❝𝑻𝒐 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔.❞
— 𝐅𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐎 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐀
꧁꧂
"THANK YOU SO MUCH!" PETRA EXCLAIMED. Valen dropped the bulky briefcase, a large echoing thud resonating through the courtyard. Straightening, she gingerly massaged her aching shoulders—what had the woman been thinking, packing so many things? As far as her knowledge ran, her travels would only last for the weekend.
"No worries," Valen groaned. On standby idled the woman's mare, a dark gray horse whose mane shone brilliantly under the afternoon sun. Valen eyed the equine rather enviously. Though she lacked a family of her own, she would have liked spending her days off with an equivalent—but that was asking too much of the universe.
Truly, nobody could replace her family.
Petra raked a hand in its mane, smoothing any tangles. "Do you suppose she can bear the weight?" Valen questioned wryly.
"Of course she can," Petra answered brightly, smiling. Her palm traced the length of its neck. "She's bred for this, after all." Surprise brightened her features, like she'd recalled something pressing. "Oh my, I just asked you to help, yet I haven't asked you a thing about your plans."
"You're alright," Valen assured—what was there to ask? She, like a plethora of refugees, had no kin to speak of. "As of now, there's nothing impressive on my agenda. I'll be staying on base."
"You're staying?" Valen nodded soundly. "You could have traveled on your own. Nedlay District is lovely around this time of year."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. My family and I visited for their summer festivities a couple years ago. It's splendid," Petra recounted, dazed—likely looking back on the trip. Her trance lasted for a second more before she returned to reality. "It's a shame. If you would have told me this earlier, I would've invited you along. My family wouldn't have minded you."
"You sound so certain," Valen said, pessimism seeping her speech. The idealism amused her.
"Because I am certain. My parents aren't as judgemental as you think. In fact, they even suggested I bring you along some time." The smile gradually faded from Petra's lips, contemplation taking over. "How do you do it?"
Valen blinked. "How do I do what?" she questioned.
"You're so calm and composed. You're even quieter than Eld. Yet it's like you're the loudest in the room," Petra said. "You even manage to catch the Captain's attention. And he isn't an easily intrigued man."
"If I score his attention, it's because he expects the worse from me," Valen said. "I'm sure you've noticed, but him and I seldom are on good terms." She sighed as she adjusted her sleeve cuffs. "He couldn't care less for my presence."
"Don't say such a thing," Petra half-assured, half-reprimanded. "He does care. He's just not an expressive individual." Valen's focus drifted to the tree line. "I will say, he can get frustrated with us at times. Once, he and Section Commander Hange lasted a week without talking. But he would never wish us any bad."
"I presume you're right..." Valen drawled, still stuck on the woods enclosing them—Petra's sappy commentary impressed her none. Unlike Valen, Levi had willingly recruited Petra for the Special Operations Squad—nor had she slapped him across the face after challenging him to a spar.
That being said, their relationship existed in a unique context.
"Eld!" Petra shouted—Eld had emerged from the courtyard doors, lugging along baggage of his own. "I thought you and Gunther had departed for Calaneth in the morning."
"I had a delay. Gunther headed on his own this morning," Eld grunted. The second horse dawdling in the courtyard—a brown, robust stallion chewing at a struggling patch of grass—belonged to him. He effortlessly hoisted his duffel over his shoulder and joined them. "Valen. How's the day treating you?"
"Fine, as it always does." Aside from Petra, Eld had grown fonder of Valen—when her gas supply had unexpectedly ended on the course yesterday, he'd offered to bring her a fresh pair of canisters. Amiable workplace relationships interested her here and there.
"That's nice," Eld responded softly. "Well, I would love to continue our farewells, but I'll be on my way. I promised my folks I'd be in Calaneth for dinner." He waved. "I'll be seeing you guys on Sunday."
"Of course. Goodbye, Eld!" Once he secured his bag to his horse, Eld hopped on its saddle and acknowledged them with a curt nod. The women watched on until he was one with the green. Petra crouched, collecting her belongings. "I'll be going, too. My parents must be waiting." She beamed at Valen. "Take care. I'll try and see if I can bring you back anything from Calaneth. Even if it's just a rock."
"There's no need."
Though she did crave a pastry.
Petra's mare kicked her legs and dashed in the same direction Eld's had. As soon as she faded, Valen raced inside the castle. She had the whole weekend at her disposal, and she intended to make proper use of every second. Tomorrow morning, she'd hike the rugged terrain north of the castle, indulge in a solitary picnic at noon, and by sunset she'd be drying off from a relaxing bath in the spring.
But before she could do any of that, she needed to open that book—
"Valen."
She wanted to punch the wall.
Spinning on her heel, the Captain stood behind her, centered between the walls. He too had relinquished his uniform for more casual clothing, exchanging the button-up and leather straps for a gray shirt and black trousers—the only thing he'd conserved was the scowl.
Like a week ago, seeing the normally uptight man dressed in everyday clothing muted the anger she harbored toward him, but only partially. Nothing could erase the mangled snake from her memory.
Because she was not on duty, Valen withheld a salute—not that she saluted the man on duty, anyway. Maybe he was taking things easy, but she, on the other hand, had tasks of her own to tackle. Now that she was on better terms with everyone, her evenings for the past week had been spent alongside her squadmates—chopping wood with Gunther, helping Eld check inventory, tending to the horses with Petra, and resisting the urge to pour soup on Oruo. By the time she returned to her quarters, she'd curl up under the covers and slumber until morning came, and the book she'd filched from Hange collected dust under her bed.
Valen whipped around, continuing down the corridor. The silence—she hoped—would convey the message on its own. She imagined herself strolling along the stream, book in hand, and settling, dipping her toes in the water as she flipped to the first page. Feeling the soil under her soles, hearing the stream flood calmly through the rocks—it'd ease the exhaustion weighing in on her shoulders. It was when Valen moved to round a corner when a hand landed on her shoulder—firmly, but not harshly—turning her around. The sudden spin had nearly ruined her balance, Valen shooting a hand to the wall. "I was talking to you," Levi said, stern.
"I continued for a reason," Valen replied, biting her words. Her eyes flickered to the floor, sweeping side-to-side, and she moved to go. "Pardon me, but there's things I need—"
Levi stopped her right away, pushing her back. "Are you still angry about what happened at the spring?" he asked, observing her seriously.
"And if I was?" Valen freed herself. "If you'd considered what I had in mind, this conversation wouldn't be taking place right now, so unless you're apologizing, I'm going to ask you to go—"
"Valen!" a male hollered. Her face twisted in confusion—she recognized the voice but failed to pinpoint its exact owner. Looking down the hallway, she made out the figures of a pair of statuesque young men.
Reiner and Bertholdt.
"So they did reassign you to the Special Ops," Reiner greeted—again, she was reminded how genuinely small she was in comparison to most people. Not that it made her feel insignificant—she was certain she could pummel him in a fight. "Ah, you probably don't even recognize me."
"No, I recognize you," Valen said. Bertholdt, she noted, had opted to preserve his silence. It was better that way—Reiner on his own already blabbered too much. "What are you two doing on base?"
"Originally we wanted to organize a bonfire on the grounds like we did in the Corps, but Eren's not allowed to leave the castle. So we decided to bring the bonfire here," Reiner explained. "I was thinking maybe you'd like to join us."
Join you? In your dreams. What business did she have hanging with teenagers? Eren had only looked at her once in the last week, and that was before he glanced away a split second later.
Again, she was getting the feeling something was off.
Before Valen could deny his invitation, Levi interjected for her. "She's already busy. She's agreed to help clean up a couple of things," he lied.
"Oh, I see," Reiner said, processing his response. "Well, if you finish up early, we'll be in the courtyard. You can always join us if you'd like."
"We'll see," Valen responded. When Reiner and Bertholdt rounded a corner, Valen quickly swiveled in the direction of her quarters. Levi snagged her by her chain and reeled her toward him, her back colliding against his shoulder. "What are you—" Valen sputtered.
"Not so fast," Levi said, releasing the chain. Valen's fingers instantly climbed to her neck, anxiously probing at the chain to descry any damage. Fortunately, everything had stayed together.
Now she wondered if she could disinfect it.
Valen whirled around, facing him. "What was that for?" she hissed, massaging where the chain had dug into her skin.
"When I told Braun you'd be helping me clean, I wasn't lying," Levi said. "Favors are normally returned."
Valen gave him an incredulous look. "You're shitting me." Levi's expression remained nonchalant. "We're on break. Why are you cleaning on break?"
"We're scheduled for formation training for the rest of the week. The soonest we'd be able to clean is after the expedition," he said. "There's something that needs to get done. And quickly."
"And that'd be...?"
꧁꧂
The castle's library was a relic of the past, clad in outdated furnishings and an equally old-fashioned selection packed on numerous cases dominating the space. Dust saturated the air, so much so that the light filtering through the vine-infested windows had been transformed into clouds of dust motes. Countless books lined the shelves, a majority of them leatherbound. They ranged in genres, from philosophy to romance, reflecting the original residents' tastes. Armchairs—welcoming in their glory days—had degenerated to rickety versions of their old selves.
Valen begrudgingly dumped a heap of books onto the table. In the years the library had gone unattended, a dense layer of dust had coated almost every surface, from the shelves to the books squeezed on them—even the chairs had accumulated their share of grime. One by one, Valen picked the books from the stack, inspecting them for any decay. The books she deemed sound enough, she wiped down and returned them to their stack—what remained she chucked in a crate lugged nearby solely for book disposal.
Opening a book, Valen's hand brushed up on something dark and sticky. She frowned, muttering as she raised her finger to the light.
Mold.
Valen tossed the book aside. While she exceeded at cleaning, spending her day fighting mold and dust did not exactly delight her. Especially alongside the Captain. Laying eyes on him stoked something in her, the rage, the revulsion, and the downright indescribable. If she was working hard, it was because she was yearning to escape his company—not because she cared for the library's cleanliness. But she was certain Levi was: the man had wholly dedicated his energy to cleansing the library, striding around and thoroughly wiping the bookcases. He ferried multiple shelves' worth of books in one go, seamlessly dropping them without knocking any of them to the ground.
Tryhard.
Valen stopped wiping a book to ventilate herself, fanning her hands towards her head. Unlike the remainder of the castle, none of the windows could be opened, resulting in poor air circulation and an increasingly unbearable temperature. She flapped her shirt, but the little air that puffed in her face didn't suffice. But she couldn't remove her shirt.
Or could she?
Valen's hands settled on the top button and worked down, exposing the white tank she'd layered under. He'd already seen her markings—of course, the revelation had occurred under unsavory circumstances. After years of masking herself under oppressive turtlenecks, flimsy button-ups, and stifling long-sleeves, she would not reject an opening like this.
As she turned the sleeves inside out, Levi stopped cleaning, appraising her oddly. "What are you doing?" he questioned—he gawked, but not in the perverse manner men would eyeball her as a teenager; it was more like she'd downed five glasses of rum back-to-back and snorted a line of cocaine afterward.
"Unconscious people can't clean," Valen sassed as she draped her shirt on her chair. "Do you take any issue with me removing my shirt?"
Levi considered her confoundedly before shaking his head and turning away. "No," he grumbled. Valen shrugged smugly to her.
As you should.
The duo cleaned in silence, pretending to be oblivious to the existence of the other. It was when she was working through her tenth pile or so Levi climbed down from his ladder and sauntered over, checking the books she'd categorized as salvageable. "Aren't you supposed to be cleaning the bookshelves?" Valen questioned, slightly angered by the man meddling in her business.
"You're working through these so quickly, so I'm wondering if you're even cleaning them properly..." he muttered, screening the books.
Valen slid a third book to the clean pile. "I know what I'm doing," she reassured, stepping over to a neighboring heap. Wedged between his body and the window, she brushed past him, her chest momentarily grazing his back as she made her journey across. Though she'd stripped to her undershirt, her skin still burned. Was she dehydrated?
Where even is my canteen?
Valen wiped her brow with the back of her hand—she needed to cool off before her world faded to black. She abandoned her post at the table.
"What do you think you're doing?" Levi questioned. He resumed his position at the top of a ladder, arm stretched over the bookshelf's topmost shelf.
"Taking a break," Valen announced boldly. She strolled between the bookcases, grazing the pad of her fingers along the myriad of books crammed on the shelves. She stopped, her eyes sweeping along the case until she randomly selected a book and plopped down an old, wooden crate. Sitting, the wood bowed slightly under her weight, creaking. The book burdened her palm, its hundreds upon hundreds of pages weighing on her hand.
Feeling adventurous, Valen skipped the name sown on its binding and opened to the middle of the book. She propped her chin on her hand and begun reading.
"What do you suppose of their marriage?" Emmerich asked.
"I'm uncertain," answered Ferdinand earnestly. "You know I have never held Ingrid in high esteem, especially after she..."
"There's no need to detail anything."
Interesting. She thumbed ahead, curious about what the Ingrid woman had done—besides, she was only staying in the library for the evening. Her eyes moved across the page, drinking every detail the words provided. She'd landed in the middle of a discussion, things rich people conversed over steaming potatoes and wine.
Time flowed like a river.
Submerged in historical politics and follies, she'd neglected her duties entirely, which pleased her superior none. "Hey, when do you think of coming back to work?" Levi asked, increasingly cross. To Valen, his call to action was nothing more than background noise—she'd bestowed her faculties to mentally recreating the scene playing on the pages. She inched closer and closer, so much so that she could hardly perceive anything beyond the paper. "Hey, I know you can hear me."
These people need a divorce. And counseling.
"Are you ignoring me?"
Did they have sleeping pills back then?
"Put the book down."
Whoever wrote this book clearly had unresolved familiar disputes.
"That's enough," Levi griped, descending the ladder. Touching the ground, he slung his rag over one of the steps and paced over to Valen, baring his palm. "Hand it over."
"Give me a minute..." Valen mumbled, refusing to unfasten her eyes from the book—the protagonists had entered a quarrel. What the quarrel in question was about, she had no clue, but she was far more invested in the bickering than the context. "Hold on."
"You've had more than enough time." As Valen turned the page, Levi snatched the book and flipped through its pages. "What's so damn interesting about this book, anyway?" He stopped and read from a random page when his eyes widened, and his lips twisted in a scowl. "God, that's fucking disgusting."
"What do you mean by 'disgusting'?" Valen demanded.
"You know exactly what I mean," Levi answered, turning the book to her. "Read that page for me, will you?"
"Alright then...?" Valen droned, visibly confused. She squinted long and hard at the wording, hard to distinguish in the hazy lighting. Initially, his aversion had confused her, making her wonder why he'd reacted in such a repulsed manner, but when she stumbled upon the second paragraph, her blood iced.
It was a historical romance she'd picked up.
Mortification setting in, he continued appraising her disapprovingly. "You've misunderstood. I was not reading this page," Valen defended, protecting her dignity.
"I'm certain you weren't," Levi said, sarcasm dripping from his words. He thumbed through the next couple of pages, and this disgust on his face became more pronounced. "It gets even worse."
"Then why are you still reading it?" Valen challenged, wrenching back the book. Throwing the book in the 'dispose' crate, she snapped up her cleaning rag. "There, it's gone. Move on and—"
Levi blockaded her. "So now you want to clean?"
"You're wasting your energy," Valen replied. "You said you wanted this library clean as soon as possible, right? Then we should finish things as soon as we can." She toyed with the rag in her hand. "Movi- Moving on."
Her stammering noticeably amused him. "Am I making you nervous?" he asked her, stepping toward her.
"No," Valen rebuked curtly, cursing the warmth flooding her cheeks. She too came forward, standing her ground—who was he to frighten her, to question her pride? The world stilled, centering on the man and woman who solely focused on the other. Tenacious sable clashed against frigid blue, defining an unresolved tension that'd originated on that morning in a gymnasium. "Not in the slightest."
"Is that so?" Levi inquired, his voice barely rising above a whisper. Unquestionably, he did a superb job of camouflaging his internal quandary, but Valen swore she espied the smallest quiver in his words—he was no less uneased than she was.
"Yes." While her judgment implored her to step away and desert the scene, her curiosity cried the opposite, beguiling her into something she, under normal circumstances, would not fathom considering. It consumed her mind, dulling her discretion. The privacy the towering bookcases granted them, his husky fragrance that cruelly teased at her nostrils... it allured her, as if she was a moth and he the only source of light on a cloudy night.
"Funny. You've gone red." Setting all prejudices aside, she wanted to not only see something, but feel something. There was something more to Levi she hadn't seen yet, something more complex than the crass persona he exhibited to his men. She wondered what his indifferent expression veiled—what roamed his mind, what drove him, why he even rose from bed in the morning.
"Get your eyes checked then." She'd intended for a more scathing delivery, but her words simply fell flat. "I'm as normal as I can be."
Valen.
"No, you're red," Levi persisted. "Very red."
Valen, stop.
"And if I was?" The air had thickened, and poor air circulation could not be credited. Her lips hovered inches from his. His breath caressed her cheek, shooting shivers down her spine. He maddened her—she stood by that—but after all this time, she was just beginning to realize her frustration lay in more than reasons than one.
You're being reckless.
Instinctively, Valen backed against a bookcase—Levi's hands came to rest on the shelves beside her, his eyes never leaving hers.
This is absolutely ridiculous.
"We could get along," Levi murmured.
Valen.
Her sounder judgment surfaced through the rolling ocean of her mind, and everything remotely associated with the man was briskly suppressed, banished from her mind with an unequaled repulsion. How reckless of her, sticking herself in such a scenario. She'd practically exposed herself, and shamelessly so. How unsophisticated, so heedless...
...so vulnerable.
Valen's eyes strayed from his as she battled to remain afloat in the wave of emotions crashing over her. Since the day they'd crossed paths in the barracks, his presence persistently badgered her, but normally in the way of confusing her—and almost always—exasperating her. Of course, there'd been underlying emotions, too, but she'd never paid them any mind— so what had spurred that warm, heavenly feeling that thawed the corners of her icy personality? Tempting in all its beauty, convoluted by design, the sensation was foreign to her. It was like she had—
No.
"Valen?" Levi asked, drawing her back to the library. Valen refused to turn, fixating on the rug. She lacked the courage to look the man properly in the eye—not after what she'd realized.
Had she fallen for him?
"Valen," Levi repeated. She reprimanded herself for being so foolish: if everything was unfolding, it was because of her own doing. She was the one who'd accepted his challenge in the gymnasium, the one compromising and doing his paperwork because she'd rather strain her eyes and fatigue her fingers than awaken early and run laps, the one drinking from his canteen, escorting him to the spring, cleaning the library. It was all so frighteningly simple—she was the one enabling her undoing.
And that, Valen believed, needed to be reversed.
Valen slid through, stalking to where she'd hung her shirt—starting now, she'd detangle herself from the sentimental game she'd ensnared herself in. She'd do what she'd done since she enlisted all those years ago—learn from her lapses, correct her ways until she could move on, better than before. She'd exemplify the ideal woman she dreamed of being as a sickly, orphaned girl, a woman whose competence shaded weakness, a woman who in all means carried on striving when the world labored to see her crumble.
The woman she was and would continue being.
Valen snaked her arms in their sleeves, her markings vanishing under clean, gray cotton. "What's wrong?" Levi asked, tailing her. She tried buttoning her clothing as quickly as she could, but with trembling hands, it was taking longer than she wanted. Levi reached her, turning her around to face him. "Hey, what's going on?"
"I need to go," Valen said dismissively, struggling to maintain a neutral tone. She slid the final button in place and spun to withdraw, but Levi caught her. "Please—"
"All I did was ask if we could get along, and you're acting like I tried murdering you," Levi said. "Why are you so offended?"
"Because we can't get along!" Valen yelled. The whites of his eyes largened. "I sicken you, you said so yourself. Why would anyone get along with someone who sickens them?" Valen slumped in a chair. "It's hopeless. There's no way we can get along."
"Then we find a way," Levi said, grabbing her by the collar. "We find a way to get along. Because it's wearing me down, and it's wearing you down, too." Valen swallowed nervously, battling to contain her bubbling emotions. "Do you think I enjoy arguing? Do you think I can stand looking at you right in the eye, knowing that things are going to be the same at the end of the conversation?" Her lips pressed in a line. "Answer me!"
"Why are you asking me this?!"
"Because I'm done," Levi answered. "I'm done swallowing my words, done seeing you walk away, done acting like everything that's happening is okay when it's not." He tightened his hold. "Why is it that every time we try to have a serious conversation, you walk away? Why? Why do you do this?"
"That is an answer that doesn't correspond to you, or anyone for that matter." Valen brusquely removed his hands from her collar. "You wouldn't understand. You wouldn't understand anything."
"What? That your parents dumped you in a field as a teenager? That you lost your childhood memories?" Valen froze. "Do you seriously expect no one to pick up on all the empty lines on your report?"
The library spun around her like a windstorm, whipping up the bookcases and peeling wallpaper until they blurred to a murky brown. A surge of sensations blasted her: she was cold, but warm, steady, but nauseated, composed, but fiery. In seconds, she'd been thrust into a rainstorm with only a rag to shield herself from the rain.
"Who told you?" Valen stomped over, yanking his collar so harshly, the cotton ripped. "Who told you about my injury?!" she demanded, shaking him.
"That doesn't matter. It doesn't make me view you any differently." Levi wrestled her grip from his collar. "You're angry at the world, and you know what? You have every right to be angry. I'd be pretty damn angry too if my family dumped me in a field to fend for myself." Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. "It's okay to be angry. I'm angry all the time, too. But you're taking your anger out on people who haven't harmed you."
"Don't speak to me as if I'm a child," Valen jeered, her fingers twitching at her sides.
"I'm speaking to you as a colleague, not a child," Levi responded, "and I'm worried—"
"Enough," Valen thundered. The single word bounced from the shelves, falling from above in millions of pieces. "You're wrong. There is nothing wrong with me. I'm doing perfectly alright."
Levi grimaced. "Valen—"
"I'm doing perfectly alright," Valen repeated, seething through her words. "Now, if you pardon me, I'm going back to what I was doing before you dragged me into this fucking library. But we're not having this conversation again." She turned over her shoulder. "Goodnight, Captain."
"Hey—"
"Goodnight," Valen said, slamming the doors. The bang sounded through the corridor, echoing until the sound faded to silence. She leaned her forehead on the door and sighed shakily, shuddering when she inhaled again.
And there she stayed for what seemed like an eternity to her, praying her legs would hold her upright for the time she needed to recuperate.
As her eyes dried and her breathing evened, Valen pondered if she'd acted accordingly. Whether she'd spoken the right words, departed when she needed to. And the answer every time was yes—she had acted accordingly. But in the back of her mind, something told her otherwise: that she'd needlessly complicated everything, that she should have listened to what he had to say. Nonetheless, she was confident in her decision.
Because if she'd done what she'd done, it was because she was acting her best interest, and her best interest only.
Valen stepped from the door, striding down the corridor toward the stairwell—she lacked the cowardice to mope around and linger on their exchange. She climbed to the third-floor landing, bound for her quarters.
Entering her bedroom, Valen opened the drawer to her bureau, picking her way through her blouses and uniform trousers until her hand stroked the leathery binding of a book.
This is what truly mattered—not the ludicrous, meaningless bickering.
Valen pushed in the drawer, coming back the way she'd taken, but altering her route to the outside. Stepping out, a glorious liberation swelled in her, akin to when she'd braved the world beyond her bed as a fifteen-year-old, but now there was no one to chastise her, to degrade and peer down on her. There was no need to question anything.
Everything was perfectly alright.