Chapter Text
and a playlist for this fanfiction:
HOW TO PRETEND — Lucy Bedroque
DON'T DREAM IT'S OVER — Crowded House
LOVER, YOU SHOULD HAVE COME OVER — Jeff Buckley
WICKED GAME — Chris Isaak
MEDICINE — Daughter
MY DOVE, TO SLEEP — Vanbur
SUNSETZ — Cigarettes After Sex
SONNET — The Verve
WEATHER WITH YOU — Crowded House
GIRL, I'M GONNA MISS YOU — Milli Vanilli
THE HELLCAT SPANGLED SHALALA — Arctic Monkeys
I LOVE YOU — Fontaines D.C.
ABOUT YOU — The 1975
EVERYBODY HERE WANTS YOU — Jeff Buckley
BABYDOLL — Dominic Fike
IMPALA — Adèle Castillon
ROI — Videoclub
NO. 1 PARTY ANTHEM — Arctic Monkeys
LET THE LIGHT IN — Lana Del Rey
DO I EVER CROSS YOUR MIND — sombr
FUTILE DEVICES — Sufjan Stevens
MYSTERY OF LOVE — Sufjan Stevens
BACK TO THE OLD HOUSE — The Smiths
ANGELES — Elliott Smith
EYES WITHOUT A FACE — Billy Idol
SIENNA — The Marías
MRS MAGIC (STRINGS VERSION) — Strawberry Guy
NO ONE NOTICED — The Marías
WHERE'S MY LOVE — SYML
WHERE'S MY PHONE — Mitski
K. — Cigarettes After Sex
VHS — Mattyeux, Videoclub
FADE INTO YOU — Mazzy Star
ALLEYWAYS — The Neighbourhood
MIA & SEBASTIAN'S THEME — Justin Hurwitz
FALLEN STAR — The Neighbourhood
FORGET HER — Jeff Buckley
SPECTRE — Radiohead
ETERNAL LIFE — Jeff Buckley
SATURN — Sleeping At Last
DREAMING OF YOU — Cigarettes After Sex
CATS — Mitski
IN COLD NIGHT — Vanbur
GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE SOME — Chromatics
PAUL — Big Thief
MARGARET — Lana Del Rey
CHEMTRAILS OVER THE COUNTRY CLUB — Lana Del Rey
NERVOUS — The Neighbourhood
THE BEACH - DEMO — The Neighbourhood
UNA MATTINA — Ludovico Einaudi
THINKING ABOUT YOU — Radiohead
CAN YOU HEAR THEM SING? — Cemeteries
DA SOLA IN THE NIGHT — Takagi & Ketra
AMOR MIO — Frank Sark
IT AIN'T ME, BABE — Joan Baez
SNAP OUT OF IT — Arctic Monkeys
DISCLAIMERS!
- FULL CREDIT TO Hajime Isayama for the creation of Attack On Titan and all its characters! This is a fanfiction and an AU, so I do not intend to plagiarise this work in any way.
- Though character dynamics will be based on their behaviour in the show, the dialogue and behaviour of the main character [reader, or Y/N] is unique.
- I tend to avoid using the term '[Y/N]' as much as possible as literary choice.
- The plot of this fanfiction is uniquely my own and has been in the works for ages, apologies if it's a bit amateurish.
- Mature themes will be discussed and explored, hence the warning.
- This fanfiction uses a footnotes system! So look out for them for extra info or clarification.
- This is a mid-burn, but not in a linear sense (i.e. enemies---> friends---> lovers.) Do you really expect it to be so easy?
- COMMENTS ARE WELCOME AND ENCOURAGED. The comments genuinely add years to my lifespan, so please engage because it motivates me and makes my day.
shameless plug: 'VERDICT' my Hiromi Higuruma x fem!reader fanfiction will have seven chapters by the time this is published. do go read, it's a short story but it promises not to disappoint :)
HOW TO PRETEND.
-
'We accept the love we think we deserve.'
The Perks Of Being A Wallflower.
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'To regret one's own experiences is to arrest one's own development. To deny one's own experiences is to put a lie into the lips of one's own life. It is no less than a denial of the soul.'
Oscar Wilde, De Profundis.
-
Something surreal still surrounds the memory of that evening. The fateful evening that I received my letter of acceptance to the University of Trost, wrapped in a second-hand sweater and nursing a mug of coffee that was, by then, lukewarm. The physical copy of the letter filtered through the envelope flap first; I still recall the jolting click of metal on metal, the initial irritation that crept up my neck upon being disturbed.
I cried for about an hour, I was so overcome with emotion that it wracked me from the inside. And, soon after, did the e-mail version of the same amazing news make itself known on my phone. The light from my screen appeared to me in strobes, my eyes brimming with tears.
When the rest of my family returned from their outing (which I had declined joining them on) they celebrated the achievement just as enthusiastically. My mother hugged my shoulders, insisting that she knew 'I had it in me.' Father made a show of inspecting the letter with one large hand on his hip and glasses perched on his nose bridge-he later expressed his pride for me when we were alone in the kitchen.
It did not take long for the mirth of the moment to dissolve into the mere sediment of memory. The topic shifted to the bills and maintenance expenses of the house, to my younger sisters' needs: I had two, aged eleven and fifteen. I assumed my usual role as a shadow in their lives, but no ache came that night.
One of my sisters was very clearly my mother's favourite. It showed itself in their shared inside jokes and tender touches hidden from envious eyes. My second sister was the apple of my father's eye.
I was my grandmother's favourite; I really wish she could have been there to read my acceptance letter, to be a bright face in the audience when I collected my degree at graduation, attired in my sapphire robes and with my tasselled cap on my brow. She would have embraced me with arms that squished, kissed my temple and told me that I was special. I don't adore physical contact, I always let grandma.
But alas, I was thinking too ambitiously.
I tucked my tearstained letter into my sock drawer with the carefulness of a nursing mother and dreamt of my life at university when slumber claimed me finally.
The near future of freshman year still loomed over me. I supposed I ought to focus on navigating one obstacle at a time. Everything is still new, the novelty of this academic world felt colder than I had first anticipated, than it presented itself in my daydreams.
Given the virtuoso of my exam results in high school, featuring a colourful array of extracurriculars, too, I had been granted a scholarship along with my admission. It paid for fifty percent of my tuition for the four-year course, as well as the total of my single accommodation: apartment A103. An introvert's dream.
It had been a week into classes and I had not a single friend, not even a regular acquaintance to make friendly eye contact with, or to lament about the outstanding amount of independent work so early into the course. I studied physics because it was my strongest subject at school and the one I found myself most drawn to.
Planets, stars and constellations, electromagnetism and forces-it had all impressed itself so significantly upon me that I couldn't imagine studying anything else further.
In addition to my major course, I decided to take a minor study in philosophy, which I also found an interest for. Though, I still needed to find a way to express that without sounding overly pretentious.
My physics professor was called Hange Zoë and was an eccentric character indeed; their commencing words to us was to unlearn everything from high school because it would prove to be of no use to us here. Most reacted with panic (I know I certainly did), but others found intrigue in the idea of beginning anew. I personally have never been good with change.
It became clearer, as the days passed, that I would simply have to learn to be.
One aspect of university was its sheer diversity. There were a wide selection of ages and demographics, races, backgrounds, study ethics and political beliefs alike. I made the mistake of seating myself beside a borderline fascist during our debut lesson. That was an experience that might have stolen a good three years from my lifespan.
In the evenings, I made it a routine to study in the library just for a few hours, to consolidate everything new I had learned that day. My notes presented themselves in abstract, hasty scrawls and scratches on paper, so I dedicated time amending them into more concise, equally as detailed type-ups on my laptop and printing them from the library's printer.
We'd begun physics with astronomy, which was pleasant for most, me included. The life cycle of a star: except everything we learned about said topic in high school is pedagogically weak and demonstrably false. Riveting.
The ambience of the library was entirely peaceful with murmured conversations punctuated by the rasp of pens against paper or the unmistakable click of keys on a keyboard. Per my observation, Trost had a culture of study; students liked it so much that it became a pastime activity, and it was not unusual for people to participate in frequent group study sessions.
When I was ready to print, I hoisted myself noiselessly from my chair and stepped cautiously to the corner of the vast space where the modern printer sat, whirring from the production of more sheets. There were two girls stood before it.
One of them had rich chestnut hair, with hints of red in an effortless ponytail and spoke rather loudly, according to library convention. Her fried was quieter, with short raven hair that brushed her neck just slightly and her arms folded over her dark purple sweater. She was wearing a red scarf around her neck.
"I can feel my stomach eating itself," the brunette girl expressed. "You learn about digestive systems, you should know this is a real danger."
The second girl glared at her pointedly, "I'm just waiting for a twenty-page document to print-"
"-Twenty?!"
"This is a library!" She hissed, gathering the first few papers that had printed out. I guess her peripheral vision had betrayed my presence; she looked at me without a word and her friend followed suite. "I'm sorry, are you in the queue for printing?"
Human interaction: abort.
My head nodded awkwardly, like it had been attached to my neck awkwardly and I suddenly began to straighten creases in my clothes that I hadn't noticed before. "Oh, yeah. I printed something like, five minutes ago."
"It might be this," she reached over to some sheets that were placed at the top of the printer and handed them to me. "Does it look familiar?"
"Yes, this is mine. Thank you," I confirmed, bashfully.
The girl with the stomach problems eyed my notes with fascination, then her gaze drifted up to me and her face warmed with kindness. "You do mathematics?"
"Uhm, no. This is physics," I grinned softly. "I know, there's way too much mathematics for comfort."
"Girl, this would take me out," she remarked. "I'm Sasha, by the way."
"Mikasa," her friend introduced.
I introduced myself to them and Mikasa complimented my name, but that could have been just a politeness principle of hers. Compliment the new acquaintance's name, whether it's ordinary, or something you've never heard before. Nonetheless, I accepted her genteel with grace and returned the compliment.
"What do you guys study?" I ventured to inquire, wringing my hands raw in front of me. I didn't look down at them. Eye contact.
"I major in sociology, minor in culinary studies," she proudly revealed. "Food is my whole life, so why wouldn't I dedicated years of my life learning about it?"
I did not laugh, for I couldn't tell whether the last comment was meant as a joke or not-I didn't want to be rude and ruin something while it was still in formation. So I nodded again, I found it was all I was able to do then.
"I study biology. We're both STEM¹ majors," a ghost of a smile spread across her glossy, pink lips.
"Oh yeah! That's cool," I acknowledged. "I actually minor in philosophy, a humanities."
"Like me!" sung Sasha, "Who did you have for first year philosophy?"
My face suddenly heated up, "I'm still a freshman."
For a moment, no one said anything. Subsequently, Sasha's brown eyes widened like saucers and she gasped, "Ah! That's why you had such a baby face! She does have a baby face, right, Mickey?"
"Do not call me that," she warned, though there seemed to be no threat in her voice. "And she's probably only a year or so younger than us."
"I'm eighteen," came my shy mumble. "So."
"I miss when I was still a teenager. 'Twenty' just sounds archaic, doesn't it?" She shrugged and turned to Mikasa, "Is your document done printing? I need to sink my teeth into something."
By now, I was just stood there like a sore thumb with my papers in hand. I had no reason to be there, other than the fact that these kind girls were gracing me with conversation. Did I still need to be here? Could I just conjure some excuse?
"You should have lunch with us, y'know," Sasha casually commented. "It'd be cool for you to meet our friends."
"Yes," Mikasa concurred, "You'd get along with Armin."
"Wouldn't she?" beamed Sasha. "Okay, I'm seriously not gonna make it."
"It's done, see?" She hissed, snatching the remaining papers from the printer and letting Sasha grab her wrist with the haste of a woman starved. Seeing that I had made no move to follow, she sent me a glance that read as confused, "Are you not coming?"
Oh. I didn't actually think...
Usually, people make such offhanded suggestions to appear considerate; it's like when you catch up with an old friend and they express that you 'simply must get coffee some time soon.' The time never comes. I assumed, given my previous experiences, that this was a similar situation.
I swallowed, "Now?"
"Duh! When do you usually have lunch?" Exclaimed Sasha, beckoning me over.
"I guess around now," my eyes darted to where my jacket was hung over my seat still. "Can I just quickly get my things?"
"Take your time."
"Please don't take your time."
While walking to the venue for lunch, I learned a few things about the girls. Sasha's full name was Sasha Braus and she was Spanish with Germanic heritage; as well as studying sociology and culinary studies, she played volleyball and was extremely talented.
Mikasa Ackerman, on the other hand, was a devoted violinist alongside her biological studies and had one of her relatives was a professor here, too. I would keep my eyes out for Professor Levi Ackerman.
They explained that they had somewhat of a 'core' friend group, which had fewer people than their wider circle. It was rather wide indeed; hearing Sasha list off all those names and connections nearly gave me an aneurysm.
"And let me just warn you about Connie and Jean," she continued. "Connie will literally never shut up, and Jean will have you wondering when you wronged him in life."
"He has a resting bitch face," Mikasa weighed in.
Sasha laughed, "He has a resting bitch personality. Just don't take it personally at all, he'll warm up to you eventually."
"Got it," I gave a weak thumbs-up.
We came up to a big lunch bench outside; the seats were the same firm wood as the table with a surprisingly gracious amount of leg room. There were already two people sat there: one guy with dark, shiny hair in a bun with enough flyaways to make the messiness look deliberate, green eyes and tanned skin.
He was looking at something on his phone. The other guy, sat opposite him, had sandy blonde hair and fair, freckled skin. His nose was a soft button, his eyelashes fanning his cheeks as he blinked at the pages of his novel.
They were both very attractive-come to think of it, so were Sasha and Mikasa. Did I even meet the look requirements to hang out with them? Nervously, I copied as the two girls sat down.
"Hey, friends!" Sasha announced, before introducing me by name and major. She explained that she'd invited me for lunch.
"It's nice to meet you," the blonde smiled at me, putting his book face down. "My name's Armin, I study history."
"I'm Eren, I do PPE," the dark-haired boy followed, holding his hand out to me.
He shakes hands, I mentally registered. I took it and shook it firmly, "It's nice to meet you both."
"Two of our guys are still on the way," Sasha informed me, dialling a number on her phone and holding it to her ear.
"Connie and Jean, always late," Armin shook his head in fondness. Then, he looked up, behind Eren and I, "Oh, there you guys are!"
"Finally, we can order our food," groaned Sasha, reaching for the menu with a sharp pace.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up like a cat and I halted in my movement (which, at that point was just fiddling with the hem of my top.) I could handle two people, two more people on top of the two more people? In one afternoon, I had been acquainted with six new people and I hardly exerted any effort to achieve it. Thank heaven for Sasha Braus and Mikasa Ackerman.
One of them had ash coloured hair that was buzzed just a millimetre above his scalp; he had big brown eyes like Sasha's, he could have passed as her brother. He sat down between Eren and I with a grunt, "Chill, bro. Our lectures ran a little longer than usual." Then, he looked to me and his features melted into the easiness of a smirk, "Why, hello there."
"This is our new friend," she gestured to me, telling them (again) my name and major. It seemed the lien between a person and their studies was infrangible at university. "New friend, do you want to share the extra-large, loaded fries with me? And we can get potato wedges as a side."
"Jesus, Sash, you're such a fatass," the other guy grumbled. He had the formings of a goatee, with a darker, dirty blonde hue. His hair was light brown and longer than the average male, almost a mullet but not completely. He had heavy-set eyebrows and a glare that permeated — I almost looked away in fear when his eyes met mine, but I didn't. "Are you new here?" He directed to me.
"She's a freshman," Mikasa clarified, looking at herself in her phone camera. She appeared to be adjusting her winged eyeliner.
"You're a freshman? Makes no difference to me. The name's Connie," he grinned, devilishly.
I chuckled lightly and rolled my eyes, "Charmed."
That prompted a snort from Eren and just then faintest quirk of a smile from Jean, who was still stood with his arms crossed. Armin instructed him to sit and he did, unceremoniously. He sent me a quick glance, like he was inspecting me for my flaws, then looked away again.
That was weird.
"I'm gonna just get a burger. I need the protein," Eren yawned, still glued to his screen. Without warning, Mikasa reached over and snatched the device from his hands. "What the fuck-"
"Have some manners."
"Honestly, Jaeger. Don't ignore the pretty guest," Jean's tone was nothing short of patronising. "What was your name again, darling? I've forgotten."
"Don't be a dick," mumbled Sasha. "Just tell me what you wanna eat."
"Chicken."
"Connie, no one fucking asked you!" she snapped, to which he yelled back,
"You said to tell you what we wanna eat!"
The brunette raised her hands in mock defeat, "I'm overwhelmed. Why am I always the orderer, anyway?"
Armin made a face, "I'm almost positive that's not a word."
"Just drop it, Armin. You're gonna set her off," teased Eren.
The food arrived just swiftly enough, quelling Sasha's hunger and mild irritation before it could fester into something genuinely dangerous. I could have sworn I noticed her staring at the bulge of Jean's bicep with genuine voracity, moistening her lips absently.
I remember how I'd kept my eyes on my tray as I unwrapped my sandwich with a carefulness that bordered on ritualistic.
The paper crinkled too loudly beneath my fingers, or perhaps that was only how it felt, with so many voices overlapping, so many presences pressing in around me. Conversation here did not ebb and flow; it collided. It stacked. It demanded. And I was cautious not to cross the line from participation to intrusion.
They invited me to be nice, I wasn't one of them. Not yet.
Lunch dissolved gradually after that, like sugar in hot water. It went slowly, then all at once. Discussions splintered into smaller pieces; plans were mentioned, abandoned, reshaped. Connie had a had a music project. Eren had basketball practice. Sasha contemplated a second meal, while Armin explained an interesting concept he had been taught that morning.
Conversely, Jean remained stoic in his actions.
There was something almost lazy about his gaze, the brief hums he would offer as answers when he wasn't really listening, as though nothing in the world could possibly warrant his full attention. It seemed his friends excused his conduct more readily than a stranger would.
He reminded me just slightly of how I had been when my grandmother died, last year; all bristles and harsh words and cold stares. It actually rendered me mute for an entire week, so I was on no platform to judge a guy I hardly knew. He could have been facing something similar — something tells me that this collection of people wouldn't put up with his attitude if that wasn't the case.
"Are we still going to Historia's tomorrow night?" Eren suddenly asked, as we began to gather our things and leave.
Subconsciously, my gaze swept the group for a 'Historia,' but then it occurred to me that I had not yet met her. She was likely part of the wider circle Sasha was referring to on the way out of the library.
Mikasa fastened her scarf around her neck, "I'm pretty sure. Sasha and I are definitely going."
"You're driving, so obvi," returned Sasha. "She said ten?"
Eren nodded.
"You don't know Historia, do you?" Connie recalled, slinging an arm around my shoulders. "You should totally come with!"
"Is that okay?" I worried, turning to Sasha, Mikasa, and Armin. Out of the six, they seemed the most responsible.
"Of course! We wouldn't have invited you if it wasn't," Armin assured me, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Historia is one of our friends that lives off campus-she doesn't go here."
"Yeah, she's got a political internship thing goin' for her," added Connie. "Her dad's in the government."
I made a small 'O' shape with my mouth and nodded.
Sasha waved a hand dismissively, "She won't mind if you turn up, you're one of us now."
Jean made a sound from behind me but didn't say anything. Instead, he brushed past me with a muttered, 'Excuse me,' and walked off head of us.
"He hates me," I concluded, defeatedly.
"Probably. He hates fucking everyone," scoffed Eren, patting me on the back. "Pay no mind to his bullshit."
Mikasa sent him a pointed look, "Eren!" Then turned to me, "Look, Jean's just having a rough time. He just got rejected from a prestigious art course he's been working so hard to enter, and... other things."
"Mega significant stuff that we'll probably wait a while to tell you," Sasha emphasised. "Trust me though, he will warm up to you. You know what they say: 'Through a cat a bone and it'll eventually come back.' Or something similar."
"It dazzles me that you got accepted into this school sometimes," Eren sighed, rolling his eyes.
Sasha stuck her tongue out at him.