Work Text:
.1
It was late at night when Annie called. Eren was sprawling wide open on that boney sofa bed in the studio. All sweaty and gross, he had stripped himself down to a tank top and a boxer. It was the end of summer. A thunderstorm fell right beside his ears. The island earth and roads darkened a shade.
The caller ID displayed unknown. For the first few seconds of the call, the other end made no sound. Only the fuzzy noise of the rain hitting the glass. Eren didn’t know how to put it precisely: The Annie he had known is someone un-frightened by silence. Eren still had his arm in the air; the smartphone hung loosely on his palm and glowed quietly for a while.
Annie, invisible, finally spoke. The speaker was on.
“I don’t want to see you anymore,” she said.
.2
What is Annie’s silence to Eren? What was it - when he proclaimed those dreams and ideas over and over, then became conscious of her gaze from across the crowd - back when they were still in silly uniforms? What about the time when he punched her dealer’s face into a pile of bloody mud? Annie, having absolutely nothing to do with what was happening a meter away, was simply shrinking in the diagonal corner, back against the wall. Something close to a dog’s horrified painting slid out of her throat. Or that one - when she was on Armin’s couch. Eren sat down next to her, trying to smoke, kissed her ten seconds later - what about that time?
.3
Now Eren became the one who had nothing to say. The breakup was discreet - easy, too.
His voice was not caught until a few seconds later, “Where the hell are you calling from?” Surprisingly bland, too.
“I am in a phone booth.” She answered with quite a bit of seriousness. He could almost imagine what Annie looked like right now. Boyish, choppy blonde hair all wet, hidden beneath a grey hoodie. Cold eyes - withdrawn. Silhouette almost undistinguishable as the rain was brushing the booth’s exterior with force. The world, looking out from the inside of the box, must be blurry, too.
“I didn’t expect any of those to be still working…”
“Yeah.”
The grey silhouette dropped its head low - sort of nodded - and rubbed the tip of its sneakers on the plastic rug.
.4
“Have you called Armin?” Eren asked. The rain was hitting the glass shell of the skyscrapers. The lights lighting up the city found their way into a tiny office in the building. Armin was in a comfy office chair, tie untied by himself. He has blue eyes - very calm, even when he is tired. These eyes were staring at the world map on the wall which he was facing. Continents, islands, seas. In every coloured shape, there is an infinite amount of threads, thin as those of the spiders, emerging and disappearing as the lights reflect. Cities, avenues, one brick-walled apartment and another. Fire escapes clinging to the buildings, empty moving boxes on the way. And a woman, owning nothing but a backpack, sitting on the stairs, smoking a cigarette. The world in Armin’s eyes is something to unfold. Until his assistant knocked thrice on the office’s door - transparent as well - and reminded him that the paperwork needed for the court was ready.
“No.” She stated. The cigarette light, twinkling in the dark, faded away. Annie put the unfinished one out on the rusty handrail and walked back into the dim orange light wobbling in the living room.
.5
They stayed wordless for a moment. Eren started to think about Annie’s ugly grey hoodie. And maybe about a couple of coins, metallic-smelling, residing - only temporarily - in that kangaroo pocket. Is Annie still keeping the keys to Armin’s apartment? He wondered. With all the thought, he suddenly felt very sad.
In the phone booth in the rain, Annie was put her idling left hand back in the pocket. An icy sensation. The hoodie was a hand-me-down from her dad. After so many years, nothing remained but her own scent. How can something grow to be this unfamiliar over time?
.6
“Payphone, huh… I’ve never actually used one.” Eren said. He found his voice almost muffled, so he swallowed up the sentence. The very last syllable ceased to pronounce completely.
The other end snorted a ridicule noise, almost. It didn’t sound like a nice gesture, but Eren knew that it was Annie laughing faintly.
“Yeah.” That was the last word Annie had for Eren. What she actually wanted to say was: “Me too.”
Coins ran out. Eren’s phone made a dry, sharp noise. He let the phone slide away from his palm. The vulnerable piece of metal collided with the frame of the sofa bed. He looked up to the plain, hollow ceiling and then, unexpectedly, obtained an impulse to wail and scream and hit stuff yet felt deprived of energy to do any of those all in the meantime. Maybe Annie was the same - walking into a phone booth that is not used anymore even by criminals, aimlessly looking up, staring underneath the colourful graffiti and white scratches at the sky that’s about to rain.
0
Armin’s fingers stroked the meandering coastline of the continent and island. New bridges stand next to the abandoned ones. Somewhere, the asphalt pavement is still waiting to be fixed. In the rain, two police officers cover themselves with their arms and glare at the drunk collapsing on the wet sidewalk. Inside a phone booth, Annie leaned into the closed glass door, hands hiding in the pocket of her hoodie. Here, she is a dot connecting one of the lines.