You can do this Y/n
You can do this Y/n
You can do this Y/n
You squinted your eyes closed as you stood up. Your fist paused at the door you had knocked so many times before.
Knocking was easy, it was a simple process, a ball of an unemotional fist that you would then pull back and then pull forward-
And you're rambling, are you scared? Of course you're not scared, you just talked to him the other day.
But he was just so good at getting you off-topic. But that was just coincidental, right? He wasn't the first person to ask about your art or your general interests, but-
Damn it, he's distracted you without even actually being right in front of you.
You sigh, pinch your fingers, and then you knock.
Nothing, no one comes to the door.
You knock once more.
And nothing again.
Is he out on duty?
You tilt your head, your stomach untwists a bit in dare you say relief at the thought of him not being here, because you truly didn't want to talk to the soldier...right?
CLANG
You jump at the noise that comes from the Dreyse's backyard.
You follow the noise like a dog on a trail, and it leads you directly behind the house. And at the end of your crumb trail is the soldier you were looking for.
He's bent over, mumbling curses through a cigar as he picks up a fallen-over rake.
He's not dressed in his normal attire, instead, he's dressed in a white button up with one button loose that reveals the pale of his chest. For the rest of his outfit, he has on a simple set of black pants and shoes, nothing special or spectacular.
If anything, he looks relaxed outside of his uniform.
And that was the entire reason you came today, right?
To talk to him on his own turf instead of your own.
"Madam Dreyse's isn't here, she's at church. But I assume you're well aware of that."
He eyes you up and down as he stands.
"You're correct Monsieur, I'm here for you. "
He raises a brow, "And why might I have the pleasure of your presence again Madame?"
You can hear the sarcasm dripping off his tongue, and you have to pinch yourself to stop anything from falling off your own.
"I came here to apologize for my behavior from our last meeting. It was unruly and highly inappropriate, and I hope you can forgive me."
You bend down a bit, hoping that he could feel your shame as you weren't lying at all. Even if he had provoked you in numerous ways, it had seemed that your mouth had gone flying at him, or about him numerous times, and to you, that was just plain uncouth.
"You're forgiven...I guess. Is that all?"
A small smile graces your lip at his forgiveness, and as you stand fully, you smile as you shake your head.
"I was hoping you and I could try again? I would like to talk to you."
He squints his eyes at you again, and tilts his head. He's trying to read what you're getting at, what your game plan is. No one in France has ever walked up to the dark-haired soldier and asked to talk to him about anything.
No one except you.
"Sure, sit right here."
You look at where he sits down at, and where he motions for you to sit, and your eyes widen.
"There?"
"Right here, Madame."
You walk over to the seat, and you have to physically control your emotions in order to not express your utter disgust at the seat in front of you.
It's made of simple metals, but the paints have chipped and rust has formed, and it's even turned colors you've never seen before. Nothing like what you have at home. Even when you did come to visit Hitch, she always made sure you sat in the best chair possible.
But Hitch is not here, just you and him. So you sit.
He slowly smokes his cigar away, and your nose scrunches as you're not used to the strong smell.
"You had said something the last time we talked that I wanted to ask you about."
For a second, his unmoving face twitches at the thought of your last conversation before it turns back to normal.
You let out a huff of amusement as you assume that he thinks you'll ask him about military strategy or if he intends to leave the Dresye's home anytime soon.
"You said that before the war you studied art. And I wanted to know what else you did before the war?"
His brow twitches this time at your question, and you can tell you've taken him off guard.
But he's nothing but a moving statue, his original posture of smoking his cigarette resumed as he ponders over your words.
"Why should I tell you?"
You pinch your fingers as you expected he'd respond in such a way.
"Because, I'll tell you a little about me if you tell me something about you."
This time he pauses before taking a pull from his cigarette to look you in your eyes.
"I think you know what I'm about to say."
You snort as you definitely do, you had predicted that response as well.
"You'll want to know more about me because I can tell you're interested. I can tell you're interested in a lot of things about me and how the rest of France works."
He's still yet to drag from his cigarette as his dark eyes stare into yours, looking for your ulterior motive.
"You caught me, Madame."
Your eyes widen and a small smile comes across your face.
This was something that you didn't expect. If anything, you expected a bit more convincing.
He pulls from his half-smoked cigarette once more.
"Before the war...I owned a shop."
You tilt your head as you try to imagine him running a shop. You giggled as you thought about it, you could see it honestly. Maybe some kind of weapons shop or deli where his only purpose was to cut cute baby ducks heads off.
But your curiosity gets the best of you, and your years of education fill your head as your intellectual brain has to know if your educated guess is correct or not.
"What kind of shop was it?"
You're cocky, and you try your best to not sound like it as you await his answer. Await your confirmation of your own thoughts.
"It was a tea shop. It wasn't very successful though, German's typically don't drink tea. "
Your jaw drops so hard and fast that you think about checking if all the bones are still in place. You try to imagine entering a tea shop, the aroma's strong and soothing, and at the center of the shop is the man in front of you, dressed in a simple apron with a white long sleeve underneath, and a relaxed face is all that he uses to decorate himself with.
You just simply can't imagine it, and you wait for him to say he's pulling your leg.
But as he continues to smoke, you realize he's deadly serious.
You close your mouth and clear your throat as you try to remember your manners.
"In France...tea's not all that popular either. It's pretty hard to come by actually."
You blink, and he nods his head in response.
"Now it makes sense why your tea was so shitty."
After a prolonged series of bickering between the two of you about if your tea was indeed shitty or if his tastebuds didn't work, the two of you talked.
And as you promised yourself, it wasn't about military strategy or politics in general. Instead, the two of you talked about each other.
He told you about how common French customs would confuse him, and you would giggle and tell him that you had no problem with teaching him about them.
He told you about his life before the war, and you told him about yours. You told him about your art, your favorite games, and how you and Hitch became friends in the first place.
And he listened to every single word that fell out of your mouth.
Your talk was interrupted, but not by a person, but by nature itself. The rain came from nowhere, and the two of you rushed inside. You both were soaked and full of laughs as you sat at the Dresye's kitchen table.
But you couldn't help but wonder if the rain was a sign that nature itself was telling you that you were enjoying your conversation with the soldier a bit too much.
That instead of listening to him tell you about how he owned a small cat in a tea shop of all things, you should be listening to him tell you about what the German army planned to do next.
But you can't help it.
And as he listens to you, you suspect that he may feel the same way.
The two of you were on completely different sides of the war.
You are a French Aristocrat that is a part of La Resistance, and he is a German soldier.
But for right now, you're just two people whose voice...whose story, is actually being listened to for the first time in what feels like forever.
"I should go, it's getting late, and I'm supposed to have dinner with the duke of...of..."
"You don't know who you're having dinner with?"
His dark head tilts at you in amusement at your forgetful nature.
You shrug, and a small giggle falls from your lips.
"There's a lot of dukes and nobles, and their names are all long and drawn out. I'm sure they'll have their name imprinted on their shoe laces or something along those lines."
The two of you shared breaths of amusement as you stood.
You both stared at one another for all but a second.
The issue with lower-class homes is of course the poor condition of them, but another reason is that the nearest door is always but a few feet away.
And in a matter of steps, you're at it.
"Goodbye, Madame."
Your lip quivers at the formal sounding of your name.
"Y/n, is fine Monsieur."
You stand at the entrance of the door, and for some reason, he does the same.
To close the door of course, someone has to lock it
"Then Levi is fine for me as well."
Your lip turns into a smile as your eyes look into his dark ones.
As the two of you stand, it's almost as if the two of you are waiting for something, anything.
Maybe you're waiting for the next bomb to explode, or a baby to be born next door, or for him to kiss you-
No! What am I thinking?
"I like talking to you Mada- Y/n."
And then your stomach flutters.
"I like talking to you too, Levi."
And for a second, you swear you see joy flicker through his eyes.
"Well, I have to go now. Have a goodnight."
"Have a goodnight Y/n."
As you turn your back to the door it closes, and that fluttering feeling in your stomach can't seem to go away.
You had gotten what you wanted, right? To become closer to the soldier in order to bleed him dry of information. And in your own words, throw him away like a dirty rag.
Yes, that's what you wanted.
But for some reason, as you rode home, all you could think about is the happiness you feel at becoming closer to the man who once owned a tea shop and a small black cat.
While the aristocrat and the soldier were in denial of their growing relationship, neither of them was aware that their newfound relationship would take a new turn in an unfortunate series of events.