Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Far away from prying eyes, beyond two great, gold gates, in the midst of a large, secluded forest lay a mansion of impressive stature. Glass made up most of the length of its walls and the front door was made of the most exquisite, polished mahogany, with two large brass handles shaped like snarling lions’ heads. In front of the mansion lay a garden, immaculate and kept, with trees shaped like recognisable animals and a graceful fountain spurting water into the air every-so often. Aside from those, rose bushes lined the garden. The water droplets on the flowers glistening in the summer sun.

On the top-most floor of the mansion, overlooking the garden was a room with its curtains drawn. Slipping past these offending curtains, a bedroom can be seen. A simple room. A pleasant room. A large king-sized bed was pushed against the wall, with rich, maroon curtains cascading down from its four posters, tied back by a thick, gold rope-like sash, along with other things necessary for a normal bedroom, such as a bedside table and a computer desk. However, aside from the necessities, nothing else gave away this room was inhabited by a person; therefore nothing told what sort of person inhabited this room. Heading through this person’s doors and going down the corridor outside it lay a room to the right, with its door only slightly opened. In the room, a male of small stature sat on a piano stool, his head bowed. His eyes were tired and his aura passive, as if he had given up on life. In his hands were scores, most of them seemingly empty. However, perching on the music rack and on the sleek, black lid of the grand piano, were many other scores that were filled with handwritten music notes and annotations. As the man stared down at the scores in his hand, it was evident from his glazed eyes that he wasn’t focusing on what was held in his hands.

In his mind, he thought about the boy with eyes the colour of the ocean. In some dreams, the two of them would be flying through the air. In others they’d be looking out towards the vast, endless ocean. The sun would be slowly creeping behind it, causing it to change to different shades of oranges, golds, and pinks. He would turn to him, a guilty smile plastered on his face, tears brimming in his eyes. He would say something, yet the man was never able to decipher what the boy was trying to tell him. The boy with the ocean in his eyes… He wished to meet him; he craved him, even though he’s never known him. It was strange for him to know that his heart, his mind, his everything craved him. The feeling was so foreign to him; it always was, even though he’d known it for a long time. This was love…wasn’t it? As a child, the dreams he had were a just a jumble of confusion and conflict; he couldn’t understand them, because he was too young. In all honesty, he still couldn’t understand most of them. Weren’t dreams supposed to be memories? Or hidden desires? Weren’t they supposed to only contain faces that one had already seen?

The man rested a hand on his head, it hurting due to excessive thinking. Headaches always occurred when he thought about his dreams for too long. It caused his heart to hurt as well. It physically hurt the small man to think about the bright-eyed boy. He was so beautiful and yet so intangible; there was nothing more he wanted to do than properly gaze into the boy’s eyes. To admire them for what they looked like when they were physically right in front of him. He dreamt of him and his eyes the colour of the ocean and it just was not enough. It never was.

There was one particular recurring dream that was so memorable, because in the dream, the boy was crying. He would be looking up at him and he’d be crying. It hurt him… it was as if the ocean that had been continuously swirling around in his irises was escaping, seeping out and staining whatever it landed on. The boy held onto him, burying his face in his shoulder, his expression pleading and he couldn't understand why. He had thought more times than once that, perhaps it wasn’t him that was being held by the boy. Perhaps it was someone else’s memories that invaded his dreams. He couldn’t imagine being looked at like that by anyone. Whomever this person was meant the world to the boy; that was clear to see.

The small man ran a hand through his hair, shuffling the half-empty scores around, as a thin piece of paper fell out and gently floating to the floor. He leaned down to pick it up, holding it in his hands, while he looked it over, taking in every detail of the pair eyes that he’d attempted to draw. He wasn’t able to help himself, even though he knew that he knew he’d never be important to this boy (if he even existed). He had drawn the boy’s eyes, the boy himself, and a monster that looked vaguely like him. He had drawn him over and over again. In some pictures he’d be grinning. In some he looked passionate, as if talking about something he cared deeply about. And in others, he’d be angry. He’d be furious beyond belief and even then the man couldn’t help but think that the boy still looked so painfully beautiful.

The small man stood up, leaning forward to sift through the completed scores on the lid of the piano, before finding the one he was looking for. He placed it on the music stand and sat back down, leaning down to rest the empty scores he’d been holding on the ground. He placed his fingers on the white keys of the piano, looking at the music score and started to play. This… green-eyed boy. Whilst thinking about him, he’d written pieces upon pieces in dedication to that boy; his imaginary love. Most pieces were powerful and moving, leaving the man breathless once he’d finished playing them. And today was no different. The small man’s thin, slender fingers flitted from key to key, filling the room with melodies and harmonies that he himself had created. The dynamics heightened, then dropped, heightened, then dropped, heightened and heightened and heightened until, once he had reached the climax of the piece, his door slammed against the wall. An angry man vaguely resembling him stormed towards him.

 Immediately the small boy’s hands were off of the piano, the golden music that vibrated and resounded around the room abruptly stopping, being replaced by the metallic, hollow noise of his father’s shouting. The back of his hand connected with the small boy’s cheek, the force throwing him off of his piano stool. The boy held his cheek, his body sprawled on the floor, and looked up at the man in resignation. The older male curled his hand into a fist, leaving the boy with only enough time to notice the man had worn his wedding ring today, before his fist connected with his jaw. The boy’s head hit the floor with a dull thud, making red spots to burst into his field of vision. He remained silent, as the man grabbed his neck with both hands, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing. All the boy could focus on was the look in his eyes. The look of pure rage. And he thought back to the boy with the ocean in his eyes, wondering how his rage could be so starkly different to the one in front of him. His rage…the rage that lit a fire in his eyes, making him seem more vivacious, more alive, more beautiful; then the one in front of him. How could the two be experiencing the same emotion, he thought, the grip around his neck continued to tighten and tighten until he could think no more, until he could feel no more, until he was no more.

-/-/-/-

Darkness surrounded him; it was so familiar, so comforting… and it was then that he saw him again. He was pleading; begging. His lips moved, but no sound came out…or perhaps it had and he just hadn’t listened closely enough. Without thinking, he reached an arm out; the boy’s bright, sincere eyes holding some sort of promise. And soon, they boy reached out his arm as well. The two reached and reached, but despair started creeping into the small boy. They wouldn’t reach each other, whispered into his ear. He looked at the green-eyed boy to rid himself of his fears and it did. His fears left him as he gazed into the boy’s determined, passionate eyes; it strengthened him, allowing him to continue reaching out. They were so close, he could almost feel his fingertip brush against the other boy’s when suddenly he was no longer with him. He was no longer surrounded by the darkness with the boy’s ocean-filled eyes serving as a lighthouse. He was lying on the floor of his music room, his body aching from having fainted on the floor. It was difficult to breathe, or swallow, but he did so in hopes that he would be able to get used to the feeling once more. How long had he been unconscious? He didn’t know, but the room was dark. It always was. He never turned on the lights, since the wall on the other side of the door was made of glass, he didn’t need to. The wall allowed him to look outside to see the raindrops falling heavily, as they stained the window, causing him to think of the green-eyed boy’s tears. They hadn’t pattered heavily like the rain was doing right now; they had silently slipped out, though the boy’s mouth wasn’t as silent.

He wished to find him. He prayed he would be able to find him. He prayed the boy existed. And, though it was a far stretch, he prayed the boy knew him. He prayed the boy knew more than he did, that the dreams he had weren’t meaningless fantasies that he couldn’t even understand properly. He prayed the boy was doing better than him, surrounded by friends and family that loved him. He prayed he was okay.

Chapter Text

Outside a tall, imposing mansion, the sun gently crept up the dreary sky, causing it to slowly burst into many shades of yellows and golds. As it continued to rise, it increased in warmth and brightness, bathing the ominous mansion with warm light. On the topmost floor was a room with its thick, heavy curtains always drawn closed. However, the light of the sun seeped through the small gap between them and flooded the room, enough for a small man lying on the large four poster bed to be seen. A knock on the ornate wooden door of his room echoed hollowly around his room, before it quietly creaked open, a man with silver hair, wearing a suit walked inside.  His sleek, black leather shoes clacked softly on the wooden floor of the room, as he approached the bed the small man slept in.

“Young master-” The silver-haired man started.

“Just Vincent is fine. I’ve told you this before, Tanaka,” a groggy voice from the bed came, the ruffling of sheets indicating the small man was sitting up, before he turned his steel grey eyes on the other man.

“My apologies, sir,” Tanaka bowed, before straightening up once more. Vincent sighed softly, shaking his head at being called “sir”, “your father has asked that I retrieve you from your room,” he explained, “so if you would kindly get dressed and make your way down.”

“What does he want?” Vincent muttered, throwing off the sheets from his body and getting out of bed, standing in front of Tanaka in just his underwear.

Tanaka looked down at the small man, his expression passive, before saying, “he is not here; he merely instructed that I wake you up at this time.”

Vincent nodded and went to his wardrobe, without saying a word, opening it and sifting through the clothes to find something suitable to wear.

“I’ll be down in a few,” he said simply. Tanaka nodded, before bowing, then turned and headed out of his room.

Levi sighed softly, before muttering quietly, “Eren…”

Vincent blinked; then furrowed his eyebrows. Who was Eren? Why had he said that name? Why did his heart clench when he’d said it? A sharp pain shot through his skull, causing him to grunt and rest a hand on it, while he grit his teeth. Images of the green-eyed boy’s crying and pleading face flooded his mind, causing his head to hurt even more, as he fell to his knees, holding his head in both hands, as quiet groans escaped his mouth.

-/-/-/-

“Eren,” Mikasa called to the brunette-haired boy in front of her, tugging on the hand she held, causing him to turn around and look at her, despair gleaming in his eyes.

The wind weaved through the bright green summer leaves, causing them to rustle softly, as they gently tugged Eren’s hair, throwing it into his eyes. The scent of different foods, sweets and savoury alike, wafted around them, causing the boy’s stomach to grumble, but he didn’t focus on it. People walked around and between them, some grumbling under their breaths about “the youth of today” and some just throwing the two irritated glances for just suddenly stopping in the middle of a densely packed pavement.

“It’s been years, Eren. If he was here, you’d have found him by now,” Mikasa tried to reason. Eren shook his head stubbornly, before turning around once again and walking ahead, causing Mikasa to walk onwards as well.

“I’ll find him,” he said firmly, his green eyes glimmering with determination, “I’ll definitely find him.”

Mikasa sighed, before shaking her head in resignation and letting Eren pull her along.

 “Look, your shift starts soon, so you should-” She started, catching up to walk beside him.

“Let’s go get lunch, Mikasa. I’ll go after I eat,” Eren muttered, entering a random café, before Mikasa could protest. In his mind, he had this slim glimmer of hope that today, in this café he’d just entered, he’d find Levi. He knew it was stupid; he really did know, but he couldn’t help hoping.

The scent of coffee and burgers and sandwiches invaded Eren’s nostrils, as soon as the small bell above the door he’d opened chimed. However, he ignored his grumbling stomach and scanned the place, his heart racing in his chest due to anticipation, ignoring what Mikasa was saying. He looked from face-to-face, trying to find the one he craved to see; the face he’d been craving to see for years.

‘He’s here’, his mind told him, as he continued looking from face-to-face, his heart racing even faster. ‘He’s here…he’s here,’ his mind continued saying, Eren’s eyes flitting from person-to-person, ‘he’s here…he’s here…’

‘…he’s…’

Suddenly, the voice stopped speaking, his breath hitched in his throat and his heart plummeted. Eren turned to Mikasa, his shoulders sagging, as he looked down at the floor, tears pricking his eyes.

“Let’s go, Mikasa,” he whispered, already making his way out of the café, ignoring the look his adopted sister sent him.

He wasn’t there.

-/-/-/-

Vincent sat on his piano stool; his father wasn’t here today, so he was allowed to play as loudly and expressively as he wanted. Though, he did so anyway, even though he knew the consequences. He didn’t know where he got his love for music from, but it clearly wasn’t from his parents. He hoped the green-eyed boy liked music as much as he did…or at least close to it. Vincent sighed softly, shaking his head, thinking, ‘he probably doesn’t even exist… Someone so perfect shouldn’t exist in a world like this.’

Vincent was convinced that he’d created this boy. He was certain that this boy was just a figment of his own imagination; someone that looked at him as if he was cared for, important, safe… Loved. He’d dreamt of it again; the one recurring dream he’d had from a young age. The dream where he lay across the boy’s lap, with the boy’s tears falling off his face and onto his, sliding down his cheek. The boy had called him something… Colonel? Lieutenant? No…He couldn’t remember, but it was some sort of position in the army, probably; he wasn’t really sure. In any case, he’d woken up with tears streaming down his face; it happened so often the past few years that it was more surprising if he woke up to a dry pillow.

A soft sigh escaped Vincent’s lips, as he stood up and searched for a clean score to write in, however, realising no such thing existed, with an irritated click of his tongue, he walked out of his music room and returned to his bedroom. He crossed his room to his wardrobe and took out a pair of black jeans and a simple white button-up, then swiftly slipped out of his more comfortable home clothes and got into the ones he’d just taken out. Vincent folded the clothes he was no longer wearing and neatly set them down on his bed, before walking downstairs. 

As he walked down the stairs, one thing occupied his mind: the green-eyed boy. Even though he knew that the possibility of him existing was slim, he couldn’t help but hope that he did; he couldn’t help hoping that he’d one day be able to meet him or, dare he hope that, maybe even today he may see him. He knew it was silly. He knew that even if such a boy did exist, he probably only resembled him and wouldn’t ever look at him as the green-eyed boy in his dreams did. And Vincent wasn’t sure whether he would be able to handle that. He wasn’t sure that he would be able to handle an impassive gaze sent his way by someone that starkly resembled the boy that he’d fallen in love with. Even though that boy was someone he’d only seen in his dreams, even though he had no evidence that he existed; he still loved him. Vincent frowned, shaking his head and sighing, before continuing downwards. He really was pathetic.

“Young master-” Tanaka started, noticing the small man walking towards the front door.

“Vincent,” he said immediately, continuing to walk forward, without looking over at his butler, his shoes clacking on the tiled floor, as he made his way to the front door.

 “My apologies,” he murmured, staring down at the small male curiously, whilst standing in the way of the door and him, “but if you intend to go out, please do tell me where you are going, I’m sure your father would like to know when he gets home.”

Vincent sighed softly, then muttered, “I’m just going to the music shop. I need to buy some stuff I’ve run out of.”

Tanaka nodded in understanding, before asking, “will you need the car?”

“Of course I will,” he muttered, furrowing his eyebrows, “we basically live in our own little country. It takes about an hour to reach the nearest city.”

Tanaka nodded again, pausing before asking the next question, “will you be back before your father returns?”

“That’s always the plan,” Vincent muttered, his voice becoming even quieter, hesitating, before asking, “will you…?”

Tanaka gave the male a small, reassuring smile.

“I shall contact you when your father is near,” he assured, before moving out of the way.

Vincent quirked the corners of his mouth upwards slightly, in a small, grateful smile, before opening the door, bright light immediately flooding into the room, blinding the short man for a second, as he stepped out.

-/-/-/-

Eren sulked silently, as he sat in the chair in front of Mikasa. The sun streamed through the wide window beside them, hitting the boy’s hair and causing it to glow, making him seem almost surreal.

“Eren,” Mikasa sighed, pushing the plate with a burger sitting on it towards the boy, “eat,” she demanded, “we’re not leaving until you do.”

Eren looked at Mikasa with his bright green eyes, unhappiness swirling in them. At that moment, his stomach grumbled, causing his sister to fix him with a look. Eren grimaced, resting a hand on his stomach, as if to ask it, ‘why have you betrayed me?’, then sighed in resignation, grabbing the burger and starting to eat it. Mikasa had dragged him back into the café and sat him down in a chair, part of a table for two. She had then glared at him, a threat in her gaze, telling him that if he moved he’d be dead, before going over to the counter to order.

“He’s here, Mikasa. I know it,” he muttered quietly, after he’d swallowed the first bite, staring down at the food item. It was good. It was really good. Which was why he’d started biting into it slightly more fervently; he hadn’t eaten properly for days and it showed now when he ate. He couldn’t help it; restlessness had started growing in the pit of his stomach, accumulating as the days passed and he couldn’t bring himself to eat. He had tried once and the half-digested food had made his way up his throat and out of his mouth.

 Mikasa made no comment on the boy’s appetite; she merely closed her eyes and sighed, grabbing her glass of water and drinking it. Unlike Eren, she had eaten before they’d left the house.

“Even if he is, which I’m not confirming, or denying, I doubt he’d want to see you wasting away and not taking care of yourself. When was the last time you showered? He’s a clean-freak, right? I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t want that,” Mikasa reasoned calmly, gazing intently at Eren. When her brother had first told her they were together, she couldn’t say she was happy about it, but over time, the short man had made her come around, somehow. She supposed it was easy for him to appeal to her, since they both thought in a similar way. She didn’t know, but she couldn’t say she particularly opposed the relationship now; she just didn’t want Eren to throw his life away into finding his former lover when there was no evidence that he was here or not.

Eren grimaced at Mikasa’s words, knowing she was right, but it wasn’t as if he was doing it on purpose. He had just been feeling anxious the past week. So much so, that he had been dazed and confused and unable to focus on anything, the feeling making it impossible to do so, even if he had wanted to. Eren sighed softly, putting the last bite into his mouth and chewing on it, then scraping his chair and getting up.

“Let’s go, Mikasa,” He said, after he’d swallowed the bite, staring down at his sister. Mikasa merely nodded, her glass of water already finished, as she got up and lead the way out, Eren following behind her, before catching up to walk beside her, a question on his face, as they passed the counter.

“I’ve already paid,” she explained, noticing the glance he threw her way, as the two walked out of the café.

Immediately, Mikasa grabbed Eren’s hand, so they wouldn’t lose each other in the large crowd, as they started walking towards Eren’s workplace, since it wasn’t very far off.

“There is evidence that he’s here, Mika,” Eren murmured, referring to the conversation they’d had in the café. Mikasa glanced at him, then looked forward once more, waiting for him to continue, “we’ve found each other and Armin and Hanji and Erwin. We’ve even found Petra and the rest of his squad. The only person we haven’t found is him…do you think he doesn’t remember?”

“I don’t know, Eren. I don’t know,” Mikasa muttered, pulling him into a side street and taking a diversion to the workplace, since the main street was far too crowded, “I understand what you’re saying; I’ll give you that, but I can’t let you waste your life away again.”

Eren looked down at the ground, smiling sadly, knowing exactly what she was referring to.

“I don’t regret what I did,” he said firmly, as they weaved through the streets.

“I know and I can’t fault you for that, because I’d do the same for you,” Mikasa muttered, “it was just that I had Armin at the time, who stopped me.”

“You still have Armin,” Eren pointed out, causing Mikasa to waver in her strides, his words catching her off-guard, before continuing to walk forward again.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “yeah, I do. But you can find someone el-”

“No,” Eren cut off immediately, “it has to be him. I don’t want anyone else.”

Mikasa sighed, shaking her head in disappointment, as they turned another corner to come back onto the main street, this part of it far less crowded. The rest of the journey to Eren’s workplace was spent in silence, it only being a few minutes until they stood outside a music shop that read Rouge’s in white cursive sitting atop a black background. Large windows on either side of the door allowed passers-by to peer into the shop and marvel at all the guitars, pianos and musical equipment on display.

“Alright, I’ll get going, don’t-” Mikasa was cut off by the door opening, a small man walking out, but neither paid attention to him, “act up. You need this job, just remember that.”

Eren nodded, staring down at the ground, as a pair of leather boots swiftly walked past him. Piqued, he looked up in and suddenly the world went into slow motion.

It was him.

He was slowly climbing into the car. Eren’s voice didn’t work. His throat had become parched and his pupils dilated, as he took in the sight of the man. He was alive, he was okay. He had to do something. He had to call his name. He had to get his attention somehow. But his limbs wouldn’t move and his voice box wouldn’t respond. He was losing him. He was slipping further and further away and Eren couldn’t do anything but watch as the car door closed.

And all too soon the world was back to normal.

“LEVI!” Eren screamed desperately, as he watched the sleek black car start to drive off and, without thinking, he ran after it, screaming the man’s name over and over again.

But, the car didn’t stop. Vincent didn’t even look back to see his green-eyed boy’s pleading and desperate face. Levi didn’t hear his former lover scream his name. And the two never got to see the one person they both loved fall to his knees, tears streaming down his face, as he pushed his vocal chords to the limit to reach them.

Chapter Text

“What do you mean he’s coming home early?” Vincent demanded; dread settling into the pit of his stomach, while he held the phone to his ear. On the other side, Tanaka spoke remorsefully, explaining the dire situation. A small, shaky sigh left Vincent’s lips, before he muttered, “alright. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

Vincent placed a shaky hand on his chest, a frown on his face, as he tried to calm his racing heart.

“Drive faster,” he muttered quietly to the driver, before adding an almost pleading, “please.”

The driver gave a small nod, blue eyes meeting steel grey in the mirror, before the blue turned back to the road. But, the poor man couldn’t help that the roads of the city were busy more than necessary; in half an hour, they had only moved off the main road.

“Fuck me,” Vincent muttered, burying his face in his hands, “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

He knew it was too late; no matter how fast his driver went, he wouldn’t make it in time before his father. And so, he started mentally preparing himself. His father would be waiting in his room. He’d be sitting on his bed. He’d get up and tell him to close and lock the door. Once Vincent would turn around, he’d already be standing up and…and… Vincent furrowed his eyebrows, what happened next? Did the man normally ask him to come closer, or would he walk up to him? Did the man normally use something, or not? Did Vincent normally scream loudly, or make as little noise as possible? Did-

The car stopped.

Vincent’s head shot up, his eyes wide, as his chauffeur got out of the car and opened the car door for him. He sighed shakily, rubbing his face with his hands to calm himself and his racing heart, before stepping out of the car, muttering a quiet “thanks” to his chauffeur, the man bowing in response. Then, Vincent looked up to the daunting double doors, white marble steps leading up to them; one was opened, Tanaka standing and holding it open, allowing the small man to look into the house and see some of the interior of the house. To anyone else, it would have seemed welcoming, but to him, it took every fibre of his being to repress the urge to run in the opposite direction. There was nowhere else to go. There was no one waiting for him outside the large gold gates; he was all alone, so even though he wanted to escape, he just couldn’t.

With a composed face, Vincent calmly walked up the steps, his lips pressed into a thin line, while he walked past Tanaka who gave him a small bow. No words needed to be exchanged; the tense atmosphere as soon as he’d entered told him everything he needed to know. He knew what he had to do, where to go, who’d be waiting for him. Vincent made his way up the stairs, the clacking of his shoes resonating throughout the large foyer, breaking the silence that had blanketed the place. Vincent bit his lip while he ascended the stairs; he went over the order of events that would occur, as his body screamed at him to turn the other way and run.

His father would be sitting on his bed… Or was it standing? He’d be standing beside his bed, his arms folded over his chest. No, he’d definitely be sitting, with his hands neatly folded on his lap, as he waited for him. Damn it…which was it? He wasn’t sure anymore. Vincent grimaced, running a hand through his hair in frustration; he knew he was panicking, if his racing heart and dry throat was anything to go by. As he neared his door, his heart pounded harder and harder in his chest.

And all too soon, he stood outside his door, reaching a quivering hand towards the handle, stopping before he grabbed it; instead he buried his face in his hands, a soft sigh escaping his lips. A few seconds passed with Vincent just remaining in that position, before he sighed again and grabbed the door handle, not giving himself time to think, as he slowly pushed it open and went inside, his stride not giving away how afraid he was.

Steel grey met cold blue and Vincent didn’t even need to be told to close the door; he just did, locking it mechanically, before slowly turning to his father who was slowly standing up, the man’s arms dropping to his side.

“You were out,” The man’s voice came out even, calm; unaffected.

Vincent merely nodded.

“Why?” He asked in the same tone.

Vincent opened and closed his mouth a few times, no sound coming out.

“New scores,” he got out finally, clearing his throat, then saying slightly louder, “I needed more scores. The ones I had were filled.”

“In any case, you know you’re not allowed out of here and you have already been made aware of that. Time and time again. If you needed new scores, you could have easily asked one of the servants to get them for you,” The man replied, looking at Vincent with calculating, cold eyes, danger glinting in them for a second, before being hidden by impassivity. His hands went to the belt he wore, unbuckling it and sliding it out of his sleek black trousers.

Vincent swallowed silently, his Adam’s apple bobbing down, then back in to place. He watched the man leisurely wrap the belt around his hand, until the buckle hung a few centimetres from his clenched fist.

“Kneel,” the man commanded, Vincent doing as he was told, slowly getting onto his knees without a word of protest.

The man walked towards Vincent, whose head was bowed and his hands resting on his knees, as if bowing in apology. His hair fell in front of his eyes, hiding them from view of the man who towered in front of him. Vincent’s breath hitched, when he heard the sound of the belt unfurling once and immediately his eyes shut, as he braced himself for what was to come.

Ah; he definitely remembered what happened next; now that he did, he couldn’t believe that he’d forgotten in the first place.

The small amount of sunlight streaming between the curtains caught the gold belt buckle, as it cut through the air, causing it to glint brightly for a second, before it connected with Vincent’s skin. A gasp escaped the small boy’s lips, tears springing to his eyes, while the sound of metal connecting with skin resounded throughout the room over and over again. Every ounce of his body screamed, except his lips, which were parted and trembling; yet minimal amount of sound left them. From time to time, a small gasp would escape, maybe a small whimper, but no matter how much pain he was in, his tears refused to fall. Red seeped through the white of his shirt, his hands sliding from his knees to the floor, as he shakily knelt on all fours in front of the man, his back sacrificed unwillingly to appease him, the buckle making its way down once again; then again and again.

At some point, the shirt ripped and Vincent gasped loudly once the cold metal came into contact with his bare skin; it was only then that a tear made its way down his face, framing his cheek, before silently bursting once it hit the floor. And within a second, his back followed; he lay on the cold floor, his fresh wounds sticking to it, causing him to breathe in sharply, as he looked up with wide eyes at the man that looked down coldly at him. His left side hurt and it was already beginning to bruise and he could only decipher that he’d been kicked before the buckle came down once again. And he was certain he’d felt a bone crack, but he didn’t know, because all he could focus on was the fact that he couldn’t get any air into his lungs.

“Stop…” He wheezed, his voice coming out quiet and raspy, before the buckle hit his mouth, causing blood to spurt out.

“I didn’t realise you were able to tell me what to do when you’re in this situation,” the man said coldly, bringing the buckle down once again. His cheek split open, blood seeping out immediately, gushing down the side of his face and pooling on the wooden floor. His shirt ripped once more, revealing the gash oozing blood on his stomach. And again, his shirt ripped, a similar gash forming just above the other.

“Please,” Vincent begged, raising a trembling arm in a feeble attempt to defend himself, the buckle merely slicing through the skin, the arm falling heavily back onto the floor. Tears mingled with the blood, staining the clear liquid red, while gasps and quite groans escaped Vincent’s mouth, his teeth gritting in pain.

And the buckle continued going down, again and again, until Vincent was no longer aware of the pain, or the blood seeping out of him, or the tears streaming down his face.

-/-/-/-

When Vincent regained consciousness, he was lying on his bed, looking up into the face of a grinning, bespectacled woman; immediately, his eyes widened, as he raised his arms instinctively to defend himself. A cry left Vincent’s lips, pain burning in his arms, causing them to fall heavily back onto the bed. However, just that much was enough to make woman move back and sit properly beside Vincent on the bed.

“Who…are you?” Vincent asked quietly, turning his head to the side, so he could look at the woman, before trying to sit up, groaning in pain, as he did so. The woman shifted forward, holding out her arms and helping the small man accomplish the task, before retracting her arms and folding them on her lap, her grin completely disappeared by then.

“You don’t remember?” She asked, looking at Vincent intently, the man furrowing his eyebrows at her words. He looked down at his lap, before looking back at the woman, his heart suddenly clenching, as he gazed into her face, before he slowly shook his head.

“Remember what?” He muttered, his words causing realisation to dawn on her, a frown forming afterwards.

“Levi-”

A gasp escaped Vincent’s mouth, his eyes widening at what the woman had called him, pain suddenly shooting through his skull. Automatically, Vincent’s hand rested on his head, a grimace on his face, while every part of his body screamed in agony at the man’s sudden action.

“Your body remembers,” she thought for a moment, “well, some part of you does,” the woman’s face suddenly broke into a grin, “this will be fun! I wonder what we’ll have to do to jog your memories,” she nodded enthusiastically, more to herself than Vincent, “though, I have to say, it was surprising, coming here to find you of all people beaten beyond belief. It almost resembled that time…” she trailed off in thought, before shaking her head, “anyway, what’s wrong, Levi? What happened?”

Vincent frowned, looking down at his lap again, his head still throbbing, but it was bearable now.

“Whatever you’ve been told is correct,” he finally muttered slowly, keeping his gaze lowered, “in any case, I don’t even know who you are. Why are you even here?”

“I’m Hange Zoe,” clench, “and I’m your private doctor. Newly hired; I’m not sure what happened to the other one,” she explained, giving him a wide grin, “now, Levi, I want to hear it from you; what happened?”

It was only then that Vincent realised he was shirtless, but bandaged up, red seeping through some parts of the gauze that was wrapped around his chest and waist. Cotton wool rested on the small gash on his cheek, held there by medical tape and his split bottom lip was no longer bleeding, though it was still very sore.

“You’re the new doctor?” Vincent muttered, avoiding the question, “you don’t look that old.”

Hange laughed loudly at his words, patting his shoulder good-naturedly; surprisingly, it was one of his only body parts that wasn’t damaged.

“I’m probably not much older than you,” she mused, leaning forward, eagerness in her eyes, “tell me, how old are you?”

“Twenty,” Vincent muttered quietly. Hange threw her head back and laughed loudly, before looking back at the man with mirth sparkling in her eyes, as she reached a hand forward and patted his head.

“It must be fun to return to that age!” She mused, “I can’t believe I’m back to being twenty-two,” she sighed happily.

Vincent scowled at having his head patted, but didn’t comment on it.

“So,” he muttered, “you patched me up and stuff. Thank you.”

Hange smiled widely and nodded, saying brightly, “I had to get your butler to help me stop all the bleeding and clean off all the blood from the floor, but after that, it was plain sailing.”

Vincent nodded, before asking, “do I just need to rest and not exert myself for the next few days?”

“That’s the gist of it. Take painkillers if it hurts and such, though it seems your body heals fairly quickly; you didn’t need stitches at all,” she mused, “it’s almost as if it’s used to being bruised and slashed open…”

Her words held a double meaning, but Vincent could only think of one.

“My body just heals fast,” he muttered, looking away from the woman, “there’s no explanation for it; it just does.”

Hange smiled knowingly at Vincent, the man continuing to avoid her gaze.

“Your body remembers, even if you don’t,” she said cryptically, “you haven’t even asked why I keep calling you Levi; you’ve readily accepted it,” she got up, the knowing smile ever-present on her face, as she picked up her bag, “I’m going to be sending a gift over, you’d better thank me once you remember.”

With those words, she left the room, leaving the man with a confused frown on his face, as she walked out.

Hange closed the door behind her, going over to the window at the end of the corridor, a triumphant smile on her face, before she pulled out her phone from her pocket and dialled a number.

“Eren, my favourite titan,” she cooed into the phone, looking over at the rose garden, “I have a surprise for you.”

-/-/-/-

About a week had passed since the strange doctor had visited Vincent and by then, his body was mostly healed, but the words she’d said to him stayed with him and he’d been thinking about them since that day. She kept on talking about remembering and his body and he didn’t understand any of it. Of course it was strange that his body healed fairly quickly, but that was because, as the doctor had said, his body was used to being bruised and slashed open. However, it didn’t seem like she’d meant what he had thought she did. His body remembered, she’d said. But, remembered what? He didn’t understand a lot of what she was talking about and it was only after she’d left that he wished he’d had asked her. And she did have a point, when she’d pointed out he’d just readily accepted her calling him that name…what was it? Liam? Leonard? Leviathan? ... No. That was the name of a demon. He didn’t know how he knew that, he just did. In any case, whatever she’d called him; he’d reacted violently to it and then naturally responded to it, as if he’d been called that for his whole life, which wasn’t the case at all. What was the name…what was it…what was it… Vincent sighed softly, burying his head in his hands; the green-eyed boy came into his mind, darkness surrounding him, causing his eyes to look even brighter, an earnest expression on his face, his hand stretched out towards him. His lips formed two syllables and suddenly, Vincent had no problem in remembering his name.

Vincent sighed, running a hand through his hair, then grabbed a small four-page booklet of empty scores and a pencil. He started writing a few random notes in the score, ending up writing a simple four-bar melody, then setting it down on the music stand and starting to play it. He played over the melody a few times, his frown getting deeper and deeper, before he sighed in irritation and took the score off the music stand, changing a few notes and playing the new melody afterwards. Vincent frowned, repeating the process a few times, before a knock on his door was heard. Furrowing his eyebrows, he turned to look at the door, murmuring a soft, “come in”.

Tanaka slowly opened the door walking in and standing beside it, before saying, “young master-”

Vincent sighed tiredly, muttering, “Vincent. Did you need anything?”

“I have just come to inform you that your father has left for a few months on a business trip,” Tanaka told him calmly, the small man looking over at him and giving him a small nod, waiting for him to leave.

Vincent furrowed his eyebrows, once he didn’t, asking, “is there anything else you need to tell me?”

Tanaka hesitated for a second, his expression as composed and calm as ever, before saying, “we have a guest. They had gotten lost in the forest surrounding this place and ended up in the part that belongs to your family. We found him unconscious with a broken leg. Simple first aid has been applied, but we must wait for Dr Hange to arrive here to treat him; seeing as he was on the part owned by you, the expenses will be taken care of by your house.”

Vincent nodded, as Tanaka spoke, his eyebrows furrowing deeper, wondering what the man was implying.

“Money isn’t an issue, as you know,” he muttered slowly, “so, what are you trying to tell me?”

Tanaka bowed, before straightening up once more, amusement flashing in his eyes for a split second before vanishing.

“I merely believe it courtesy to see this young man, so he knows who will be paying for his treatment. Will you not do so? He is awake now and seems to be fine, aside from the bruises and the fractured leg,” The butler suggested humbly.

Vincent frowned, before shaking his head.

“There’s no point,” he muttered, “I won’t see him.”

Tanaka merely nodded, before saying calmly, “excuse, then. I shall intrude no longer.”

With those words, the man bowed, then turned and left the room, the door quietly clicking closed behind him. Vincent watched the man go, sighing softly afterwards, before turning to the sheets in his hand and going back to composing, becoming completely immersed in the task. Vincent occasionally played something on the piano, sometimes nodding in approval and sometimes shaking his head in dissatisfaction, before finally sighing and setting the half-filled booklet down on the music stand.

The small man sat facing the piano, the lights of the music room turned off. The moonlight from outside streamed into the room and bathed it with a smooth, silver glow, casting shadows on Vincent’s face, making him seem more sinister than he actually was. The small man rested his fingers on the white keys, breathing out softly, before starting to play, completely immersing himself in task, even though only the first part of the piece was finished and refined. What he didn’t know, however, was that a certain green-eyed boy had slowly opened the door, peeping his head inside to watch and hear the man play.

Eren’s breath caught in his throat, his pupils dilating to take in the man he loved as his fingers flitted from key to key. His head lightly dipped and rose and his eyes were closed, his lips parted gently in a slight gape as he continued to play. As the piece progressed, Eren’s eyes swelled with tears, his heart racing due to the music filling the room like flower petals delicately floating around in the air. It wasn’t long until the tears that filled his eyes escaped and slowly made their way down his face; his lungs unable to take in air. The piece gradually came to a close after a few minutes, the green-eyed boy’s quick, shallow breathing becoming easier and easier to notice. Vincent held the last note and Eren’s erratic breathing became apparent even to him, causing him to snap his eyes open and turn whirl around to face the perpetrator of his sanctuary.

Steel grey met with bright green and both widened.

Before Vincent could respond. Eren had crossed the room, tears still spilling from his eyes, a look of sheer happiness and relief on his face, while he pulled the small man into his arms, hugging him tightly and sobbing into his hair, the warm droplets hitting Vincent’s scalp, gently confirming to him that it wasn’t a dream.

“I’ve found you,” Eren blubbered oh-so gracefully through sobs, “I’ve been looking for you for years, Levi,” his voice broke once he uttered the man’s name, “I-I thought I’d never-” he erupted in a fit of sobs, burying his face further into Vincent’s hair, refusing to let the man go, even if he was too stunned to hug him back.

Quiet sobs now replaced the soft, flower-like music that had filled the room only minutes ago; this continued until Vincent finally overcame his shock.

Clearing his throat quietly, he mumbled slowly, “I…think you’ve got the wrong person…”

Eren’s sobs suddenly halted at Vincent’s words, before he pulled away to look down at the man, his eyes gleaming with shock and disbelief, searching the man’s face for something.

‘It’s him. It’s really him,’ both males thought, whilst gazing into each other’s faces, taking in every detail and etching it into their memory, because it hadn’t done their lover’s face justice.

And the world stilled.

For what seemed like forever, the world stilled. With the moon bathing the two figures in smooth, silver light. With Eren’s arms wrapped around Vincent’s waist and with both of them gazing in wonder at each other’s faces. The two men drank in the sight of each other; neither wanted to break this stillness, in fear that it was just a dream and once they moved, the spell would be broken.

But all too soon, the world was back in motion. The wind gently weaved through first Vincent’s hair, then Eren’s, more tendrils of it entering through the partly opened window, until the hand-drawn pictures on the walls began to rustle softly, one of them falling off the wall and gently floating to the floor a few centimetres away from Eren’s feet. Finally, he broke his gaze from the man in front of him, in order to gaze at the piece of paper curiously, unwrapping his arms from Vincent’s waist and leaning down to pick it up. He straightened up once more, before his eyes widened at whatever was on the paper; with those wide eyes, he gazed at Vincent once more, his face breaking into a grin.