their stomach's the coast, ever so wide; a canvas for him to fill in with footprints.
"Will you...", they say. But his hands make them stumble. Their face's the sky, burning of pink flush. And, suddenly, they have faded to the currents; so light, they may become one with the salt. "Will you make love to me...?"
It's Levi the one who's smiling now, rare as that sight may be. His lips twitch sideways, then stop on Hanji's nose. They are freer than the waves, flowing like the water; in, and out, and everywhere around him.
"Four eyes...",he pants, skin on skin, his breaths and voice coming out ragged. "I thought you said no talking."
Hanji laughs, and their legs wrap him up; tighter, stronger. There's sand on brown locks, and tan lines on their chest. And yet, admist the mess they've made, he can't help but think that the way they touch him has awakened something. Like he's a sandcastle, too, and their love melts him back to the shore.
Perhaps, he ponders, in another universe, they could have lived in one of those, even. Have a mansion, like the ones in Sina, with a sea view and a porch. He'd make tea for Hanji every afternoon, then they'd slip into the ocean; their bodies nothing but foam.
He looks ahead, near towards where the kids had set camp. The sandcastles they've built are torn to pieces; a memory that left with the sun. It makes him wonder, whether life's meant to fade just as fast. If one day his love will combust, helplessly, as well.
"Levi...", Hanji calls again; a sweet, sweet a mantra that drips from their lips. Their mouth's salt air, their hips bent as the sea goes. He's in too deep now, drifting like a boat that's out to sail. The waves rock him, forth and back, and he feels himself vanish; becoming one with the foam, too.
"I love you...", their fingers touch his hair, right before their body shakes and their legs turn an ocean wide.
Levi kisses their face; the pink on their cheeks, their temples. Sandcastles, he figures, then, are only fleeting. Small treasures that crumble with the force of nature. And so, he knows now: it can't be that his love will burn to ashes.
What him and Hanji share, this very moment in the specs of infinity, might as well last forever.
"Four eyes", he grunts, though there's softness in the way he speaks. "I thought we said no talkin'."
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No me queda nada, sĂłlo el recuerdo.
QuizĂĄs, es por eso que dejo que la imaginaciĂłn revolotee. Que mis manos te pinten, como si de un cuadro se tratara.Â
Nunca pudimos sacarnos una foto. Plasmar, casi inmortal, todo lo tangible de aquello que no nos decĂamos. Pero rebusco entre los cajones. AllĂ, en lo profundo del alma. Hago lugar, saco las cajas polvorientas. Y aunque las palabras no resbalan, ni salen a borbotones de entre las sombras, te encuentro.
Puedo sentirte, acĂĄ conmigo. Dicen que a veces la mente bloquea las memorias que aĂșn desgarran para mitigar el dolor. Que nos engañamos, al menos por un ratito, para que los agujeros negros no nos consuman.
Yo nunca supe engañarme, Hanji. Creo que vos podĂ©s verlo mĂĄs claro que nadie. Te reĂas de mi hablar crudo, y me susurrabas al oĂdo, y limabas mis asperezasâ tal vez, con el afĂĄn de hacerme parecer mĂĄs suave. Hacerme pensar que este corazĂłn viejo y cansado tenĂa un espacio pequeño dentro del tuyo.
No me arrepiento, igualmente. De las palabras que callamos, o de no tener fotos tuyas, o de nunca haber sido digno de tu amor. Las fotos envejecen, se destiñen bajo el arrullo del tiempo. Pero yo puedo moldearte bajo mis palmas, casi como si te conociera de memoria. Si cierro los ojos, puedo bordear tus recovecos, llenarte de color.
Es que eso eras, Hanji. Una explosiĂłn del color mĂĄs vivo y vibrante. El brillo de los fuegos artificiales, el neĂłn del atardecer. Eras tu melena alocada en el viento, encrespada como el vaivĂ©n de las olas. Los lunares que salpicaban tu barbilla; casi constelaciones lejanas, inconexas.Â
A la noche, cuando las luces se apagan, tu imagen se me aparece de entre los rincones. Al principio dolĂa, un dolor tan demoledor que calaba hasta los huesos. Ahora, creo que duele menos. O que aprendĂ a vivir con el dolor. Como cuando aceptamos que la luna tiene crĂĄteres, huecos, oscuridad incluso bajo la luz.
QuizĂĄs, es porque cuando te veo, te veo sonriendo. No hay rastros de guerra, ni de pĂ©rdida, ni de lo poco que nos quedĂł de humanidad. VestĂs de blanco, con coronas de "no-me-olvides" en el pelo. El sol te acaricia, igual de suave que como yo hubiese querido hacerlo. Y me decĂs: "suficiente, Levi". "Ya pasĂł, Levi".
Y entonces te creo.
Me siento con vos, y permito que la eternidad flote entre nosotros. Te preparo un té con mis mejores hierbas, observo atento cómo el rubor te arde en la piel. Me digo que ya no importan; el dolor que demuele, los secretos bajo llave, las fotos arrugadas, o las que no pudimos conservar.
Si cierro los ojos, puedo delimitar tus facciones. Las lĂneas rectas de tu nariz, el arco de tus pestañas. Puedo inhalar el calor de tu cuerpo, hablarle a las estrellas.
Y hay semanas, o meses, en los que quisiera volver atrås, gritarte que no te vayas, que sin vos el mundo es una imagen en blanco y negro. Pero, ¿sabés, Hanji? Hoy, que puedo grabarte en acuarelas, entiendo que con eso me basta.
Por eso, te hago un lugar en mi mesa, y en todas las grietas del alma. Limpio la casa para recibirte, desempolvo las cajas. Ya no hago preguntas, aĂșn convencido de que no tengo las respuestas. Dejo que tu voz cante, y entreteja en mil paisajes las maravillas que siempre supiste tararear. Te escucho, como un niño desbordado de ilusiĂłn. Y en mi alocado desvelo, te guardo conmigo; en cada parpadeo, en cada amanecer, en cada latido.
Porque estĂĄs ahĂ, todavĂa. Lo sĂ©, Hanji. Un dĂa, los velos del olvido van a llevarme a mĂ tambiĂ©n. Las galaxias van a tragarme, como polvo de estrellas, y voy a tener todo el aire en el espacio para pensar en cada madrugada en la que fallĂ©.
Pero no me arrepiento. De nada. QuĂ© extraño, Âżno? Si pudiera, te juro, lo harĂa casi todo de nuevo, asĂ tal cual fue. Las heridas que nos vendamos, el reĂr a carcajadas, haber sido cĂłmplices en cada pedacito de vida. No lo cambiarĂa. Y menos aĂșn, si es que pudieran asegurarme que voy a cruzarme con tu sonrisa otra vez. Como cuando me susurrabas al oĂdo. Como cuando mis sueños te pintan.
Entonces me duermo, incluso estando despierto. Cierro los ojos, y mi mente me arrastra hasta ese lugar en donde todo estĂĄ en pausaâ un claro en el bosque, la casa que construimos. Me contĂĄs, como siempre, que Erwin estĂĄ mĂĄs tranquilo. Que mi mamĂĄ te adora. Que Eren y Sasha no paran de pelearse.
Y sonrĂo. De esas sonrisas que sĂłlo vos podĂas arrancarme. El tĂ© se nos enfrĂa, el sol se derrite tras la ventana. Pero estĂĄs ahĂ, Hanji. EstĂĄs ahĂ, aunque no pueda tocarte nunca mĂĄs.
Me acuerdo, todavĂa, de esa vez en la que vimos la luna. Era primavera, y los chicos entrenaban cerca del arroyo. Te preguntĂ©, por quĂ© no brillaba igual que al caer la noche; âÂżno deberĂa brillar mĂĄs ahora, con la luz del dĂa?â, dije. Te relamiste los labios, como siempre que ibas a salpicarme con historias, y respondiste, claro y sencillo: âalgunas cosas necesitan de oscuridad para ser descubiertas.â
ÂżSerĂĄ por eso que te siento adentro mĂo, enlazada a cada exhalaciĂłn? ÂżQue nuestro escondite en el bosque es una rendija de cielo, donde nada quema ni lastima? ÂżSerĂĄ que me estoy escurriendo, y en mi afĂĄn obsesivo me aferro a tu amor? ÂżQue en el vacĂo que dejaste, sĂłlo hay espacio para sembrar estrellas?
QuizĂĄs haya perdido la cordura, Hanji. No lo sĂ©. Pero empiezo a pensar que te transformaste en luna. En cuarto creciente. Con crĂĄteres y todo. Que tu destello rasga hasta las penumbras mĂĄs negras. Es un faro de esperanza que guĂa las mareas. âSuficiente, Leviâ, repetĂs, casi como un arrullo de cuna, con tus manos en mi pelo y tu boca en la mĂa. Y entonces te aprieto, bien fuerte contra mi pecho. Y dejo que llenes las grietas, y las cajas, y que tiñas de color cada foto que no tenemos.
âEstoy bien, Leviâ, me asegurĂĄs. âVamos a volver a vernos.â
Y entonces, porque nunca supe hacer otra cosa, o porque ya no me queda nada, te creo.
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HIIII IâM SO EXCITED TO READ YâALLâS FICSSSS <3 <3
Thanks for the taggg @dontatmethanks (ILYY <3)
He looks up at the sky: how the butterflies have splotched every patch of blue with bright, vivid colors. He wants to believe that this is them, indeed. Each a different shade of rainbow. That this is them, at last, and Hanji was right all those years before.
"As long as there's love, then death can never really win us over."
(from upcoming Levihan fic âThe Tale of The Butterfliesâ, a story where Hanji survives the Rumbling)
Tagging: @wardenannie @tundrainafrica @giuliadrawsstuff @someonestolemyshoesâ @autumndory  @zuzusexytiems and @smol-lydiaâ <3 <3 <3
Last Line Tag
tagged by the lovely @thiamsxbitch đ
RULESâshare the last line you wrote for your WIP, and then tag as many people as there are words.
MK placed too much responsibility on himself already, how would he react if he knew his mentor, the great Monkey King, signed off for his immortality to end after MKâs passing?
hehe :3 would you believe if I told you that this wip was supposed to be fluffy?
tagging (with no added pressure dw <3): @sourdough-morbread @bellamyblakru @ghoultaffy @shana-rosee and anybody else bearing witness to this post and feels inclined to play!
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Their lips kiss the sorrows off his skin. One, two, three for every night they've spent together.
"Levi...", they whisper; a lullaby that tangles with the moon. "You don't have to be strong for me..."
He holds in his breath, lets their tongue trace the sweet of his fingertips. There's something precious about the way they do this, really. Their mouth patches his every callus, paints him like he's the shining of the stars. And he knows, then, he can bare himself whole before them.
He doesn't need to hide his softness from Hanji Zoe.
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Hanji's laugh fills in the room; a bubbly sound that makes his heart raise. He doesnât know when, or how. But they are laughing, after so long. They are laughing, and he's decided, their laugh's his favourite song.
"You're so silly, Levi!", they say, breathless, still. And he doesn't mind, then, that he's making a fool of himself.
So he leans over and bites their nose, lets his fingers trickle under their clothes.
Yeah, he's so silly.
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Their first kiss comes unexpected, in a hushed moment of weakness. They had bathed together, like they usually did after long meetings. And Hanji had cried to him unarmed, both stripped to their scars only.
It had been natural, after all, like snowflakes tangled in one's eyelashes. Levi had leaned to wipe their cheekbone, and then, before he knewâhis lips had caught on theirs, ever as swiftly. Like it was always bound to happen.
"Four eyes...", he whispers, now looking from the distance. His gaze is tied to their mouth, still, almost as if he can't believe what he just did. "Sorry, Iâ"
"It's okay...", they reassure him, even before he can squeeze another word. He has a hand on their hair, the other running up and down their arm. "It felt nice... didn't it?"
Levi nods. Truth is, he's scared, at times, of this unyelding desire of his. That he won't be able to contain the fire that eats him at the pit of his stomach.
"Yeah, it did...", he admits, for the first time out loud. A smile twitches on his lips: a sly confession that makes the skin burn. And then, there it is againâhis mouth on theirs, a second kiss that comes like downpour.
Hanji makes room for their tongues to meet, lets him discover every bump and crevice, and taste them deeper than he did before. It's as if a wound's been opened, all of a sudden. Like all the hunger he'd so long held for them bled its way back to the surface.
"Four eyes...", he says back, lost between their mouths. His desire claws out of him, and he wishesâalmost hopelessly, that they could take him right there and then. That they could trace, and kiss and touch every corner that makes his body sing.
Why did it take forever for him to realize? Â They could guide him to the bed, lay him on the matress, and he'd be theirs. They could sit on top, set their hands to paint the wildest of fantasies. It didn't matter.
"Levi...", they go, almost like a mantra that mixes with the water. And when they part, still hot and breathless, he's sure:
It had always been them, their kindness, their love. All along, it had been the messy scientist with dirty glasses and dreams too big for the world.
He nods, and tucks a strand of brown behind their ear. His heart dances out of compass; both still breathing each other in.
"You're wonderful."
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THIS IS ONE OF THE MOST BEAUTIFUL, SOUL-TOUCHING ARTS I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE. THANK YOU FOREVER FOR THIS.
Dawn is bound to break
When the night is done
Always darker days
Before brighter ones
Lol sorry I know you all were thirsty now I feel bad đ
I know post-op knee exercises arenât sexy but they are important đ
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