"In time we hate that which we often fear," Antony and Cleopatra: Act 1 , Scene 3
Calling a book your best friend was kind of pathetic, maybe a little bit psychotic to some. But, there was nothing as reassuring as the feel of printed text beneath your fingertips. The soft rustling swipe of uncoated paper whenever you turned the page was terminal, as all good stories had to end eventually, yet the best stayed with you permanently. They were steadfast anchor in the sea of life that always provided salvation. Rescue from the perils that everyone experienced in life and launching them into a completely new reality, no matter how harrowing the tale may be.
If their reliability did not make them best friend material, you weren't exactly sure what did. You could cry and sympathise with them, constantly revisit them without being shunned or turned away, you could love them, like you could any good friend, and get to know them personally, too. Get to know that coffee stain on page two hundred and forty-three, from the time you knocked your cup over at the tea shop, get to know that crease on the back cover from when it fell from your over-populated shelf at a wrong angle and was dented- never same again, poor thing.
And more importantly, a good book got to know you, too. It got to know whether you were the kind to bend the spine the minute you purchased it, or whether you liked to keep everything intact, rather opening the book at an acute angle to prevent the spine from creasing. It got to know what your favoured time of the day to read was, it got to know whether you liked scented candles in the air or just the solace of you and words. It got to know what your favourite page was, what specific line had you sticking your tongue between your teeth to stop butterflies, or which paragraph killed you every time.
Because of a book's dependability, it was a major question as to why so many people opposed it? Children played pretend all the time, set up a kitchen and decided they were the most popular chef on the planet, rolled out the Play-Doh and decided that they were the hottest architectures to exist. Reading a book was more than playing pretend. It was bringing that love for imagination, that we hold so dear as children, into our adolescence, our adulthood, our elderly lives. In reality, everyone loves to play pretend, but as you age, a different kind of label is slapped onto it.
Having it between your hands felt like a talisman. Something that forebode any pressures of your normal life affecting the pure joy that surged through your system like a dangerous drug coursing through your veins. Every word was magic and had such a tempo that seemingly found you lost in a mixture of admiration and awe. By nature, humans were natural story-tellers, no matter what form. Some people liked a good gossip, some people liked to learn from their educators but one way or another, to understand anything, you needed a good story.
So now, as you peeked down at the lecture, allowing the September sunshine to wash over your skin, from the overhead windows, you considered as to why reading was such a frowned upon hobby. What on earth was boring about completely immersing yourself into a new reality, life, culture? Even as Joseph Addison said: reading to the mind, is what exercise is to the body. And now when you thought about the block-headed jocks who rushed around campus with more sweat patches than sweater-wearing pig in an oven, you decided they probably needed more mental exercise.
As you contemplated this, you drew your focus back to your lecturer, a woman you had grown to look up to and develop quite the connection with in your short time together. Pieck Finger took every lesson as some kind of theatre production, the sloped stairs of the lecture hall her amphitheatre and she was damn well sure on giving every one a show. Every time she moved, she carried her own little jingle, like a cat with a bell, because of the amount of bangles and drooping necklaces she liked to adorn over herself like she was a sacred offering to whatever gods she believed in.
Most people regarded her on the slightly insane side, but you like assumed that the term 'eccentric' was better suited to woman like her. But today, you noticed that she wasn't alone. Whilst she prowled the space of the desk in front of her, someone else was rested against the desk that she never seemed to use, because of all the coffee enjoyed pumping into her system.
Ever since you entered the lecture hall, he was the drawing source of your attention. You had tried your best to focus. Focus on the tangents that Pieck often entered when she rambled and focus on the book in your hands, but he was this anomaly you had discovered that was making everything out of the ordinary. You enjoyed routine, in fact, a boring life was a happy life, and he had shown up to toss a spanner in the works for you.
"So, before I let you go, there is one more thing I need to tell you all about." She grinned, finally putting an end to her distracting pacing of the space around her.
Chipping away at the nail polish on your fingers, you observed the way everyone else perked up with infantile excitement at her words, like puppets being yanked by their strings. You were on edge, the thought that she could be issuing another essay weighing heavy on your mind as you thought about the coursework you had abandoned in your drafts. The new academic year and only just started, and you were already underestimating how hard your last year was going to be...how hard indeed.
"Well, remember that piece of creative writing I tasked you guys with at the end of the last term? It wasn't pointless homework. I've switched up one of your exams for something more expressive, after having a word with some of your senior professors. I want you guys to convert your piece into some form of media. That could be dance, theatre, music, artwork...just anything that expresses what you've worked on. And here to help you all with it, is Armin Arlert, a post-graduate student who's come back to enrol in my evening class." Pieck continued, giving a small round of applause that fell completely flat.
The buzz of energy was still high, but a sceptical one. After all, no one seemed exactly pleased that some random stranger had just hopped up out of the blue to help in class. Internally, you cringed with a hint of second-hand embarrassment. He would probably be awkward about it, maybe trip up over his words like a substitute teacher. You couldn't image the mortification that came behind everyone turning their face away at the mention of your name. But that was the first mistake you ever made Armin Arlert. You made an assumption.
The light from the overhead windows created a simple spotlight, which he stepped into without a single objection. Those honey-coloured flecks, that sat at the deeper roots of his scalp, simply glowed beneath those rays. If you had turned away for just a second, someone could have convinced you that he had just descended from heaven.
The sleeves of his caramel coloured sweater were rolled upwards, the collar of his white shirt rested above the neckline and the only nervous tell that you noticed was the way his left hand picked on the leather strap of his watch, that rested on his right wrist. Before speaking directly to all of you, he turned to Pieck first, waiting for her enthusiastic nod of encouragement and then he took a visible breath, eyes briefly scanning over the crowd.
"Hey everyone, introductions are always unnecessarily awkward and daunting, so I'll be brief. I completed an art degree, and I'm staying on for a bit to study literature, I'm mainly going to helping out with this project so don't hesitate to come to me for any help or support. I'm literally everywhere around campus." He chuckled, hands slipping into the front pockets of his brown chinos.
Hesitating, you once again glanced over your classmates, factoring whether or not they responded positively to him. Most of them looked rather confused, some already beginning to congregate like fourth graders on an art project. Rolling your tube of lip balm between your fingers, you tried to mitigate the panic that was slowly engulfing you. The entire reason you had chosen to enrol in an English degree was because reading and writing was all you could do...and you were struggling to admit that it was all you were.
"And, without needing to be said, of course you guys can work together on this task. I need to head to a department meeting, so this space is free to use for the next hour or so. And if you have any queries, then just ask Armin, darlings." Pieck finished off, pulling her long, looping curls into a ponytail as a half-assed attempt of professionalism.
As she liked to often say: "hair was a natural thing, who wants to see it condensed and restricted?" Knowing Miss Finger, it wouldn't be surprising if she was heading to a tree-hugging session instead of her meeting.
The buzz of chatter that erupted even before the poor woman got a foot out of the door and your stomach rolled as you watched friends group together, zealous animals of ideas whilst you silently withered in the corner like a neglect bonsai. Armin took his role professionally, dropping in with each group, making his rounds around the room like some kind of security guard.
With some groups, he sat on the table, turning a blind eye to some obvious flirtations and articulating wildly about something, hands outstretched, face flushed with good-natured conversation and friendliness. A battle of admiration and bitter covetousness festered in your core the longer you looked at him. That was until those electric blue eyes finally noticed yours that were most definitely green with envy.
Dropping your eyes back down to your breath, you cussed as your lip balm slipped from your tight-fisted grasp and the thin tube rolled off of the table. Ducking down to grab it, your sixth sense whispered in your ear a warning- you were no longer alone in your little cove of the lecture hall. There was an intruder, an encroacher.
"You're Eren's new room mate aren't you?...correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm guessing you're y/n?" Asked his voice that had a weird hair on the back of your neck standing to attention for a pleasant reason.
The sound was close to majestic, it was deep but soft enough to catch every lilt, every hum that escaped when those blush pink lips parted. Taking a deep breath, you shuffled up from your embarrassing crouched position and turned to the speaker. Armin was looking down at you, one hand rested on your desk, fingertips braced against it, causing his hand to position in a cage-like shape. The light highlighted every vein, every crevice and indent on his pale hands.
"Yeah, I moved in with Eren and all his friends back in May when I transferred." You calmly replied, thumb of your left hand pushing into your thigh to distract yourself from something.
There was something about Armin that was somehow smothering and the lack of air should have had your gasping, but the imaginative oxygen deficiency had you drunk on oxytocin instead. His blonde hair fell into his face as he tried to meet your eye once more, but you quickly averted his gaze. You couldn't tell if he was scrutinising or evaluating you.
"Mind if I sit?" He then continued as he tipped his head to the side, estimation complete.
You raised a shoulder, having always been unsure how to answer those types of questions. Saying no would mean you wanted him to sit but the word 'no' was one of rejection, not invite. Paradoxes in the English language like that fascinated you.
He sat with his legs apart, in the stereotyped male way, but he turned to you with the avid curiosity of a boy, not a guy a handful of years older than you.
"Any ideas on what you're gonna do? I've gone around, and I have to say I'm pretty intrigued with how some of these guys are gonna face their ideas. They're all a little on the melodramatic side of you ask me. But, all the world's a stage, and the men and women are merely players." He joked, raking a hand through the softest looking hair you had ever seen...that was after Eren Jaeger's maybe.
Sticking your tongue into your cheek, you murdered the smile that was trying to erupt across your face. Without looking at him, you pretended to be enthralled with the dust particles the light illuminated on the table.
"They have their exits and entrances; And one man plays many parts in his time." You whispered, in reply.
The idea that humanity lived behind a constant mask always was an ideology that you were infatuated with, for after all, arriving at the new university, you were still wearing yours. A soft chuckle perforated his lips as he leant back in his seat. You felt the corner of your lips pulling down, the last thing you wanted was for him to get comfortable over here.
Ever since he arrived, you were at unease. You were well accustomed to the label you had forced others to place on you, impressing people wasn't your intention...but this boy has you feeling self-conscious. Did you want to appear approachable to him?
"One of the truest lines of true Shakespeare ever said." He said to the open air, tilting his head back on his chair, sending his gaze upwards.
His hair tipped at a funny angle at the action, and you could have lost yourself in that complete painting of an ethereal angel if it wasn't for your phone. Your 'do not disturb' had automatically gone off due to your class being technically over and your work alarm was going off. Beginning to place your textbooks away, you turned to the boy besides you.
"Erm, I'm not really sure about what I'm going to do yet. It'll come to eventually, no worries." You quickly muttered, reaching for your light jacket that was hung on the back of your chair.
Pushing himself upright, the blonde mirrored your actions, hastily standing. There was a crease of confusion between his finely shaped, brown eyebrows. They had a constantly cynical arch about them that made you second-guess yourself.
"You're going already? I don't mind brainstorming something with you right now, if that's what you want." He pleaded, watching you wriggle on your coat.
Zipping up your bag, you hastily pocketed your phone, nearly tripping over the table leg, causing a few stares you were more used to receiving.
"No seriously, I'll think of something. Thanks anyway." You rushed out, jogging down the stairs and out of the lecture hall as fast a possible.
•••
Stumbling over yourself, you struggled to shove your bag over your shoulder as you tabbed it to the tea shop. The rambunctious roar of the high street faded away as your Doc. Martens beat against the sidewalk. The high apartment blocks of Sina melted away into smaller, conventional bungalows, with potted plants and garden gnomes. The lawns were trimmed and every few doors, you'd see a curly mass of white hair walking some type of canine with their partner.
Often, you imagined a simple lifestyle like that. Just you and your other half, spending the days away completely in a world aside from the society. The elderly neighbourhood was immaculate, and you constantly felt out of place as a broke undergraduate roaming these streets.
Some of the usual customers gave you a wave from their porches, but you made it clear you weren't in the mood for their long-winded stories that were half fiction half fact. In their old age, there were a couple of details that went a little skewiff, not that you minded, though. Those talks kept you going through your long and sometimes draining hours.
Your favourite stories were form Margot and her husband, Winston, who were old-money and told generational tales that hard been passed down to them from their predecessors in the Gilded Age. They never failed to fuel you with creative inspiration. But after Winston's ladder accident, you hadn't seen them in a while, which was a major shame.
Sneakily, you slipped around the back of Kuchel's, not wanting Levi to catch you nearly twenty minutes late. You had missed the bus out here into Trost and you had to wait for the later one. You were never late. If it wasn't for that time you had wasted speaking to Armin, maybe you would have arrived earlier.
You crept around the veranda that was used for Spring time events with the locals and made a break for the back, only to swear under your breath when you saw Isabel Magnolia leaning against the metal bar where the recycling bins usually were. She noticed you immediately, a fake-scowl crossing her features. Of course, she was clad in her rather unusual taste of bright orange lipstick.
"What time d'ya call this?" Shouted the red head, beginning to light a cigarette for her usual evening smoke.
Quickly, you bustled over to her, sweat coating your skin, fearing that your armpits were beginning to get a little damp. Resting your hands on your knees, you swallowed in some deep breaths of air, dragging in the oxygen through your nose like a line of cocaine.
"Please, please, please don't tell Levi, Isabel. I missed the bus and--" you hastily grovelled, pressing your hands together.
Doubling over in laughter, the woman's bright eyes twinkled in the sun. Her face reminded you of a mosaic. Her eyes, green emeralds and lips citrines against a panel of cool terracotta stone. The plates of her face melded together perfectly, and if you had a face like hers, you'd consider yourself blessed.
"Man, you need a smoke once in a while, kid. Always so antsy." She sighed, taking a fulfilling drag of the nicotine roll.
The backdoor flew open, and you winced as your own version of a little demon stormed out. Levi Ackerman, your boss and one of the owners of the quaint shop, rushed towards you, a short pedestal of muscle and beauty. He was a tantalising balance of strength and sensibility. If it wasn't so impossible to be him, you'd consider him a wondrous role model.
"No, no one needs that shit in their system, Isabel. And as for you y/n, don't think I didn't notice your tardiness." He barked, raven hair falling into those gunmetal blue eyes.
Trying not to fluster, you fiddled with the toggle of your Autumn coat, afraid to meet his furious gaze.
"I'm sorry, Levi. I'll find a way to make it up to you....I'll work overtime." You amended, not realising how much you needed this job until now.
Snorting, Isabel took another drag of her cigarette, burgundy fringe blowing in the wind. Her eyes landed on yours.
"You've just signed your soul to the devil there, sweetheart. 'nothing worse than owing Levi." She muttered as you ducked past both your employers, not in the mood to listen to another one of their arguments.
Inside was modern with dark woods and the constant smell of coffee brew. Technically, it was a tea shop, selling variations of exotic tea leaves to pretentious and groovy hipsters, but it specialised in coffee beans, too, giving the elderly population a kick-start to their day.
Heading into the staff room, you quickly changed into your uniform. It was more than obvious Levi had designed it; all it consisted of was a black shirt with two simple forest green leaves on the collar. If it was up to Isabel, there would be retro patterns adorned around every inch it.
After placing your other things back into your bag, you headed to the front, getting ready to work until late. Despite your love for routine, you couldn't help but feel as if there was something you were missing out in your life, but never did you think it was someone. You didn't like to describe yourself as dependent, you had only ever been in one relationship...one that lasted six years and horrendously crashed and burnt.
It had been the catalyst for your move to Sina, one you had not once regretted. You enjoyed this privacy you were provided with over here. Where no one knew you, no one had reason to pry, which was something you were currently using to your advantage.
Resting against the front desk, you organised the sample leaves that were out of place, seeing as business was dry. It always got unfortunately quiet around the time you started your shifts on the weekdays, which sucked. Isabel was right, you were feeling uncomfortably antsy today for a reason you did not quite know.
Distracting you from your thoughts, you stood to attention as the door flew open and the third owner of the business stepped through the door, piggy-backing his son. Instantly, a smile stretched across your face.
"Oh, hello, y/n. I thought you weren't checking in today. Freddie, look, y/n is here." Greeted Farlan Church, Levi's other best friend and part-time dad to an unexpected child, after he knocked up a girl at his college reunion a few years ago.
Farlan was a tall and respectful man, with skittish blue eyes and patient smile. He could have easily passed on as someone's doctor, the constant crease between his brows making him appear like he was the continuos bringer of bad news. His son shared the same look in the eyes, but their similarities stopped there. Freddie's tawny skin was a high contrast the milky white of Farlan's and the five-year-old's curly dark hair was a complete U-turn from his father's sandy tufts of hair.
"Y/n! Did you bring my candy?" Called the little kid, unsafely jumping down from his father's back and scrambling over to the counter, needing to stand on his tip-toes to be visible.
Face-palming, you shook your head.
"No, Freddie. I'm really sorry. I didn't think you'd be coming to the shop today." You apologised, guilt brewing in your core to watched his adorable face completely crumple.
He pouted, taking a step back from the counter and crossing his arms over his chest in a tantrum.
"That was a bit silly of you then, wasn't it?" He lashed.
As much as you loved the elderly folks, your favourite customer was Farlan's little boy. From his cheeky chatter to his overall cuteness, you always had fun with him. There was something about the way a kid's innocence was liberating. They didn't carry the same judgements as adults did, they were children who would be more concerned with how many sweets they were receiving instead of someone's social reputation.
"My, my. You've been getting mouthy, little Freddie." Teased Isabel, outstretching her arms for the little rascal to run into.
"Auntie Isabel!" He shrieked in his naturally hoarse voice, jumping into her arms like she was some kind of teddy bear.
She ruffled his hair and over his head directed her next words to her close friend.
"He's reminding me too much of his mother." She scowled, lifting the little one into her arms.
Entering the room, Levi nodded in agreement with the red head, keeping away from the little boy like he was a quarantine toxin. There was nothing that frightened Levi more than kids. To him, they were sticky fingered monsters who terrorised the comfort of his sanity. The constant talk of what Freddie could and could not touch when he entered the shop was getting old, but the man couldn't help himself.
"Guys, I know you're not the biggest fans of Diya, but at the end of the day, she's the mother of my kid, so be nice." Farlan cautioned, hands falling into his pockets in a strop.
Levi scowled, sitting on the table as he shook his head at his friend.
"Why the fuck did you even sleep with her? I thought we were all in agreement that none of us liked her back in college." Pointed out the short man, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Just because you're gonna die a virgin it doesn't mean the rest of us have to." Bit back the taller man.
Isabel covered Freddie's ears, shooting daggers at her best friends.
"Hello? Protecting young ears here." She barked, carrying the curly haired boy out of the room.
"You smell smokey..." Commented Freddie as she exited the room with him.
You placed a hand over your mouth, muffling your laughter. There truly was never a dull moment with these guys. Farlan and Levi followed after her whilst you searched around for a bucket and mop, thinking the floor was due a clean.
After an hour or so, you passed a cloth over one of the tables as the last rays of sun shimmered down onto the hardwood. Constantly, you fantasized over the idea of an adorable meet-cute. If you were honest, life was rather lonely. You weren't going to die a virgin, it was a little too late for that, but the thought of dying alone was crippling.
You no longer wanted to feel that fairy tale love that had fooled you back when you were sixteen. You wanted something all-consuming, something unrelenting that festered beyond the laws of human control. Something as strong as the love the Antony carried for Cleopatra, willing to betray everything he knew and stood for to continue his illicit romance with someone who should have been his enemy.
If loved didn't burn so hard it left a gaping hole of infatuation in your heart, what was the point? It was absolutely everything you were missing from your pitiful existence. That element of romantic love that you missed. You weren't dependent...but you were needing a little passion.
You should have been careful what you wished for.
a/n: did you enjoy the first chapter?
I am finding experimentation with this new of y/n very interesting, and I hope you all will enjoy watching her character unravel. She's very new to me so be very patient with her, she is amongst many in healing process in this fic.
thank you for reading 💜