Chapter Text
Levi knew what he hated.
Having sweaty hands made him feel dirty and disgusting. In fact, he hated pretty much anything that came even remotely close to being dirty or disgusting.
He hated Thursday afternoons, and pretty much every weekday he had to spend trapped in a mind-numbingly boring classroom with ridiculous people and ridiculous teachers.
He hated the mud that clung to his cleats—or worse, his knees—after diving for a ball. He didn't even know why he kept playing this stupid sport anymore. Pride, probably. Ever since Kenny had told him on his seventh birthday that someone built like him would never be good at sports, he'd made it his personal mission to win every soccer game he played.
And alright, Levi was mostly known for being someone who liked nothing and no one, except for Isabel and Furlan. But since neither of them were in his class, the truth was that nobody ever saw him smile, laugh, or show any expression other than complete boredom.
Levi knew that was how people saw him.
What he also knew was something nobody else did.
You.
The problem was that he didn't know what the hell his brain had been doing lately either.
Because let's be clear: he loved being seen as antisocial. The fewer people approached him, the happier he was. (That wasn't counting Hange, who would probably walk up to a lizard and start a conversation with it without a second thought.)
So why were his stupid eyes following you everywhere?
Why did he notice every time you blew at your hair to push them back into place?
Why did he find himself focusing on the corner of your mouth whenever Hange made another joke that, according to him, wasn't even that funny?
Why, for the first time in his life, did Levi feel like his brain was betraying him—and liking not just something, but worse...
Someone?
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The first time he saw you, he was leaning against a locker with Isabel and Furlan. They'd met up during a short break between classes.
While Isabel was lecturing Levi for the second time that week about the bandage wrapped around his knee, he'd felt someone staring at him.
When he turned around, he saw you.
Your hair was tangled in your earbuds, your Converse were poorly laced, and you were carrying a stack of textbooks in your arms.
Who the hell carried their textbooks around?
"Uh, excuse me—yeah, sorry, I think that's my locker. Sorry. I'm already late, so, uh..."
You rambled through an endless stream of apologies while he and his little group stepped aside.
And that's when he realized what was throwing him off.
Your eyes.
There was nothing supernatural about it, really.
Everyone had eyes. The rational part of Levi’s mind found it ridiculous to dwell on such a trivial detail.
It was simply the first time he had ever felt unsettled by a pair of eyes—a gaze that, objectively, wasn't anything special.
At least, that was what he kept trying to convince himself of. And honestly, it felt strange when the word pretty slipped into his mind.
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Your first weeks at university had gone pretty well.
You'd quickly become friends with the weird girl in the back of the classroom: Hange.
She knew how to stay organized when you couldn't, and you knew how to stay grounded when she severely lacked the ability.
She was the first one to notice.
"You know," Hange said, "Levi looks at you. Like... a lot. And I mean a lot." You frowned.
"Honestly, I'm kind of jealous. He doesn't even say hi to me. Or anyone else, for that matter, but—"
"Hange, sorry, but... who's Levi? I haven't talked to anyone here besides you." A grin immediately spread across her face.
"Okay, and what if I told you he's, like, one hundred percent your type? Never talks, and everyone's scared of him."
"Oh, you mean the short soccer player?"
Hange barely managed to hold back her laughter.
As a few confused glances turned toward your table, you added:
"No, I'm kidding. But why would he be my type? Isn't he, like, the popular guy who wears polos and plays golf?"
"What the actual hell, Covey? I've never seen someone misread a person so badly in my life. Can't you see how uptight he is? I genuinely think he'd rather jump off a roof than smile or say hello."
Another sigh escaped you.
"Okay, first of all, stop using that stupid nickname, Hange. And second, sorry for not paying attention to the entire campus. Having one friend is already a huge step for me."
The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them.
Because now Hange was definitely going to call you cute for the rest of the day.
And it was going to be a very, very long day.
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The first time you actually noticed him was after class.
The path home passed by the soccer field, and it might've been the first time in your life you'd ever seen a soccer game with only one player.
Levi was alone, repeatedly kicking the ball at the goal.
The second he noticed you from the corner of his eye, he missed.
And the ball landed directly in your face.
The impact stunned you for a second, and a very unladylike sound escaped your throat. You grabbed your nose. Before you could even start yelling at the stupid—and frankly, completely useless—man responsible, he was already standing in front of you.
"Shit. Fuck. Sorry. It slipped. You're okay?"
Yeah, everything's great. t's not like your nose is currently exploding. Your eyes locked onto his.
Gray with the faintest hint of blue—
(Wait. Did this guy seriously have longer eyelashes than you?)
You'd never been a mean person.
But right now?
You were about to—
"Levi, what the hell?!"
A boy suddenly appeared beside the two of you.
"What are you doing? Why are you practicing without me?"
So this was Levi? THAT Levi? And he'd been staring at you all this time because he was plotting your murder?
Because why else would someone launch a soccer ball at another person at the speed of light?
The newcomer, with ash-blond hair, turned toward you. "Hey, sorry. I'm Furlan. Levi's kind of an idiot when it comes to social interactions. Apologizing and all that. Anyway... do you want us to take you to the nurse's office?"
Your eyes were still fixed on Levi's as the two of you engaged in some bizarre staring contest. Levi only frowned at his friend's comment.
"Go fuck yourself, Furlan."
Okay. And his voice was really attractive.
"You know what? No, seriously, it's fine. I'm okay."
You just wanted to go home and sleep for about three lifetimes. As if getting hit in the face with a soccer ball wasn't embarrassing enough, you'd just realized Hange had actually been right.
He was really cute.
But God, he was uptight. Did he know how to say anything besides swear words?
Cute or not, you were one hundred percent convinced that if Levi had been staring at you, it wasn't because he was feeding Hange's fantasies. It was probably because he hated you as much as you hated licorice or knots in your hair.
(And, to be fair, you'd spent your first encounter staring at him like someone who had never seen a soccer ball before.)
And honestly, the last thing you wanted was to make enemies during your first month here.
"Okay, so... I think... right. Uh. Have a good practice?" You awkwardly shifted your weight.
"Just... maybe don't knock anyone else unconscious?"
And just like that, without waiting for a single response and under their bewildered stares, you turned around and left.
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Okay.
This was getting really fucking weird.
Because why had Levi reacted like that just because you'd looked at him?
He hadn't missed a shot since what? He was ten?
And as if that wasn't enough, now you seemed terrified of him. Which, unfortunately, made him panic too.
Because despite the deep disgust he felt at being intrigued by someone, when he found the little cat keychain he'd seen hanging from your bag near the place you'd run off to...
He thought,
Thank God. Now he'd have an excuse to talk to you.
And to see your stupid eyes again.
...
Shit.