Archive of Our Own

All eyes focus on you the the moment the new recruits step into the room. Levi huffs, tightening his folded arms over his chest, and Hanji digs her elbow into your gut, reminding you of the bargain you had made and just lost. Commander Smith clears his throat and each soldier turns to face him.

The remainder of the briefing goes quietly, but before the recruits leave (rumor has it these recruits have had it rough), Commander Smith introduces you.

“This is First Lieutenant (surname) from the Washington District.” You note that a couple faces go pale; Washington was hit hard by the Titan infestation. “She is the newest recruit in the Survey Corps, and I pray that you will take her in as one of your own. Thank you for your sacrifice.”

You clench your jaw and lift your nose slightly. You don't want pity. You don't even want friends.

But what you want least are people that gawk because of your incredible height. At a shocking, staggering, stunning five foot eleven, everybody does a double-take. Hanji laughed in delight, Erwin made the slightest surprised face, and Levi jumped, actually jumped, when he saw your face.

Everyone stops and stares and, after all you've been through, you hate it.

Most of Washington was wiped out. Less than three percent of the population survived, leaving those that did alone, desolate, and grieving. You lost everyone you'd ever held dear.

You don't need anyone else now. You've learned to adapt.

One day, a former neighbor of yours had seen you walking, and stopped you to warn you not to draw too far inward. She had known you for years, long before she was married five years ago.

She said you could lose yourself in your grief, and you have. The only emotions that surface are annoyance and anger, explosive anger.

And you hate it. It turns your gut and twists until the tension is unbearable, until you fear for your sanity, for your self-control, for everything you've struggled to maintain over the last several years. Your reputation, image, notoriety of being the girl that can solve difficult tactical problems. Of being the girl that can muscle her way out of a situation. Of being the girl that no one would have imagined could do the things she has done without the support of her family.

You're the kind of strong that many couldn't even wish to be.

With nothing to lose, you're a force few idiots would reckon with.

~o0o~

So the kid with the shaved head is a new strain of stupid. Supposedly.

At least, that's what the John-Jeen-Jan character says that evening in the mess hall when he introduces him. Kid's name is Connie. You've never met a male Connie before.

“Wow, man, that hurts,” mutters the kid, poking in his plate of food. He glances up at you to see your reaction, but, having none, he offers a wide, friendly grin. He's tiny. Like...tiny. You haven't stood at a miniscule five foot shrimp in forever.

“Aw, c'mon, you say it yourself,” grumbles Jean, but he continues to point out the others. Apparently, this squad is quite a group. It has an idiot, a glutton/thief, a horse, teensy Barbie, a female that reminds you of...rye bread, a wimpy blond helmet-hair, the next ‘Humanity's Strongest’, and a kid named Hunter. The kid named Hunter doesn't seem that impressive. He's built, kinda cute, but eh. Not your kind of cute. He seems really angry.

Not attractive.

Rye Bread speaks up. “So, what can you do?” she asks, absently bending a tine on her fork back and forth. It snaps off the seventh bend and she narrows her eyes at it.

“What do you mean? Fighting?” you question, and she nods, “I'm a blind fighter in the heat of it, but a strategist if I have time beforehand.”

“Yeah, but are you any good?” She slides the broken tine into her pocket, then attempts to scoop up a piece of potato with the remainder of the fork.

“I should like to say so.” After sipping your water from its wooden mug, you finger the handle, worn and smooth from years of use and maintenance.

“Do you find your height to be advantageous?” asks the helmet-hair.

You go quiet. Well, quieter.

“Just a bigger target,” you say eventually, and you stand up and take care of your dishes.

As you walk away, you can hear them whisper.

‘Musta been hard…’

‘No duh, horseface.’

‘Poor kid.’

‘Says the guy that's had it just as bad…’

‘It isn't a competition.’

‘Sure can feel like it sometimes.’

‘Survival of the fittest, right?’

‘Speaking of, can I have your bread?’

You sigh and shake your head. Sleep will refresh you and the anticipation of losing yourself to unconsciousness is so delicious that you race down the hall to the barracks.

~o0o~

New day, fresh start. No mistakes.

The morning workout starts with a long run and this you look forward to. The only three people with potential to keep up with you are the horse (fittingly), future Mrs. Humanity's Strongest and Rye Bread. However, most of your height is in your legs, and a slow jog for you is almost a full-blown run for the others.

You pull away from the pack and maintain the distance. Whenever Jean catches up, you adjust the width of your steps accordingly and leave him in the dust.

You don't want friends. Better for the fact to be obvious.

Next is rope climbing, hooray.

That's a good place for you to lack. Your legs are assets. Your arms?

You're still growing into them.

On occasion, you brush things off of tables because you overreach.

It's embarrassing.

You spend the first ten minutes of the workout wrapping your hands so they won't blister, then the next fifteen encouraging the others to go first. Connie, the li’l squirt, practically flies up the rope. He's small; his strength doesn't have to pull much up. Barbie (your memory for names is terrible) tries and tries again, and gets so frustrated that her anger fuels her trip.

She's more than a foot shorter than you. Man, you got this.

Rye Bread and Mikasa are good, Hunter is good, Jean is good enough to show off at you. The ever-hungry girl, or Potato Girl as everyone else calls her, struggles to find the motivation to care until food is mentioned.

But then it's your turn, and you have a full five minutes to devote to making everyone think you’re less than your reputation. Wonderful.

You step forward, your eyes on the ground. You don't feel like a part of this team. You feel like an intruder, rolled over and ignored, then suddenly remembered and welcomed back with plastic smiles and hollow laughter. You curl your fingers around the rope. Their gazes burn your back. Their voices hum like mosquitoes behind you and you heft yourself onto the rough cord.

You get one hand up and over the other, then another, another, another, and you slip. You fingers grasp at air and, with your weight relying on that hand to hold fast, you drop like a rock and land on your back, air leaving your lungs in a solid huff. The suddenness of it, the shock, makes you curl onto your side and gasp helplessly for air. All around you comes the crowd, questions and exclamations clamoring in your ears.

Finally, when a sweet breath enters your body, you push yourself up, frustration clouding your (e/c) eyes, and you make your leave, backing out for the day. Someone asks if you're okay, another, if you need medical attention.

“Leave me alone!” you shout, your fist circling to the middle of your back where your weight landed. It's going to get really sore.

But you don't want pity. You don't even want friends.

~o0o~

A week passes. Two. Three.

Nothing of significance happens in that time. Honestly, it makes you restless. You feel like the militia is wasting valuable time. You want to get right out into the thick of it, to retake Washington, to walk into your home again and receive some semblance of normalcy.

You want blood. Quietly, maybe, but the satisfaction of paring away flesh and taking the power of one more Titan is what you crave.

“Hey, brat, c'mere.” Levi seems to enjoy ordering you around after lights-out. This is the third time in two weeks he's called you out of bed for a super secret meeting with the higher-ups.

“Yes, sir,” you groan, long legs sliding out from under your blanket. The two of you walk down the hallway, the captain still fully uniformed while you pad barefoot and clad in pajamas. Then he opens a door on the right and motions for you to enter.

Inside sits Hanji and Connie, both talking excitedly about...you can't quite catch what before they look up and smile.

“So...what is it you woke me up for?” you ask, annoyance peaking your words, “Game of bridge?”

“You were awake and you know it,” snaps Levi, “Sit down.”

You do, and quite quickly.

“Hanji and I are assigning Connie to you,” he says, sitting across from his auburn friend, “Because you suck at being friendly and that will make you suck at squad efforts and group attacks.”

“Spoken by a man who knows.” Hanji nods seriously.

“Ahh, shut up.”

“Assigning him?” you question, lifting a brow before rolling your eyes, “So he can do what? Put effort into a person that won't appreciate it? Better to save a kid like that for his teammates. The people that actually need him.”

“He is already established in the 104th Training Corps. You have no one.” The captain is blunt, viciously so, but the truth in his words strike a chord and you give a curt nod.

“You are correct, Captain,” you say softly, fixing your gaze on a knot in the wooden tabletop, “May I return to bed?”

“Jeez, no respect for your higher-ups,” he huffs, but he waves you off, “Go ahead.”

Of all the nerve...

Of all the needless, baseless, prying nerve!

You storm into girls’ dorm and flop onto your bed, the springs squealing in protest at the harsh treatment. Driving your fist into your pillow over and over, you seethe, and, instead of going back to sleep, you grab your pillow and blanket and run out of the castle. The night is cold and the air hits you like an icy slap in the face, humid from the brief summer rain early that morning and making the cold really seep under your skin.

Your feet carry you swiftly from the headquarters, the thin blanket flapping behind you. You run until you reach a thicket of berry bushes and maple trees and you sit heavily on the damp ground. A rush of rage fills you and you whip around and drive your fist into the tree at your back. Pain explodes in your hand and sings up your arm, feeding the anger, validating it. Again and again you strike the rough bark and, vaguely, you hear your voice rise into the black sky. Shrieks of loneliness, of brokenness, among the chirps of crickets entirely drown them out.

You hate this. You hate this world. A final, long scream ends your rampage and you clutch the tree, pressing your forehead to the rough bark, breath coming in big pants.

“No…” you whisper, sinking to your knees, “No…” Your battered hands begin to shake uneasily, and your panting expands to heaving gasps. “I can't do this. I can't do this!”

“Can't do what?”

You jump in surprise and look up at Connie, wide-eyed and a mess.

“Gosh, what did you do to yourself?” he mutters, crouching beside you and taking one of your hands in his. Yours is larger, but his are firm and he doesn't seem to mind. “Crap, this is pretty bad. You and Eren.”

“What?” you say softly, staring as though he's an old imaginary friend you've just been reacquainted with, like you're seeing him for the first time again.

“Eren? He bites himsel- never mind. It's too complicated to explain,” says Connie, shaking his head, “But you both have anger issues and self-harm issues.”

“Th-this isn't self-harm,” you scoff, pulling your hand away from the kid.

“Not cutting, no, but if you hurt yourself, it's usually classified as self-harm. This much, I know,” he says, nodding as if he's the number one source of this information, “We need to get you bandaged up and asleep before two things happen; one, we get caught, or B, you catch cold. Come on, let's go in.”

“I don’t want to go in,” you protest.

“Oh, that's okay,” he says, pulling you insistently by the elbow, “We're going anyway.”

Finally, you give and stand.

“I can clean myself up,” you mutter, “I don't need help.”

“Maybe not, but I don't care,” replies Connie.

You're stuck with him.

His hands are quick and precise as they clean the gouges on your knuckles and bandage you up firmly. It's a neat dressing and the process took little time. Back in bed with your pillow and blanket, you stare at the pale yellow lamp light filtering into the room under the door until sleep pulls you under, a welcome respite from your emotions.

~o0o~

“I'm too quick, too quick!” says Connie, a wide grin on his face, “Ooh, too fast for you!” He dodges your outstretched hand and leaps into the shot at the basket. Leather swishes through the net and he shrieks with delight, pointing both index fingers at you in victory.

It's your first time playing basketball, but, after having heard it's a sport for height, it's annoying that a kid nine inches shorter than you beat you so easily.

“Best two out of three?” you suggest, and Connie dribbles the ball as he steps over to you.

“What, you really think you can beat me?” he asks, passing the ball to you, “You're on. Don't think I'll go easy on you.”

“I won't,” you promise. As long as you don't drop the ball, you can win. Easy enough.

“Ooh! I wanna play!” yells Jean. Where did he come from? You though the others were off doing their own thing. “Pass it to me!”

“Two against one? Yeah, right, Jean,” says Connie, making a face, “That's not fair!”

“I'll play on your side!” replies Sasha, everyone else following behind her. Mikasa immediately lifts her hand, passing up the offer to play.

So, on Connie’s team plays Rye Bread, Krista, and Sasha, and on yours plays Jean, Eren, and Helmet-Hair. Mostly girls against mostly boys.

And, like most games, it's all fun and games until the girl that's four foot nine runs into the girl that's five foot eleven to catch the ball and ricochets off to land face-first in the dirt.

But, the spunky li’l beast the girl is, she jumps up, blood streaking from a cut on her forehead, and brushes the dirt off.

“I'm okay!” she claims, “Let's keep playing!”

“You're bleeding.” At least five people say it.

“Blood is power!!” she shrieks, shaking her fists at the sky, “I'm good; c'mon!”

“Hey, dope, go wash your face, at least,” mutters Rye Bread.

“Ah, I'm fine!” exclaims the blonde, sweeping her hair out of her eyes, “Gimme the ball!!”

“In your dreams, Mini May,” you say, tossing the ball to Jean, who whoops excitedly and dribbles it in a wide circle around the group.

“Hey, hey, so the girl has humor!” he laughs, jumping and slamming the ball through the hoop. He pumps his fists. “WOO!!”

“More than you'd think!” you reply, “My mom says it's from my height.”

“Bet she weren't wrong, neither!”

“Oh, that grammar!” yelps Eren, clapping his hands over his ears dramatically, “It grates on my very soul!!”

“Your existence grates on mine!” roars Jean, bouncing the ball off Eren’s head.

“Guys, you're on the same team,” smiles Armin, “Come on, pass the ball.”

“I like this playful side of you,” Sasha tells you softly, then she goes to pick up the ball and get it going. It makes you recoil a little, withdraw, but you decide that yes, you like this side of you, too.

You haven't seen it in a long, long time.

~o0o~

“Sasha?”

The girl looks up from her book, a piece of cloth between her teeth as something to occupy her mouth with. It's soaked with saliva, but she chews on it, apparently satisfied.

“What's Connie’s story?”

“Whaddya mean?” she asks, tugging on the cloth though she bites down hard on it.

“What family does he have?”

“Right now…? Well...I think it's safe to say that they're gone. Um…” Sasha pauses, grinding the cloth between her molars. “He has this outward hope that they're alive, but I think he accepted, in his heart, that they're gone.”

You simply nod. That was answer enough. Connie lost his family, same as you. Details are irrelevant and his to share. You know that he and Sasha are very close; you have no reason to cause any tension there by making Sasha overshare.

~o0o~

After an evening of playful fun at the dinner table, everybody settles into their own conversations, laughing about their higher-ups or dreaming about having dessert after supper. Connie starts up a game of checkers with you and you watch, flabbergasted, as he takes every one of your stone playing pieces.

“No way,” you mutter and Connie just laughs.

“Yes way,” he replies, “104th checkers champ, in the house!”

“Oh, man,” says Jean, “I can't believe you played him!”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone knows Connie is undefeated!” pipes Sasha, “Nobody can beat him; not even the captain.”

“Who, Levi?” An affirmative nod is your answer and you fix your gaze upon your friend, looking him over, sizing him up. “I can beat you.”

Jean and Sasha whoop, and Rye Bread steps over behind you.

“This I want to see.” She crosses her arms and leans her weight on her left leg.

“I was the best checkers player in all of Washington. This’ll be a piece of cake,” you say, cracking your knuckles.

“Why did I beat you so fast then?” grins Connie, watching himself flipping a piece between his fingers, “If you're…” Theatrically, he pauses to look up at you, his hand going idle. “So good?”

“I was evaluating,” you reply, “Strategizing. You dare take me up again?”

“Dare?” Connie offers a low chuckle. “Honey, I'll place a bet.”

“Ooooooh!”

“Two weeks stable duties; you take mine when I win.”

“Four,” you insist.

Not wanting to look like a wuss, Connie shakes on it and the two of you tuck into a real game. It's pretty fast; about ten minutes for the first portion. It's the ‘catch-me-if-you-can’ part at the end that gets exhausting. Neither of you agree to withdraw, neither of you can find a winning position. Finally, Rye Bread insists on a draw and that the two of you try again. This time, Connie only manages to take five of your pieces before you take all of his.

The kid groans and slides down in his chair.

“Crap!!” he barks, amongst the hoots and hollers of a couple thrilled audience members, “Ugh, crap…”

“Yup, and you're gonna be scoopin’ a lot of it,” you say triumphantly, pushing the checkers into their small box, “Thanks, Connie; I'm so looking forward to my month of relaxation.”

“Tsk.” Connie stands up and, grudgingly, offers his hand. You shake it, knowing that his loss was a blow to his pride, and he walks out of the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. The others laugh and pat you on the back, but there was a sting in your win, and now you feel bad.

It's a half hour before you find Connie in the dark, sitting beneath the tree you tried to beat up.

“You're a hard kid to find,” you say softly, well before you reach the tree so that you don't surprise him. He jumps anyway, and scrubs at his face.

“I'm a ninja,” he jokes, but his voice is tight and you frown.

“We can cancel the bet,” you offer, “I don't mind doing my own chores.”

“Yeah, turn me into the laughingstock of the 104th,” he mumbles, sniffing softly as you sit beside him, his face turned away.

“Okay.” You stick your legs out in front of you and wiggle your bare toes. “It's warm tonight,” you murmur, “Kinda nice.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“It's not about losing the game, is it?”

“No…”

“I don't really talk about my family,” you say slowly, “It feels… like I'll accept it if I do. But I had a mom and dad and grandma and grandpa. And I had a baby sister. She was...she was two and her hair was always up in wispy little pigtails.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because neither of us have to be strong around each other anymore. You don't have to be the smiling idiot and I don't have to be the quiet jerk. Fun fact about myself; I like to hear myself speak. I do; I always have. I'm funny and loving and considerate and I love food. I used to have a cat named Scrapper and a diary that I only ever wrote two sentences in. But the...the attack destroyed all that and I...lost myself. You didn't lose yourself and I really respect that, Connie. You're the first person to stick with me until you reached me and, even though it was an assignment, I can't tell you how much it means to me.”

“Hey, (f/n)?”

“Honestly, it means so much to me,” you continue, “Nobody likes me anymore because I'm so prickly-”

You stop when Connie grabs your face in his right hand and turns it to him.

“I guess you do like to hear yourself speak,” he mutters, gently squeezing your cheeks until your lips pucker out, “As much as I wanna hear you babble on about yourself, right now I just wanna…” He lets go of your face and slides his hand up against your cheek. “Just hush up.”

You go completely silent and stalk still, your breath coming shallowly in your chest. Your eyes cross as he comes closer, his gaze never wavering.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, and Connie shrugs.

“Something stupid, probably,” he answers, and his lips brush softly against yours. You close your eyes, he probably closes his, and the touch against your mouth presses more firmly.

Connie's lips are chapped and warm and insistent, sucking before parting to allow his teeth to catch your lower lip. You break away and lift your hands to cover your mouth, your lips tingling pleasantly.

“Holy crap,” you breathe, and Connie grins.

“Good?”

You nod.

“You don't mind, do you?”

“I don't think so,” you answer, hands still over your mouth, hiding the fact that you lick against the damp spot he left behind.

“I gotta admit, that was really fun,” laughs Connie, leaning back on his hands and staring up at the stars, “I've never kissed anyone before. I didn't know what to expect.”

“Yeah, me neither,” you murmur.

“Hey, could I kiss you again?”

You flush hotly, a deep, dark red spattering your cheeks. “M-maybe later,” you mumble.

“Aw, bummer.”

“Hey, there you guys are!” Sasha’s voice is half-startling, half-relieving, and you look over to her quickly. “The captain's on a rampage; you guys better hustle your buns if you don't want your head bitten off!!”

“Why, what's happening?”

“Surprise room inspection!” yells the girl over her shoulder, already sprinting back to the castle. You and Connie take off after her, your strides shorter and slower than you normally run so that Connie can keep up.

It'd be an outright lie to say that you don't care for him and an even bigger one to say that the kiss hadn't meant anything.

~o0o~

“Braus, why do you think hiding your stash under your bed would count as ‘clean’?” Levi asks, rubbing his forehead. You don't doubt that he has a headache. “Are you inviting an ant colony to live with us? Gosh, teenagers are pigs!”

“My apologies, sir!” yelps the redhead, “Take what you want; just leave the pfeffernüsse!”

“That belongs to the commander!!” shouts Levi, “His pregnant wife made them for him!”

Sasha changes her tone to that of amicable surprise. “Oh, do you know her?”

Levi sighs. “Yes, she's a fine woman,” he replies, then he gets tough again, “Lenz, why are you bleeding all over the floor!?”

“I had a run in with the wall, sir!” replies the girl, blood dripping from her nose onto her saluting fist and down to the stone floor, “Thank you for your concern!”

“Why would I concern myself over a disgusting brat like you?” Levi steps over to Rye Bread, squints at her blank face. “Nice work.” He doesn't even glance at Mikasa’s spot before telling her to redo it all.

Then he walks over to you. Your bed is the closest to the door. He points out the poorly made bed and unpolished boots beside it, but has no other qualms. He clears his throat and motions for you to lean down so he can whisper. When you don't go down far enough, he grabs you by the collar and yanks so he can have his mouth next to your ear.

“Is everything working out with Connie?” he asks softly. You refuse to blush, pushing the redness back down before it can flood your face. Putting on an expression as empty as Rye Bread’s, you nod.

“Yes, sir, quite well.”

He lets you go. “Fine. Don't forget your stable duties in the morning; I'm sick of cleaning up after you.”

“Yes, sir.”

You girls all relax once he walks out and set about fixing his issues. Krista holds a handkerchief to her nose, spotting the white linen bright red, though, being girls and soldiers that wear white pants as part of your uniform, you all have your own tried and true bloodstain remover.

The blonde pipes up when you hear shouts from the boys’ dorm down the hall.

“That could've been worse!” she says cheerfully, sitting on her bed with a flop, “The boys sure are getting chewed out.”

“As to be expected from that captain,” you say, heaving a sigh as you tuck the corner of your sheet under the thin mattress.

“Why were you and Connie out by that old oak?” Sasha asks abruptly, munching on one of the spice cookies she had snatched.

“I went out to find him after the checkers game and we got to talking,” you say, hoping it's answer enough.

“Talkin’ about what?”

Dang it.

“Aw, come on,” you say, “I don't go pestering you about your conversations.”

“Just curious.” She shrugs. “He's my BFF. Just curious. Maybe I'll ask him.”

“You'd better not!” you snap, knowing the moment you speak that it was an unwise decision, “It's none of your business.”

“Wow, don't go gettin’ your panties in a twist,” pouts the redhead, “Just when I thought you were kinda fun…”

“I am fun,” you growl.

“Oh yeah?” trills Sasha, “Prove it!”

You take a moment to glare at her, then you get a brilliant idea. Insisting that all the girls are in on it, you share in a quiet tone so that you won't be overheard. Sasha starts cackling, and Krista grins.

“This'll be fun,” says Rye Bread, “Cruel...but fun.”

~o0o~

It takes a full week to gather the supplies you need, and three hours of tense, careful, silent work to carry it out. You, Sasha, and Rye Bread do the dirty work between the snorts and snores and murmured dream-speak the three young men chorus to the ether. Sasha has a very hard time controlling her laughter, and is sent to the hallway to giggle her guts out. Once finished, the three of you to alert Krista and Mikasa that it's all set, and you hide out in the closet across the hall from the boys’ room.

The five of you wait, standing quietly and staring out the crack of the open door like a totem pole.

Morning light creeps in the window at the end of the hall, blue against the stone corridor, and the five of you shift constantly, numbness and pain shooting through muscles. Sasha yawns almost endlessly, and Krista struggles to withhold a vast series of sneezes but it's all worth it, every moment of it, when Levi walks down the hall, opens the boys’ door, and lets out a roar of rage. That causes a string of yelling and the biggest hullabaloo you girls have ever heard.

The closet is abuzz with broken giggles being held in, and you pinch Sasha to help her hold her tongue. If you're caught now, you're dead meat.

Your crime?

Dozens of buckets of thinned-down clay mud. It's slippery. It's a rusty red that refuses to wash out. And it's everywhere.

It covers the walls, rains down on the beds, fills what had been polished boots, and covers the floor in a slick, soupy mess of dirty, clinging, iron-rich sludge. It pours out of the room and into the hallway, rolling against the captain's normally-spotless boots. Bare feet are no match against the mud, and the moment the boys step out of their beds is the moment before they fall flat on the floor. Grime seeps into their pajamas, plasters the fabric to their skin. Levi’s orders fall on nearly-deaf ears, the soldiers unable to gain traction on the floor.

“Get on your hands and knees and crawl out of this crap!” shouts the captain, “And get it cleaned up! NOW!!” He turns on his heel and marches down the hall at a fast clip.

Straight for your dorm.

“Crap, what should we do?” whispers Krista, pulling the door shut.

“Sit tight?” you say, “Who knows…”

“Ladies, wake up!” snaps Levi, and the door of the dorm slams open. A mutual cringe flutters through the five young ladies in the closet.

“He'll skin us,” whispers Sasha, “And make our hair into scrub brushes!”

“He'll grind our bones into an abrasive,” says Rye Bread.

“Ooh, I just know we're gonna die!”

“Only from exhaustion. Get out of there.” Levi’s voice sounds from outside the closet. Krista turns the knob and all five ladies spill out. “What a filthy prank. You're gonna clean it up, skip lunch, and run until you drop. And I will not hear a word of protest; is this understood?”

“Yes, sir,” each one of you agrees. Levi groans softly and walks away. He had had a day of training planned, but noooo, a grubby ol’ prank had to be played.

“You little shrews! Awful, absolutely awful!” shouts Jean. His whole left side is soaked in mud. More snickers bubble up in your group. “Shut up! This is gonna take forever to wash out!”

“Ah, don't be such a crybaby,” grins Rye Bread, crossing her arms.

Eren steps gingerly out of the room, his right side covered in mud. More giggles, another annoyed grumble, but it's when Connie steps out of the room that you lose it.

The entire prank you had been quiet. Not a laugh, not even a smile. It's been years since your last smile.

But now, seeing a seething Connie covered head to toe in terracotta slip, you begin to laugh. It starts as a wispy huff, but grows swiftly into a strong, whole-hearted laugh.

It stuns everyone, of course, but Connie?

Connie's breath catches in his throat at the sound of your amusement, the cheerfulness of the sound ringing loudly in his ears. Your face, alight with joy, is more beautiful than ever. You have a killer smile, and your (e/c) eyes sparkle in the morning sunshine. You sink to your knees, arms around your gut as you seize with giggles, muscles that haven't been used in forever getting a fierce workout. Tears roll down your cheeks and you put one hand on the ground to keep from rolling over. It goes on and on, until you gasp helplessly for breath, having lost all semblance of control. Finally, Connie can bear it no more, and he grabs you by the elbow, hauls your fifty-pounds-of-muscle-and-bone heavier body to your feet, and drags you down the hall.

Once around the corner and away from prying eyes, he closes his mouth over yours, drinking the sounds of happiness right out of your lungs. His own thrilled laughter hums in his throat and the two of you fall into a lighthearted, long kiss. When you slide your fingers over his cheek, you find it sticky with clay, but you don't care.

“Sheesh, you're tall,” he pants, pulling away to look at your glowing face, “And y’know what? I kinda like it. A lot.”

You grin. Standing there, looking down at the kid, you can't help the rush of emotion, of gratitude and relief that floods through your body. You feel free now, finally; free to be yourself, free to be happy.

Free to enjoy the life you were blessed with.

Free to enjoy the friends you were blessed with.

Free to enjoy absolutely everything.