Work Text:
Prologue
“Eren!”
“What, horseface?” I turned around to the most annoying horse-shaped face I could have possibly encountered in the hallway on campus: my roommate Jean.
“It's Sasha's birthday tomorrow and I wanna do something special for her.”
“As nice as that sounds, Jean, what does that have to do with me?”
“Well, I wanna bake something that's going to get her hi- err... excited.”
“Doesn't all food get her excited?”
“Yeah, but I really wanna do something... special.”
“Uhuh.”
“And you know how she is with food, I can't hide it from her in the kitchen. There's just no way-”
“Get to the point, Jean.”
“Yes. Anyway, so I was wondering if I could hide them in your room tomorrow, just until the party starts?”
“Does that require any effort on my part?”
“No,” Jean promised, “definitely not. Effort-free zone, guaranteed.”
“Okay, I guess. Just don't put them on my desk where my art supplies are.”
Jean nodded.
“Repeat back to me?”
“Not on the desk where you craft 'n shit.”
“I guess it'll do. See you Jean.”
And as soon as that interaction occured, I'd forgotten all about it already.
Thursday, October 15, 2020
Leaves started falling from the trees that very day to announce the change of seasons. I still felt the heat from the summer sun on my face like a recent memory, even though the days had gotten shorter and the lingering warmth in the evenings got replaced by a creeping chill and a promise of cold.
Classes at university had started a couple of weeks ago, and this was my second semester in a row taking a class by Levi Ackerman. Even before attending university, I had known of him as a local artist who specialized in sculptural pieces. Some abstract, some more figurative, but they all were sublime.
Two years ago, not long before Armin and I graduated high school, we went to one of his exhibitions, titled “Hunger“. They had rented a huge factory building for it, since it was the only site large enough to fit his most renowned work to date, “Humanity”. I had never seen anything like it. An entire town was recreated in the grand hall of the factory, rows and rows of small timber-framed houses that barely reached my chest but were large enough to feel realistic. Everything was painted pitch black and only sparsely lit from above. Towering over the scene was a gigantic humanoid creature of thirteen feet, blood red from top to bottom. It was bare and all muscles, a hard face raised to the cealing with its mouth hanging wide open. One of his hands was lifted towards its mouth, holding a disfigured, limp body missing the head. It was gruesome. And so, so powerful. When I moved through the labyrinth of buildings, I noticed something I hadn't before. Blackened corpses and body parts were scattered across the streets, a painful reminder of the lives that once were. These streets that were supposed to be filled with bustling life, with people, going about their everyday business, now bore witness to a terrible scene. All there was left was the grim reality of death, abandonment and destruction. I didn't need to read the blurb to understand what this was about. It was glaringly obvious: humanity was destroying itself - in the most horrible way imaginable - and this was a brutal metaphor. The artist wanted you to experience it by inviting visitors to walk through the aftermath, turning the abstract concept of humanity's destruction into a sensational, physical experience. Raw. Painful. Undeniable.
There were many other sculptural pieces and canvases that I was in awe of, equally powerful to the point of devastating in what they were portraying, most of them commentary on the world we live in. Back then, I had no mental image of the artist who had created these pieces, but felt the utmost of admiration for him regardless. Someone who had the ability to evoke so much emotion, so much terror, sadness and fear within the spectators of his art, fascinated me to my core. Most other art I knew couldn't make me feel half as much. Then and there, I decided what I wanted to do at university. I wanted to dive into art like I dove into water, completely immerse myself into its nature, let myself drown in it and breathe in everything it had to offer.
I remember the first time I stepped into Levi Ackermans class like it was yesterday. Head in the clouds and with my nerves tying knots into my stomach like into tight rope, I sat down in the first row. That day, I expected nothing and everything all at once. But little did I know that my first impressions of the man at the desk would be permanently imprinted in my memory, clear as day.
*
He stood leasury behind his desk, his eyes fixed on an open book in front of him. Completely oblivious to the hustle of students rushing to class and the lively blend of sounds from conversations all around. I allowed myself a moment to let my eyes wander all over this man I so admired. Raven black hair casually fell into his face, an undercut revealing the lines of his neck. His blue, no, light grey eyes were framed by equally black lashes, his stone-like expression in unison with his alabalster skin. Everything about him was calm and composed, controlled, precise.
He was wearing a light grey button-down shirt, tucked into a formfitting pair of black pants and a black leather belt. His sleeves were rolled up partially to his forearms, an antique-looking watch gracing his left wrist. It was apparent that Ackerman took great care of his appearance, since he looked so well-groomed. He was a good-looking man, there was no denying that. Even though he wasn't very tall or had an otherwise impressing physique, he made up plenty by his presence. Sharp like a needle piercing air.
I couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind at that time, until he lifted his eyes from his book to look at – me.
“What's your name?” He asked with a tone so assertive the whole room went silent at once. Everybody was looking back and forth between Ackerman and me, who apparently had forgotten my ability to speak. I gasped for air as my professors icy glare settled on my eyes. I forced out the words through shaky vocal chords.
“I- Uh. My name is Eren Jaeger, sir.”
“And are you in the wrong class, Jaeger?”
“N-No, sir? I don't think so. Why?”
“Because you might as well take a photo, as much as you're staring at me. And last time I checked, photography for beginners is down the hall on the right.” Fuck. I felt sick. My hand went to my stomach and I lowered my eyes to my table.
“What now? Forgotten how to speak, brat?” An annoyed, almost bored expression formed on Ackermans face. I wanted to reply, desperately. Wanted to say something lighthearted and funny that would lessen the awkwardness and rewrite the first impression I was making. But the words just wouldn't come out.
“Thought so. Alright, let's make this a lesson for everyone. If one of you little shits decides to annoy me by either talking without permission or molesting me with your stares,” I felt his eyes on me again, “you can drag your ass right to administration and beg to join another class. Understood?” Nobody dared to say a word. “Good. Now let's get into why we're here. Material exploration, or: an introduction into the art of sculptures.” Ackerman pulled the class room door shut and began shaping what was going to be one of the best lectures I would ever come to witness. During the ninety minutes of class, I tried not to look at him too much and instead took notes like a madman, filling page after page in my notebook. Until, around fourty minutes in, my pen decided this was the perfect time to run dry.
Shit. I wasn't sure if I had another one with me. Anxiety rose within my chest as I was frantically rummaging through my backpack to try and find something else to write with, anything, until my senses picked up on the sudden change of atmosphere. The room was so silent you could hear the drop of a needle.
Fuck. I was definitely going to get kicked out. Why hadn't I prepared better for this class that meant everything to me? Why did I have myself so little under control? This wasn't like me. My heart stopped and I didn't want to face what was coming. Realizing I had no other option, I raised my eyes, prepared to meet the rage of my professor.
Instead, his gaze was almost gentle. Levi Ackerman had reached out to offer me his pen.
With shaky hands, I took it.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Ah. So he does speak,” Ackermans face revealed a trace of a smirk, instantly replaced with a threatening glare. “Don't you dare lose it, brat.”
And with that, on the very first day of his class, I had made some sort of connection with my biggest inspiration. I wasn't sure what kind of connection it was, but all my brain repeated back to me was 'he knows your name' and 'he gave you his pen', over and over. And I couldn't help but smile at that.
*
Waiting until all students had left the class room, I awkwardly approached the front desk my professor was behind, packing up his utensils. I still had his pen but didn't know how to approach him, since I hadn't excatly left the best impression before and wasn't a natural at casual conversation.
“Are you going to give me my pen back, Jaeger, or will you just stand there and stare at me again?” Ackerman raised an eyebrow.
“Yes. I mean no. Sorry, sir. Here's your pen.” I awkwardly held the pen between my thumb and indexfinger. Ackerman snatched it from my fingers and carefully packed it away.
“Tch,” he said. “Next time, bring your own.”
“I will. And sir?” This time he bothered to look up.
“Thank you. Not just for the pen. I've been looking forward to this class for weeks and... It was amazing. I learned so much already, I-”
“Don't get ahead of yourself, brat.” Ackerman said with a blank face. “You haven't done shit yet. This course is designed to confront you with your limits sooner rather than later and you're going to work your ass off if you want to pass.”
“Good,” I somehow found the strength to say with conviction, “I'm looking forward to it.” Offering up a genuine smile. Ackerman examined my expression with what looked like uncertainty. Something told me he wasn't sure I had it in me. But I'd had all the conviction in the world to prove myself. Not just to him, but also to myself. And that's exactly what I did. In the upcoming weeks and months I invested every drop of my energy into this class, and not just because I found myself swooning over him a little.
At first, I couldn't tell if I was making any kind of impression on Ackerman. But as time went on, I felt like he recognized the effort I was putting in, and I ended up passing the course. Although Ackerman wasn't one to dish out praise, I could tell he wasn't disappointed. Eager for the next semester to start, I spent most of the summer break to conceptualize what would become my very first sculptural piece.
*
I had the idea in my head for a while, even before ever attending Ackermans class. So late into the semester break, I got started on my sculpture. This vision in my head was of a tree made of metal scraps, sort of a post-modern take on a monument honoring the very thing we humans keep failing to protect – nature. After drawing up some scatches and narrowing down the concept, I'd made myself familiar with the material. On campus, there were workshops and labs students could use for projects like these, including one that had a wielding table. During the first two weeks of the new semester, I'd gotten very well aquainted with said table, but then the lab got occupied for a couple of weeks due to a course taking place there, so I had to move my piece to my dorm room temporarily. That's where I ran into some problems I didn't know how to solve. I wanted to push on because I wanted to make the time I had worthwile, but also to maybe, possibly impress the man I was learning so much from. At the start of the new semester, I had told him about my tree and he was intrigued by the idea, neither encouraging nor discouraging me. I felt like he wanted to see how far I would come on my own, which I appreciated. Now that I needed help, though, I figured I might just ask him for advice. There wasn't anything to lose, was there? So on this thursday afternoon on the first day that felt like fall, I approached him after class.
*
“How is your art project coming along, Jaeger?” Ackerman initiated the conversation as he saw me approach the front desk.
“Honestly, not too great. I'm having a little trouble with the construction?” I admitted.
“Oh? What seems to be the problem?”
“It's the trunk. I think it's too weak to hold the crown of the tree. Whenever I keep placing it on top, the trunk bends.”
“Mmmmh,” Ackerman thought out loud. “What about a support-structure? Have you tried that?”
“Yeah. I built a wooden 'pi' sort of shape and put it underneath, but since you can see through parts of the trunk in certain areas, it just didn't look good.”
“You built a what?” Ackerman blinked three times really fast and placed a hand on his forhead, like he'd gotten an instant headache from my previous comment. “A pie shaped piece?”
“Oh! No, professor, not pie as in cake, but as in the mathematical pi. You know, 3.141592-”
“Yes, I got it, brat,” Ackerman sighed, then mumbled more to himself than to me, “I guess that's one way my body is reminding me to eat.”
He looked out the window, so deep in thought I didn't dare so much as breathe. When he turned to me, he seemed to have made up his mind on something.
“Tell you what, Jaeger. This is my last course for the day. What if you bring your project into my office right now and we'll take a look at it to see if we can come up with a solution?”
My stomach weakened at that. Ackerman was willing to make time to mentor me on my project, just like that? I was used to him not really giving a shit about anything his students did or didn't do, as long as they weren't an annoyance. But offering his time to help? This was new to me. However, and this was hard for me to accept, I had to decline.
“That sounds great! It's just.... I'm a little worried it might get damaged on the way. I worked on the base a lot lately and it's kind of unstable, so I don't wanna risk anything...”
My eyes stole a glance at his reaction. He was standing behind his desk, one hand in his pocket, the other one packing up the few things that were left on the table. His left hand moved with calm precision. Without interrupting his task, he spoke.
“I see. Guess we'll have to get creative then... Is this your last course of the day, too?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, then. How about I'll accompany you to campus and we'll take a look there? If you're comfortable with that?”
Fuck. Was I comfortable with what he was offering? What was he even offering? I knew he was just trying to work out a solution to help me figure this out, but this seemed a bit... much? Levi Ackerman, who didn't so much as speak to me through the majority of the class in spring, now offered to come into my apartment and look at my sculpture. Would he be doing this for any of his students or was it just me? No, of course he would do this for any of his students. I was being silly thinking I had somehow ascended to a special snowflake status without doing anything to warrant that. He was just being helpful, he was a teacher after all. But was this even like him, being helpful? I didn't know anymore. All I knew was that I choked of anxiety at the thought of him entering my tiny dorm room, my private space. But I also wanted it, I wanted him to come with me. Wanted him to look at my art. I wanted him to see me. But was I brave enough to allow this to happen? I gave it another tenth of a second of thought before I made up my mind.
“Yeah, sure. Let's go”
*
I grabbed my bag and led the way. The short five-minute-walk to campus felt like an eternity. I had never spent any time with Ackerman outside of class, so I was overwhelmed with the nature of the situation. I was afraid to say or do the wrong thing, but walking next to each other silently was too awkward to endure. I tried some smalltalk, emphasis on tried.
“So, professor, any artworks you are currently working on?”
“Not currently, no.”
Silence.
“Anything planned for the future?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
My thoughts were racing. This was going great, I was so fucking good at this. Conversation was easy and I was worrying about nothing. Or at least that was what I was trying to convince myself of. After several more agonizing minutes of an elevator ride and walking along the hallway, we finally, finally arrived at our destination. I let out a sigh of relief, hoping Ackerman didn't notice.
Upon entering, I immediately knew that Jean and Sasha, my two dorm mates, weren't home. Both of their doors were wide open, and there was no noise. If one of them were home, Sasha would probably sit in the living room eating or watching Netflix, and Jean would have music playing too loudly for anyone's peace of mind.
I entered the room and let professor Ackerman follow behind me. The common room of our shared living was like a small living room with a kitchen nook. We also had a bathroom to share, yet either one of us, and I couldn't be happier about that, had their own tiny bedroom going off the common room, equipped with a bed and a desk.
The living room wasn't much to look at. Aside from the kitchen nook, it hosted two orange couches framing a round walnut coffee table and an old beige checkered arm chair. Scratches and stains indicated that the furniture had seen better days. Right below the window was a small bookshelf, topped with speaker boxes and a ponytail palm which miraculously had survived the abuse it took from Jean on a regular basis. A coat rack in the corner next to the door was barely holding on from all the weight pulling on it.
And then there was the clutter. Clothes, books, crumbled paper and stained mugs crowded every surface. It was more clutter than I was personally comfortable with, but being okay with this was a decision I had to make as a compromise of sharing the space with two other, more messy, people. This was just temporary, after all, and after getting my degree I was out of here.
I put down my backpack and turned around to Ackerman. He was following hesitantly, the corners of his mouth dropping in instant disapproval. He made the tiniest steps as if to avoid getting into contact with, well, anything at all.
One thing Ackerman briefly dedicated his attention to was the display of artwork on the walls. It ranged from sketches, comics strips and drawings to paintings and prints. It gave the place a lively character, so I throught, and Ackerman didn't look like he was hating what he saw all that much. Well, at least not until he spotted the mess that was our coffee table.
“Excuse the mess”, I plead, “My roommates are not exactly, uhm, Marie Kondo-ing to their potential, so uh.”
“Did you just use 'Marie Kondo' as a verb?” Ackerman turned to me, frowning very obviously.
“Uh,” I wasn't sure how to respond to that. “Anyway, my sculpture is this way, if you want to take a look.”
“That's what I'm here for, brat.”
He didn't have to remind me. I was aware with every fiber of my being that the Levi Ackerman was in my dorm to help me of all people. As surreal as this still was, I led him through the door on the far left into the tiny space that was my room. A few rays of afternoon sun were coming through the window above my desk, hitting my sculpture and beyond, painting warm splotches on the opposite wall that was a continuation of the art display in the living room. Contrary to the living room, my own room was more in order. I wouldn't exactly go as far as saying it was impeccable, but it was tidy and I thanked all the gods that would hear me that day that I'd cleaned up earlier this week and even made my bed this morning. What were the odds.
In the change of surroundings, I saw my professor straighten his posture and relax, so I allowed myself to relax a little as well.
I pointed at my desk. “So, this is the current state of things.”
Ackerman carefully put his bag on the floor and stepped closer, looking at my work in progress.
“May I...?” Ackermann tilt his head upwards to me, making brief eye contact, his hands indicating that he wanted permission to touch the piece.
“Yeah.”
The professor let his fingers wander over the tree shaped out of chicken wire and scrap metal parts. I couldn't help but follow his hands with my eyes. They were nice hands, without a doubt. Slender fingers hovering over the material with light, careful touches. In that moment, I wondered how those very hands would move in a different situation. Would these hands carress skin just as tenderly as they did this piece? What would it feel like to have these hands touch-
I froze at the realization of what kind of thoughts I was having.
What the fuck is wrong with me. Get it together, Eren. This is your teacher and your idol.
And even though I managed to shove these thoughts aside momentarily, I felt a small tingle in the back of my spine and blush crept up on my cheeks.
A couple minutes passed that felt like hours, during which the room temp felt like it was rising significantly. I was desperate to open the window. Would that make things awkward? Before I could obsess any more about it, Ackermans voice brought me back to reality.
“It's not doomed,” he finally concluded, not taking his eyes off the sculpture, “but you still have a long way to go.”
“Sir?”
“See this part, Jaeger?” Ackermann touched the back of the piece. “You've attatched so much mass here,” he made a small pause, “and here that the sheer weight of it is pulling everything down, contributing to the instability.”
I instinctively took a step closer and bent down to look at the place he was gesturing towards, then nodded in understanding.
“You need to find a way to add integral stability to the structure, so that the uneven weight distribution becomes insignificant.” Ackerman stated.
“Yeah but how? The support structure doesn't work, and I don't want to add anything external either. It'll look like a construction site.” I shook my head slightly, indicating I had thought about this already and couldn't figure it out.
“Use your brain, Jaeger. In what way can you add to the piece without taking anything away from its essence?”
Ackerman looked directly at me now, and it was then I realized how close we were to each other. His stormy eyes were meeting mine, reading, questioning, encouraging.
Think, Eren. Think!
But as much as I wanted to, I couldn't will an idea into existence. “I- I don't know, sir,” I weakly replied.
“Yes you do!“ My professor looked at me with a certainty that shooed all the questionsmarks and doubts in my mind away. He believed in me, believed in what I had learnt.
“What did I teach you?”
I averted my eyes and thought about the entirety of the first semester, skipping through my mental notes, landing on something I hadn't considered. “Creative constraint.”
I subconsciously pulled my hand up to my chin and brushed over my lower lip with my index finger. “The enemy of art is the absence of limitations.”
“Orson Wells.” Ackerman said. “When you have your back against the wall, you turn around and paint on it. You're up against a wall, Jaeger. So paint on it.”
At these words, I suddenly felt a surge of electricity rush through me. I felt inspired and, for the first time during this entire afternoon, I wasn't overthinking everything that left my mouth. I dared to think aloud.
“If I can't build inside or outside of it... I can try building through it... Maybe copper wire? I could weave it through the wire netting and make it a main feature instead of an extra. Make it the life line, the coronal artery.”
Ackerman tilt his head back slightly and, I couldn't believe my eyes, smiled.
“Good job, kid.”
*
While we talked some more about the sculpture, where I was planning to take it and what vision I had, my professor let his eyes dart around the rest of my place for the first time since stepping foot into it. He examined the art on my wall, the wardrobe, my bed and finally my night-stand that had a gigantic plate of brownies sitting on top. At that, Ackerman's stomach involuntarily rumbled, making him look beyond uncomfortable. I could tell he wanted to comment on it, but I also didn't want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was, so I quickly explained, “My roommate made a ton of matcha green tea brownies earlier for my other roommate. It's her birthday today and he had to hide them here from her because no food is safe from her. Believe me, we tried. Anyways, he made so freaking many that I doubt he'll mind if one or two are missing. Would you like one before you head back?”
Ackerman didn't answer the question. For at least fifteen seconds, he considered things in silence. I wasn't sure if that was because he didn't want to stay or whether he thought my offer was inappropriate. Was it inappropriate? After all, it was just a snack offer, right? Either way, I felt such gratitude for this man, my mentor , for helping me, that I was eager to give back something. Although I didn't really have anything to offer.
“I, uh, can also make you a cup of tea, if you like?” I added nervously.
Idiot. Why the fuck did you offer tea? It's Levi Ackerman, he doesn't give a shit about fucking tea.
To my surprise, the tea question roused some interest.
“What kind of tea do you have?”
“Mainly green and black. Let me think, uhm. Matcha, Darjeeling, Jasmin, Pu'er, Oolong and a couple others. They're probably not the best quality-”
“If you poured me a cup of Jasmin you'd save the day, kid.”
That made me smile. It wasn't me who saved the day - he did. At least he saved mine. And if I could make his better with such a small gesture as making tea, I'd happily oblige.
“The least I can do after you helped me with my project. Cup of jasmin coming up.”
Ackerman nodded.
“And a brownie, too?”
“Sure.”
“Great. Just sit anywhere you like,” I said after grabbing the brownies and squeezing past my prof into the living room, heading towards the kitchen counter. I felt a little bit of shame rise in me after having seen the disgusted look on my professors face when he'd entered the living room earlier. But there was nothing to do about that now, and he would have to make do with what was there.
During the preparation of the tea and fixing a plate, I stole a couple of glances over my shoulder. The professor stood next to the seating arrangement and looked like he didn't know what to do with himself. He hesitantly grabbed some papers that were strewn across the armchair and placed them on another stack on the coffee table. Then, he placed his bag on the sofa next to him, stiffly lowering himself onto the chair, his back straight as an arrow and his arms not knowing where to go.
I returned with the tea and a plate with two pieces of brownies not much later.
“There you go. I cleaned the dishes a second time, just in case, so you don't have to worry... About germs and stuff. If that's something you'd be worried about.”
Idiot. Ugh. Can you be any more dorky.
I placed the teacup on an empty spot on the coffeetable and handed Ackerman the plate with two pieces of matcha brownies and a fork. He seemed pleasently surprised.
“Thank you. Aren't you having any?” he asked.
“Nah, I've had lunch before class,” I replied, taking a seat on the couch opposite him. “And to tell you a little secret: I'm not actually that into sweets.”
The black-haired artist took a sip of the tea and raised an eyebrow. “Not a dessert person, huh. I would have taken you for someone who buries their head in an ice cream cup at the first sign of young people drama.”
“Young people drama?” I chuckled. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“The hell would I know,” Ackerman replied, taking another sip of the tea. “I'm ancient.”
“No you're not,” I said assertively, “but just to entertain the thought, let's say there was young people drama... my next credit card bill. My parents announcing they'll be over in an hour. Getting a bad grade from my favorite professor,” I glanced over to see a trace of a smirk on Ackerman's face, “if a good friend were to show up at my doorstep with some cookie dough ice cream and some wine, I could maybe, possibly , tolerate the idea of drowning my sorrow in sweets like regular young people do.”
Allowing myself to a little bit of humor, I found myself relaxing into my seat and actually enjoying my prof's company for the very first time since I'd brought him over. Sitting there in this ugly second hand armchair, turning his attention to the plate of brownies and digging in, he looked like a regular person. A wonderful, pretty, impressive, awe-inspiring person non the less, but a normal person. A person who was, in fact, hanging out with me in my place right there and then, eating cake and having tea. An amused smile hushed over my lips and lingered there.
“What are these again? Matcha-flavored, you said?” Ackerman inquired about the brownies.
“Yeah, that's what Jean said when he made them this morning.”
“They have a unique taste to them. Herbal, but not in a bad way.”
“I'll let him know you liked them.” I smiled.
“Sure. So, tell me, Eren.”
He called me Eren.
“How did art find you?”
That question came out of nowhere, and I found it rather odd. Not, ' how did you get into art? ' or ' what made you want to major in art?' No. ' How did art find you ?'
And... how did art find me? Honestly, it wasn't a lighthearted tale, and certainly none suited for smalltalk, so I had a choice to make. Did I want to go there?
My mouth seemed to have a life of its own, though, because before I could make a deliberate decision, I started talking. “Uhm. I don't know if it found me , nesseccarily. Maybe it was the other way round. My older brother died in a motorcycle accident when I was ten. His name was Zeke and he used to draw these construction plans of airplanes and other air crafts. They were all over his room, plastered on the walls and even the furniture. I guess, technically they qualified more as engineering than as art. But to me they were art. They were beautiful. After he... passed, I began drawing to feel closer to him.”
Ackerman paused chewing and looked at me with narrowed eyes. I could only assume he didn't expect me to move to such a personal level so suddenly, and I started to feel bad for making the wrong call there. There was no escape from his gaze. I wasn't sure if there was a hint of compassion in his grey, stern eyes, or if I was just searching for compassion so much that I imagined it there. Silence fell as lightly as the first snow of the season, before he began to speak.
“My parents are both dead. I didn't get to know them. My uncle brought me up and we don't have much of a relationship, which is probably for the better... He didn't have money, didn't have means. We had the clothes on our backs and a roof over our head and when dinner was on the table at the end of a day, those were the good days. I didn't go to school, and the things my uncle taught me would make me a skilled criminal, at best. I needed something for myself, but we didn't have anything, so I started drawing. I used everything I could find for it. Drew on the empty parts of newspapers, drew into books, on paper napkins, on the insides of cereal boxes. It kept me sane. Somewhat, at least,” he appeared lost in thought and I couldn't help but stare at him – again. This time not because I was awe-struck but because I felt for him. So much. He'd had a painful past and although the words he chose to tell me were considered and composed, I could feel that this was a traumatic place for him to go. I didn't know why he chose to share this with me, chose to trust me with this. But I was glad he did because it made me feel closer to him on a personal level. A level we didn't have before and one I thought we would never reach. Yet here we were.
Ackerman didn't speak with his mouth full. He took tiny bites, chewed, swallowed, spoke a little and then paused to take another little bite. Everything he did was in control . I wondered if that was because for the first major part of his life, he was anything but in control.
“You know, great art comes from a place of vulnerability. Making yourself vulnerable is one of the most important abilities of an artist, because it's what connects you with other people. And all that pain, the hurt, the anger from the past? It's fuel,” Ackerman added.
I sat there, opposite this amazing human, having my elbows propped on my thighs, supporting my head in my hands. I worshipped every single, individual word he was willing to form for me. Every sentence was a treasure, spoken only for my ears to hear in that very moment. Whatever admiration I had felt for this man before multiplied by a thousand as we continued our conversation.
*
Thirty-something minutes later, the professor had finished the brownies and his tea and was leaning back comfortably in the chair. He had visibly relaxed during the last half hour, not only physically but also in conversation, speaking more freely about teaching, about making art, exhibitions, and to my surprise, even a little gossip about other professors and university. I started to feel so comfortable around him that I even started making a couple of jokes here and there, and as a matter of fact, they seemed to amuse him. Just then, I'd made a particularly unfunny remark about life on campus, at which Ackerman straight up laughed out loud. I frowned slightly, not expecting such a big reaction, but chuckled in amusement as well. Realizing how freely he was laughing, Ackerman promptly froze. He seemed puzzled.
“I feel kind of funny, Jaeger.”
“That's a pretty normal reaction to a joke,” I laughed.
“No. I mean, yes, but it's not that. Something's wrong. I don't feel so good.”
“Wh- What?”
But now that he said it, he did look a little bit flushed. His eyes looked a little bit dazed, too, now that I was examining him more closely.
“I feel dizzy and my head is spinning.” Ackerman pressed the palm of his hand to his eye.
“That's not good. Maybe you should lay down until it passes?” I suggested.
“Yeah, yeah. Okay.” Surprised at the instant agreement, I watched my professor attempt to get up from the chair. What the hell was going on? Did he have a circulatory collapse? I got up just in time to grab him by the arm, as he dangerously swayed to the side.
“I got you, professor.”
“Levi,” said Levi, “now's not the time for formalities, kid.”
And he was right, now was really not the time. I guided him over to the couch I'd previously been sitting on and helped settle him down. Without thinking, I propped a pillow under his feet to support his circulation, just in case. He moaned at the effort of having moved from the chair to the couch, pulling up his right arm to cover his face.
“Just...stay here. I'll be right back, okay?” I instructed.
“Fuck, kid, wherever would I go? To the fucking zoo?” Levi said, letting out a deep sigh. “Sorry,” he adds. “I don't know what's wrong with me,” he sort of slurred.
“Don't worry about it. Be right back.” I quickly headed for the bathroom, following the instinct to make my professor a cold wrap for his face. I figured it couldn't hurt and I faintly remembered my mother doing it for me whenever I wasn't feeling well. While in the bathroom, I couldn't help but wonder what the issue was. What if the problem wasn't circulation? He had just drank some tea and ate some brownies, maybe those were the problem? Was it possible he had some kind of food allergy I didn't know about? It was a possibility. I considered yelling to ask him, but he looked so out of it that I'd decided to give him a couple of minutes of peace. Maybe Jean could bring some light into it. I took out my phone and opened the message app to text him.
Eren (2:40pm): Hey! Those brownies you made. What exactly is in them? Like what ingredients?
Jean responded almost immediately.
Jean (2:41pm): hey
Jean (2:41pm): why are you asking? are you eating them?
Jean (2:41pm): they're supposed to be for later!
Eren (2:41pm): Come on Jean, just answer the question!
Eren (2:41pm): What's in there?
Jean (2:42pm): eggs, flour, sugar, milk, oil, matcha powder... and a little bit of a secret ingredient
Eren (2:42pm): ???
Eren (2:42pm): what's the secret ingredient?
Jean (2:42pm): let's just say it'll put you in a very good mood :D
Eren (2:43pm): Oh my god. Don't tell me you put anything in there? Jean?
Jean (2:43pm): how dare you accuse me of such things!
Jean (2:43pm): they're made with love and care
Jean (2:43pm): by myself and dear ms. mary jane
No no no no no no no. This can't be happening. It cannot be happening.
Eren (2:44pm): FUCK! YOU ARE SO FUCKING DEAD JEAN
Fuck. What do I do what do I do what do I do?
Considering it, I didn't really have any other option but to tell him the truth. Of all the things that could have gone wrong that day, this was beyond the worst case scenario I could have imagined. Jean had drugged my professor, who was now lying down on my couch, apparently high as a kite. And there was nothing I could do about it. So I had to go back out there and hope Levi Ackerman was too fucked to chop me to pieces.
I was totally, completely, utterly panicking as I returned to the living room with the wet cloth in my hand and the heaviness of the knowledge of what had happened. I got down on my knees next to the couch and looked at my professor. He had removed his arm from his face, which was now resting on his chest. His eyes were closed but he frowned and sweat had formed on his face and neck. He didn't look well to say the least. As carefully as possible, I placed the wet cloth on his forehead, causing him to gasp at the sudden cool sensation.
“A word of warning would have been nice but... Thanks.”
“You're welcome.”
I took a deep breath and held it in my lungs for a while, pondering how I was possibly going to phrase what I needed to communicate. Slowly releasing my breath, I spoke.
“I have to tell you something.”
Levi opened his eyelids and glanced at me narrowly, waiting for me to continue. No words came out. I struggled.
“What, Jaeger?”
“Uhm. Okay, there is no easy way to say this,” I lead with, “but those brownies you ate? Apparently my stupid freaking roomate put some weed in there-”
“WHAT!?” Levi jerked upright into a sitting position with wide eyes and utter shock inprinted on his face. The wet cloth plopped into his lap. Immediately regretting his sudden movements, Levi groaned and held his head in dizziness.
“I didn't know! I would have never offered you them if I had known! I just found out when I texted him about them. Please believe me.”
“Just- will you shut up for a minute!” Levi yelled. He didn't seem to process the information I had just offered to him, sitting there in absolute terror and vertigo.
I didn't dare whisper another vowel. He looked at me again, seemingly trying to read my expression. I can only imagine how terrified I must have looked, if it reflected anything of what I felt on the inside. I wasn't just afraid, though. I was also embarrassed, and I was sorry.
“I'm so sorry,” I pressed out, and I felt it.
For the first time ever, I saw my professor speechless. This wasn't like him, his quick-witted commentary usually dominated every conversation. I sometimes thought his DNA was made of pure genius and snark. He seemed to recover rather quickly from this, however, because his speechlessness didn't last for long.
“Let me get this straight, Jaeger. Are you telling me you got me stoned?”
How could I possibly respond to that? Yes? No? It was an accident? Please don't kill me? Worse – please don't hate me?
“I'm mortified. But. Yes,” I fessed up.
At that, Levi shook his head. He made a choking-sound, which he quickly surpressed, trying to compose himself. Next thing I knew, he burst out laughing.
“Kid's got me stoned!” He snorted. “I'm fucking high.” He kept laughing, almost screaming. I was completely overwhelmed with this situation. Was this funny to him? Fuck, of course this was funny to him. Anything was funny when you'd ingested weed. Regardless, I didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say or where to look. So I just sat there, feeling the panic rise within me once more.
“I guess I should congratulate you. You succeeded at something Hange has been trying to get me to do for years.”
“H- Hange?” I stuttered.
“The most annoying human being on the planet and by a great cosmic coincidence, my best friend.” Levi started giggeling for a while. Then he stopped. “Fuck.”
“What is it?”
“I'm high is what it is,” Levi pondered, as if the repercussions of this circumstance were dawning on him just then. “I have two more appointments for consultations in the afternoon. I need to go places. Shit, how am I even going to get home?” Levi asked, “How long is this going to last?”
“I- I don't know,” I admitted, but desperately tried to come up with a way to make myself useful.
“Maybe I can help? I could help cancel your appointments and figure out how to get you home? After all, it's my fault you're in this... dilemma.”
“I don't know, Eren. You've kind of done enough.” Levi closed his eyes again and slowly lay back down on the couch in defeat.
“But I am also aware that I'm way too dizzy to even look straight ahead, so I'm definitely not in a state to make any appearances. Not to mention the random giggles,” he said and chuckled, “Seems like I don't really have a choice.”
Levi pondered.
“See my bag over by the chair? My cell is in the front pocket. Let me unlock it and I'll tell you who to call to cancel, alright?”
“Yes.” I grabbed the bag and handed the phone to Levi, who put in the code and handed the phone back to me.
“Open up the address book and look up Petra Ral. Call her from your phone. Tell her you are my assistant and I had to cancel the 4 o'clock. Say I'll call tomorrow. And Jaeger?” Levi glanced over to me sternly, making my knees weak.
“Yes?”
“Don't fuck it up.” After a second of sober seriousness, Levi started giggeling again. Oh, the absurdity of the situation. Can't make that shit up. I swallowed, preparing the dialoge in my head a couple of times before I picked up my phone and typed in Petras number. Don't fuck it up. Pressing the green button,it rang once, then immediately went to voicemail. Cool, yes, I could do a monologe, sure, no problem.
I am Eren Jeager and I can be professional. Watch me.
“Hi, Petra? This is Eren Jeager speaking, Levi Ackerman's assistant. I'm calling to inform you that unfortunately, Mr. Ackerman's had to cancel your appointment this afternoon. Something urgent came up, but he will call you back sometime tomorrow to reschedule. Have a good day.” I hung up.
Levi eyed me suspiciously.
“Either it's the weed talking or that wasn't half-bad, Jeager. Now call Falco Grice and tell him the same thing. Fuck, I'm spinning.”
And I did.
“Well done. Now. Any idea how to get me home?”
I had to weigh my options. First and foremost, I had absolutely no idea where Levi lived, but it was probably somewhere in the city. I could suggest walking him back to his car, which was probably parked on a different part of campus, so getting there would be a challenge in and of itself and the risk of being seen would be higher. Hehe, higher. For heaven's sake, Eren, focus. Next problem was, I had a hard time imagining he would actually let me drive his car. I had once seen him park his Mercedes in front of the auditorium, black and shiny in all it's glory. It was a prestigious car. So that would definitely be a no, right? What other options did I have? I didn't have a car myself, but could I possibly ask someone else...? Yeah, maybe that'll work.
“Actually, yes. My friend Armin has a car. I'll ask him if I can borrow it to drive you.”
“As long as you don't tell anyone what happened. I can't have this affect my reputation.”
“No, of course. I won't tell a soul.” My lips turned into a subtle smile, my eyes trying to communicate 'you can trust me' to Levi. I could see in his face that he didn't like this suggestion much, but in the absence of any other plan, he agreed.
Not even fifteen minutes later, Armin parked his yellow Smart on campus and met me at the entrance to hand over the keys. “Don't know why you were so cryptic about what you need my car for, but I'll drag it out of you later I guess,” Armin said. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah. Thank you, I really appreciate it.”
“Sure, happy to help.”
“I promise I'll return the favor. See you later.”
I gave Armin a quick peck on the cheeck and sprinted back to the apartment, lightning-speed. Levi was still lying on the couch with his right hand resting on his chest. He looked so peaceful and not at all agitated like he usually did, and I couldn't help imagine he was lying there because we were actually something like friends. Not because I'd accidentally drugged him.
“How are you feeling?”
“Still dizzy and lightheaded, but better. Resting helped some.”
“Think you can manage to get up?”
“Hnnng.” Levi grunted and slowly rose to a sitting position, then attempted to stand. He lost balance instantaneously and tumbled to the right. Luckily I caught him in time and gripped him by his shoulders. His firm, slightly muscular shoulders.
“I think it'll be better if you lean onto me, even if it's just a short walk.”
Being too distressed and tired to argue, Levi complied and wrapped his right arm around my neck, allowing me to stretch my left arm around his back for support. We were so close. This much physical contact made me shiver. I actually held my favorite artist, my idol, my mentor, in my arms. Admittedly, that only happened because he was drugged, but my brain conveniently brushed that fact aside. For now, he held on to me, and it made me feel warm and fuzzy.
“This alright?” I asked.
“Yes,” Levi answered, “let's go.”
So for the second time that day, we walked across campus together, only this time hoping not to be seen like that by anyone we knew. Levi was a little bit shaky on the legs but he was walking. By mere chance, we didn't bump into any major problems. We managed to get to the car fine, yet as we approached, Levi grunted in protest.
“A Smart?” He turned to me. “Are you expecting me to get into a yellow-fucking Smart, brat?”
“What's wrong with a Smart?” I asked. “It's not like you require much space anway.” For that, I got the stare of death (and I deserved it).
“I'm sorry, this is all we've got. Now either hop in or hop home,” I said surprisingly boldly. But it worked. With not much more than a mere sigh, Levi reluctantly got in. Just as I had adjusted my seat and the mirrors and was about to start the engine, he cursed.
“Shit, my bag. I left it at the dorm.”
There was no way we would make it all the way back there and not be seen. No way he could make it all the way back there. But I could.
“Don't worry, I'll get it. I'll be quick.”
I ran back as fast as humanly possible but upon arrival, the bag wasn't the only thing I found. Freaking Jean stood in the middle of the living room, browsing through none other than Levis bag and all his personal belongings, without a care in the world.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I yelled.
“Eren! Why, hello to you too,” Jean grinned, “I came home to speak with you about those friendly messages we exchanged earlier? You know, the ones where you cursed at me? Instead, look what I found!” Jean waved Levis bag in the air.
“Give that here!” I demanded.
“Nope. Finders keepers. You wanna tell me what Levi Ackerman's stuff is doing on our sofa?”
Fucking bastard. He'd runied everything and now he wasn't going to make this any easier.
“No, I don't. Now give me that!” I was fuming and, without thinking, lunged forward to grab the bag. I snatched air as Jean jerked his hand just back in time.
“Nuh-uh,” Jean smirked, “not unless you tell me how it got here.”
“Alright, fine, asshole! He came here to help me with my project. Now hand it over or I swear to god I'm going to chop you into pieces and glue you to the wall!”
Jean must have read in my face that I was being serious and reluctantly handed over the item.
“Jeez, what's gotten into you?” He looked me up and down. “Wait. Did you feed him the brownies?”
I said nothing.
“You did, didn't you?”
“Fuck you, Jean! You drugged my teacher!“ I yelled at the shithead that was my roommate. Jean looked at me as indifferently as ever and surpressed a yawn.
“Well technically, you drugged your teacher,“ he concluded, his hand gesturing towards me.
“FUCK YOU. Do you have any idea how much trouble you've gotten me into?“
“Not really, no,“ Jean shrugged. “But good talk, friend. I appreciate our delightful little afternoon chat.”
“You're such a shithead, Jean! What the fuck!” I could not believe the audacity.
“Relax, buddy. It's just a little harmless fun. If anything, your uptight little art attack prof should be thanking me for making his day just a little bit more chill, aye?”
“I cannot believe you,” I shoot through my teeth, grabbed my jacket for dramatic effect and slammed the door behind me, for an even more dramatic effect. Back in the car, I handed Levi his bag, who took it wordlessly and waited for me to drive off. Before starting the car, I paused.
“We have a problem.”
Levi looked at me with red, tired eyes that said 'you've got to be kidding me'.
“Remember my asshole of a roommate, who made the brownies? He came home and found your stuff there. He knows.”
“And here I thought this day couldn't possibly get any worse. Fuck me.”
“I'm sorry”. I simply said. “I'll talk to him later. He owes me. Jean is a shithead, but he is loyal and I don't think he'll tell if I ask him not to.”
My attempt at reassurance did not get a reaction out of Levi whatsoever. He just looked outside the window, letting his shoulders drop.
“Just get me home, Eren.”
He said it again. Eren.
We didn't talk much on the way to Levi's place. He told me his address, and I knew the way to get there since it was near a family friend's place. Levi spent most of the time looking out of the window, engaged in his own thoughts. After, what was it, 12 minutes or so, I parked the car on the side of the road, and we sat nearly a full minute in silence, each in our own head.
I got out first and by the time I got to Levi, he'd opened the door on the passenger side. I offered a hand, figuring he was still a bit dizzy, but he rejected it. Instead, he grabbed the car door to pull himself up. I stepped back and gave him some space. My professor looked and walked past me in silence.
After a couple of steps, though, he halted and turned around.
“You drove me here,” he stated.
“Well, yeah.” I was confused.
“That means that my car is still parked on campus, idiot. I have no other way of getting there tomorrow.” Shit, right.
“Right.”
In theory, there were plenty of ways. He could take public transportation or call an uber. But he was Levi Ackerman, and something told me he didn't take buses or called ubers.
As neither one of us was saying anything for a while and he could probably tell I was thinking frantically, his eyes met mine.
“Pick me up tomorrow at 7:15 am sharp and don't you dare be a second late.”
“Yes, sir, Levi, sir!” He rolled his eyes at me.
“And Eren?”
“Yeah?”
“It's not your fault.”
“Huh?” That caught me off-guard.
“You didn't know and it wasn't your fault. So don't worry about me reporting you. You didn't do anything wrong, Eren, okay?”
As he looked at me with reassurance, I felt warm, and fuzzy, and thankful at the same time. He was worried about me, even though I was the one who'd harmed him. Who'd drugged him. And still, he wanted to make sure that I didn't blame myself. Whatever side of Levi's this was, I didn't know it yet, but I made a mental note that I liked it. I didn't know what I'd done to deserve this unexpected kindness from this glorious man, but I received it. And I accepted it.
“Thank you, Levi.”
Was that a smile forming on his lips? As soon as I had seen it, it vanished, and he turned around and walked up the steps to the building. Maple leaves were dancing in the fresh afternoon air, painting the pathway in splotches of orange.
Now I was the one smiling. I closed the passenger-side door, got in the car and drove back to campus. On the way there, I recalled Levi's smile into memory, along with the thoughts I'd had on the first day I'd met him.
He knows your name. He gave you his pen.
And to that, I added:
He helped you. He inspired you. He leaned on you. He trusted you. He worried about you. He forgave you. And tomorrow morning, you are going to pick him up with a cup of steaming hot Jasmin tea in a sunshine-yellow Smart.
*
Epilogue
“So you're saying I can't have all of these?” Sasha eyed Jean critically with the plate of brownies in her hands.
“You could,” Jean acknowledged, “but if you die of an overdose, these will be your last meal. Do you really want box cake weed brownies to be your last supper?”
“I wouldn't mind,” Sascha shrugged, “sooooo.... does that mean I can eat all of them, then?”
“Jesus, don't you have an ounce of self-restraint in that thick head of yours?”
“No”, Sasha said, at which Jean grunted in frustration.
The bickering went on for a while, barely audible over the background music and other party guests chatting away. I stood with Armin and enjoyed him being there as my comfort zone. Wherever he was, I was safe. Wherever he was, I was home.
“So can I get my car keys back?”
“Actually, is it okay if I keep them until tomorrow? I kinda need to run another errand.”
Armin looked me up and down, surely taking notice of the blush that had crept up on my cheeks.
“Sure. What's the errand's name?” He asked with a smirk.
It shouldn't surprise me that he'd figured it out. When you knew someone like we knew each other, having met at two years old in kindergarden and having been inseperable since, you're able to read them like a book. It might sound scary, but it's actually rather comforting. I couldn't hide anything from him if I tried.
“Levi Ackerman.” I said, smiling to myself like an idiot.
I took a bite of the matcha-green-tea brownie I held in my hand, even though I wasn't a dessert person. It tasted of zero regrets and of herbs, but not in a bad way.