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As long as you can remember, they've been stopping at your house on their way back through.
You never know when the Survey Corps is going to leave, and if they do, how long it’ll be until they come back, and there have been times that you've been out playing with Armin or performing chores and you've missed them. Whenever you can catch them, though, you like to watch from your window as they leave the walls, and you try to be home when they return for medical treatment so you can see them firsthand.
You've always been interested in the idea of leaving, always been frustrated and resentful at the idea of being cooped up inside these walls like a caged bird, always felt like the air in here is staler and dirtier somehow. But ever since Armin showed you his grandfather's book, the desire to leave has latched onto you like a leech, sucking away your desire for anything else. You have no idea what the words in his book say, and you're too ashamed and nervous to ask Armin to tell you, but you like to imagine the fantastical stories they weave of the seas of salt, the vast jungles, and the mountains that belch rivers of flame in the world outside the walls.
The Survey Corps gets to see it. They're the ones fighting and sacrificing their lives to ensure a future where someday all of humanity will get to see it again.
You adore them for that.
Not as much as you adore him, though.
In your few meager years of life, you've seen countless waves of Survey Corps returnees parading through your house, an endless stream of faces that blend together and all start to look the same. Most of them leave only once. Few return. Those that do, you've come to recognize. From the way your father talks to them, you can discern the ones that return are some kind of authority figures within the Corps, especially the one he calls Keith — whom your mother refers to in a tight voice as Commander — and the one he calls Erwin.
Your mother has caught on to your intense idolization of the Corps and their ideals and is adamantly opposed to the idea of you spending time in their company, but sometimes, the medical service needed is too severe and numerous for your father and her to handle alone, and your assistance is called upon; you don't like all the gore, especially amputations, but you stomach it because it means you get to interact with the Corps. Sometimes you manage to slip past your mother's notice entirely and wander among them as they drape themselves across chairs and benches in your home, or watch them through the windows as they relax in the shade.
When you look out one of your front windows and press your face tight against the pane, you can see him sitting with his back against your house, one leg crossed over the other.
The first time you see him, he seems strange, but you can't put your finger on why.
Perhaps it’s his age. Newbies are teenagers, and he’s definitely not. His face is youthful, his features soft and smooth, but his hands have a practiced toughness to them that says his body is far more worn than his face alone would indicate. The set of his shoulders betray a tired familiarity with combat that no newly recruited teenager would know. You start to wonder if he’s a transfer from the MP, but you dismiss this thought just as quickly — the MPs in their pampered comfort don’t look hardened like this.
It's not his height that makes him odd either, though it's definitely one of the first things you notice. He's shorter than everyone else by at least a full head, but he's ripped, the bulk of his muscle showing in the bands of his neck and the taut tendons of his wrists as he meticulously scrubs a linen over one of the buckles of his harness, pulled so snug against his thick upper legs that the muscle overflows around the straps in bulging swells. You've seen enough loose-fitting maneuver gear on rookies to recognize a good fit when you see it, and he's clearly quite experienced with finding the proper tightness, but you swear this is the first time you've seen him. You would remember those hands.
You would remember those eyes, too — his eyelids are hooded and half closed as if he's falling asleep where he sits, his expression bored and detached, but there's something brewing in his cloud grey eyes that reminds you of yourself when the kids on the street try to attack Armin. Beneath his asocial demeanor, there's a deep and dark anger you know all too well.
You wonder what kind of life he’s lived that he’s developed the same anger as you.
You'd love to say you would remember his voice, too, but you haven’t heard it. One of the captains sits with him and talks his ear off, but he doesn’t acknowledge this. He doesn't acknowledge anyone but Erwin, and even their limited interactions seem distant and forced on the newcomer's side. Erwin seems genial as ever, but the newcomer barely gives him one-word answers that you can’t hear through the window.
It's only a matter of time before your mother catches you staring and kicks you outside to play, and she makes sure you go out the back door where none of the corpsmen are lounging. You want to peek around the side of your house at him, but the one time you try, another soldier notices you and laughs, and you run away in embarrassment.
When you play Survey Corps with Armin, you pretend you're him, but only in your head because you wouldn't know how to say it aloud without sounding stupid. You don't even know his name.
At last, a time comes when your mother is sufficiently swamped helping your father that she doesn't realize you're watching at the window, and you stare in silence as your muse polishes not only his harness buckles and coat buttons, but each of his blades also, discarding linens as they become soiled. The captain that sometimes shadows him is seated next to him and catches the discarded linens without missing a beat in her rambling, which he is fastidiously ignoring.
He's moved on to his boots and is scrubbing every inch until it shines when Erwin places a hand on your shoulder from behind.
His voice is deep and gentle and way too close in your ear. "You like him, huh?"
You try to ignore how uncomfortably close he is to you, and nod without pulling away. "Who is he?"
"His name is Levi. He's from the Capital."
Levi. The name is branded instantly to your mind, tattooed over every pore of his figure, etched into every hair and carved into his fingernails as he digs them into the linen and scrubs the seams of his boot with an intensity that borders on anger. You've never seen anyone from the Capital before that you’re aware of. The knowledge changes the way you look at him, the things your eyes choose to pick out of his form. The youth of his face may coincide with the coddled security of the Capital, but those hands don’t. You return to your split-second hypothesis that he transferred from the MP, but dismiss it again. There must be more to his story.
"How long has he been in the military?"
Erwin pats your shoulder as a reward for your observance. "Brand new. He just enlisted a couple months ago."
That would explain why you're so sure you've only started seeing him recently, but his battle-hardened appearance is pretty incongruous. Besides, he couldn't have been in the military for only a few months; training takes at least three years. Either you're misunderstanding Erwin's vague wording, or he's lying… or — the most attractive possibility and the best explanation — Levi really is brand new, and is talented beyond your wildest imagining.
Your voice cracks when you ask, "Is he good?"
Erwin's chuckle sounds like the rumble of distant factory motors. "He's very good, as strong by himself as an entire squad. He can take out three titans in the time it takes six of us to bring down one."
You're pretty sure Erwin doesn't lie, but just the same, you're hesitant to believe him. You've never seen a titan, but you know they must be incredibly hard to defeat, because so few soldiers return alive after every mission. For him to be able to take down so many by himself, so quickly… your eyes widen, glued to Levi's figure as if you'll die if you look away. "Really?"
"Of course. By the time he came back from his first mission, he already had more kills under his belt than half the Corps. He's got more kills now than the rest of us combined.” You can't prevent your jaw from dropping; you're outright gawking at Levi through the window, and you know if he looked over his shoulder he would catch you easily, but you can't help it. He must be some kind of god. Erwin's voice behind you holds a smile. "They say he's the strongest human alive."
The way Levi's jacket strains against the pull of his powerful shoulders, you'd believe it.
You don't get the chance to say so, though, because your mother catches you at last.
She calls your name, shock pulling her voice into bird range. "Eren! What are you doing in here?" The sound of your name makes a weight of fear and dread drop in your stomach, and you scoot back from the window.
“Let him be, Carla, he’s just curious," your father calls from across the room, but she ignores this.
She stomps over to you, her apron smeared with something dark red that you hope is a cooking dye, and shoos Erwin away from you. She spears a glare into him that you know all too well from when you get in trouble, the Mom Glare that says you know better and I am disappointed in you, but Erwin is not her son and is unaffected by it. He departs with a friendly wave for you and a gentle smile for her.
Your mother ushers you out the back, where you have no chance of spying on or running into Levi, and slams the door on your shirt tail.
Inside the house, you can hear people bustling around and the occasional barked order from your father, and it’s just the right amount of activity that you know there’s no chance you’d get away with sneaking back in… but there’s also very little chance they would notice you sneaking around outside.
You square your shoulders. Embarrassment be damned. If another soldier catches you sneaking and spying again and laughs at you for being childish, why should you care? You are a child. You’re allowed to be childish.
Around the side of your house, two of the corpsmen’s horses tethered to the porch railing have shuffled over to munch on the pitiful hedges, but there are no soldiers. You let out a small sigh of relief you hadn’t realized you were holding. You keep within the horses’ line of sight so as not to spook them as you make your way past them to the porch, where you can peek under the railing they’re tethered to and have a clear shot of the whole porch from the side.
Your heart skips a beat.
There he is.
You’re farther from him now than you were at the window, but without any glass between you, it feels so much closer, more claustrophobic, constricting your breath in your chest.
He’s sitting between the two front windows, bootless leg extended in front of him and boot in his lap, scrubbing at one spot vigorously as though bidden to turn it to glass. On the far side of him, his usual shadow is seated lotus style and chattering away. She’s removed her boots also, both of them, but isn’t cleaning them. Every so often Levi’s eyes flick to her stocking feet and his mouth curls in disgust.
One of your chores is to clean the windows, but you’ve never been very studious at it, and the dust on the warped glass hid things your naked eye can now see plainly.
He’s not just deeply cool. He’s also very pretty.
You’d never noticed — or had a good enough vantage to notice, having been behind him — the way his intense concentration makes one side of his nose twitch, like a rabbit. He readjusts the linen, and his fingernails are perfectly clean and trimmed identically. He sniffs, then redoubles his scrubbing into the grommets, his knuckles going yellow-white from the force. His nose twitches again. A muscle in his jaw tightens, the set of it indicating his teeth are clenched. There are the tiny beginnings of crow’s feet at the corner of his eye, and a permanent frown line between his slender eyebrows. One lock of hair falls in front of his eyes, and he shoves it back irritably with his forearm, not his linen-dirty hands. His hair is shinier than you’d realized, sleek and perfectly straight and soft-looking. You imagine it must be like touching a cloud. Your fingers stroke the wood paneling in front of you mechanically until a splinter catches in your fingertip and you make a tiny gasp of pain.
Levi’s head whips around.
For a second, time stands still, his cloud grey eyes boring into yours with nothing between you.
The heat in those eyes turns your legs to rubber, and you scramble to duck down, pressing your back flat against the side of the porch, scarcely daring to breathe.
"Levi?" his shadow says.
There is a long silence. The image of his eyes searing into you is burned into your brain, and you can imagine them fixed in your direction now.
"Levi, what is it?"
You hear the faintest rustle as he shifts his position, and you brace for him to stomp over and tell you to scram and mind your business. Instead, the sole of his empty boot hits the porch with a dull thud, and the linen resumes its squeak against leather.
"Nothing."
You can hardly draw breath. You’ve heard his voice. You’ve heard his voice.
His shadow barely waits a beat before launching back into her monologue.
Your heart is thundering and you don’t think you can bear another attempt at spying for now, so you sneak around the horses again to the rear of your house and sit on the stoop and stare toward the distant Wall Maria.
You’ve learned so much in the last few moments, both from Erwin and from your own eyes, and you’re not quite sure how to handle it all. You’re not surprised to hear of his talent, having built an imposing image of him in your mind based on looks and posture alone, but you never would’ve guessed into his origins. And at last, at last, you have a name.
You decide the best way to digest your newfound information is to play Survey Corps with Armin.
He rushes to the door when you knock, but waves you inside instead of coming out to greet you, insisting in a hushed mumble that a few of the bigger kids have been trying to find him and he’s not sure yet if they’re gone. You’re too wired to sit inside and play quietly or attempt to read, which you can’t even do anyway and would only make you more agitated at this point, but you don’t want to pressure him into an uncomfortable situation. After saying hi to his grandfather, who tips his straw hat at you, you persuade him to agree that if you take a walk around the house and don’t see his aggressors, he can come outside and play.
You sprint around the house far too quickly for him to be truly comfortable and you don’t pay enough attention to know whether you missed any concealed figures in back alleys, but he concedes anyway.
He stands facing you, his wooden switch clutched in a trembling hand, and his voice trembles almost as much when he says he’s not sure who he should be this time.
“You can be Major Erwin!” you cry with such immediacy that he blinks back surprise.
He usually plays Ness, in charge of the horseback strategy, but he nods quietly and murmurs, “Okay.”
You brandish your own switch in front of you like a rapier, and you declare, “And I’m going to be Levi!”
Armin cocks his head at you, eyebrows drawing together. Usually you play Keith. “Who?”
“The strongest human alive!” you exclaim, giving your makeshift sword an experimental swing. Armin steps back, out of your range, and makes a wordless noise that you know means he doesn’t understand but he’s at least appreciative that you’re happy. “He’s got the highest kill record already and he’s only been going on missions for like, two months.”
Armin gives you a scrutinizing look. “Is this a real person, or are you making him up?”
You nearly drop your makeshift sword as you whirl around to stare at him, offended at this accusation. “He’s real!”
Armin just makes that appreciative noise again, and you roll your eyes, electing to let it go. You can hear a couple voices around the corner that sound like the kids who routinely target Armin, and you think it’s high time you and “Erwin” got around to fighting some “titans.” Armin doesn’t seem very pleased with this idea, but he at least agrees to formulate a strategy of attack.
By the time the sky darkens so much that you and the bigger kids can’t find each other anymore, Armin says in a shaky voice that his grandfather will get worried if he’s not home for supper, and you figure it’s probably time for you to go home too. You walk him home and approach your own home from the front, steeling yourself to see Levi again now that your courage has returned somewhat. Your hands shake as you take a too-deep breath and step into view, but no one is there. You’re not sure if you’re relieved or disappointed.
Your mother frets over your scrapes and bruises and goes to find “any clean linen, anywhere” to tend them with. Your father chuckles to himself through his nose and tells you to wash up before you eat.
Months go by before the Corps returns. At first, you worry that they’ve been disbanded, but you convince yourself that’s a stupid theory; you would’ve heard something about that. After all, you’ve heard a couple whispers on the street about Levi, who has already been promoted to a squad leader rank. They’re calling him Humanity’s Strongest. You guess Erwin really wasn’t making it up to tickle your childlike sense of wonder. You’re pleased, but not surprised. Of course Levi is awesome. You’d expect no less.
You’re pretty sure Armin still thinks you’re inventing him, or that you’ve created the character based on the spare few rumors that have reached Shinganshina, but you can’t prove it to him because the Corps haven’t come back in months and your father, who would know and be able to back you up, has been taking longer and longer leaves of absence.
Your father returns and attempts to schedule a trip with you to visit one of his colleagues, but cancels at the last minute because he’s received correspondence that the Corps will be making another expedition during it and he assumes that, as always, his medical expertise will be needed when they return. You don’t really care about any of that, though; you’re just excited to see Levi again, your fear from last time forgotten.
Unfortunately, your mother notices your energetic hovering and tells you that if she catches you “interfering,” she won’t feed you dinner. You’re pretty sure this counts as child abuse and try to say so, but she won’t hear it, and you know you’ll be treading on dangerously thin ice if you attempt to circumvent her this time.
Hannes allows you to tag along inside the wall gates and up to the ramparts as the portcullis opens. He insists all the while that if your mother hears about this, you’ll be as dead as he is, but you ignore him because the Corps are coming through Shinganshina and you can pick Levi out of the formation and he’s so effortlessly cool. He rides next to Erwin, their respective squads aligned behind them, and you’re pretty sure they’re talking but you can’t see well enough to tell from this height, let alone hear them. You would kill to hear his voice again.
As they ride under the gate, and you sprint across the wall to watch them come through the other side, it occurs to you that for the first time, you can see the world outside the wall.
For a moment, your heart drops. You don’t see any of the things Armin described in the book. You didn’t think you would see the "sea" from here, but you’d been hoping for something extraordinary. But looking out now, it looks pretty much the same as it does inside Wall Maria, and for a flickering moment, you’re touched with doubt. What if you get out and it’s just more of the same? What if there’s no point to it all?
But then Erwin and Levi blast through the gate and spur their horses to a gallop, and your hope swells. There’s more out there than this. There has to be. They wouldn’t fight so hard to rip down this cage if there wasn’t a bigger world out there to fill.
Hannes returns you to Armin’s home, and his grandfather lazily agrees to testify that you’ve been here the whole time if your mother asks.
She doesn’t. She’s too busy doing laundry at the speed of light (you hold back a laugh imagining how many linens Levi will use this time) to wonder where you’ve been, and your father doesn’t bring it up. You think he must know, judging by the way he glances at you, but he doesn’t say anything, so you don’t either. So as not to get caught "interfering," you go outside and seat yourself squarely on the front steps.
You’re going to meet him this time. You’re going to do it. He won’t be able to resist your adorable demeanor or your fiery passion for the military. And if he does resist and you can’t enamor him, you’ll just have to annoy him. It’s the perfect plan.
It’s nearly sunset when you hear the bells signifying the gate being raised, and lightning shoots up your spine, terror and excitement and anxiety and elation all rolled into one.
But no sooner have you launched to your feet in anticipation than your mother opens the door behind you.
"Go to your room, Eren."
You turn slowly, staring back at her with a mixture of incredulity and shock. "Why?”
She gives you the you-know-better stare and you wither, balling your hands up into your shirt hem as she says, “I don’t want you talking to Erwin again. You’re going to stay out of the way in your room where I know you’re not getting into trouble, and not come out until your father or I say so.”
Caged. In your bedroom.
This is the worst possible outcome. Your bedroom window doesn’t afford you a vantage of Levi’s favorite position on the porch. "Oh, come on! That’s stupid! How am I supposed to see anything?"
"You’re not," she says flatly, and moves to fill a bowl with hot water as your father sets up the table as a surgical station.
"Dad!" you implore.
He looks at you — apologetically, you think — but says, "Listen to your mother."
You hear hoofbeats approaching on the dirt road outside, and you know that’s the end of that conversation and you’d better get out of sight before your mother starts yelling at you.
You drag yourself into your room with a morose sigh and take your time closing the door behind you, hoping someone will take pity on you and save you from this awful punishment. They don’t.
You try to play with wooden toys, but the sounds of the Corps moving around and tethering horses outside your house has you leaping on top of your bed and pressing your face to the window, trying to see what’s going on. All you can see is horses, though, and after several fruitless minutes praying for a glimpse of people, you give up. The front door squeaks open and clacks shut constantly, boot steps making thunder across the wooden floor. You can hear the voice of Keith the Commander, his gruff murmur too distant and muted for you to understand, and the voice of Erwin Smith, its deep tenor pulling your ear to the floor as if magnetized every time he speaks.
You still don’t hear Levi.
You barely know what he sounds like, anyway.
It’s a bad one, the kind where they may actually enlist your help for once. The constant commotion has you certain your parents will call you out at any moment, but they don’t. Your father's voice calls out orders and requests from others, even Keith, but not you.
You resign yourself to lying on the floor with your ear pressed hard to the wood as the sky goes dark.
They’re clearly not going to need you, so you guess you might as well prepare for bed. You open the door and slide into the washroom, and the moment you do, your mother shouts your name.
You fly down the stairs and find Erwin and your father tending to someone lying face-down on the table. You don’t get to look into the rest of the room, though, because she calls, "Bring a glass of water, please!"
"Yes, Mom!" you call back, and fly back upstairs to the washroom. Any excuse to get involved, maybe get lost in the commotion, maybe sidle out the front door. You grab the glass you use when you’re thirsty in the middle of the night, fill it from the tap, and return downstairs as quickly as you dare, careful to not slosh any water out of the glass.
Your mother calls across the room, “Bring it here, Eren!”
You look up to locate her through the maze of soldiers, and what you see stops you cold.
Just past her is Levi, leaning against the front doorway.
And he’s looking directly, unmistakably, at you.
Your heart stutters and stops, your throat closes up, your hands go numb, and all the bravery whooshes out of you like a popped balloon, replaced by ice cold fear. You think you hear the sound of something shattering at your feet but your ears are too fuzzy to tell, and you think your bare toes get splashed with something but you don’t think about it. He’s giving you a stare you can’t read, and you have absolutely no idea what to do with the endlessly expanding void of space between you and your hero whose voice you’ve only heard once.
He’s in your house.
You turn on your heel and you run.
Your mother yells your name after you, alarm and irritation putting barbs in her words, but you ignore her, ignore it all. You run to the washroom and jump into the laundry hamper, pulling a towel over your shoulders and huddling in the dark.
You really hope you never see him again.