Holly Golightly

CHAPTER FIVE.

“Thanks.”

The boy with raven hair speaks the syllable like his voice forgets its function, hoarse and small. In his hands is a small, precious piece of bread. His chin lowers to take a bird-sized bite, chewing slowly to savor the taste.

Looking down, you find that your hands are occupied by a half of a loaf, too — perhaps even the other half of the one the boy has.

You bring the food to your mouth, careful not to bite down too hard.

“Can I… sit?” you ask the boy as he continues to feed.

He nods once, so you nestle into the empty spot beside him.

Rather than floating in the dream's usual nothingness, the bench sits hidden in a closed-off dark room, lit only by lanterns and torches lining its walls. Shouts sound in the distance, but the noises are not scared. They’re… laughing. Howling, even, at jokes and drinking songs.

You can't hear the lyrics no matter how hard you listen.

For what feels like hours you sit beside this strange, quiet boy, happy not to be alone.

However a man shouts louder than the rest, belligerent and shitfaced, catching your attention. The boy never once looks up. You see a hat adorned on his head where long, unkempt hair flies out from the bottom of the hat like wires.

“Is… that your dad?”

You don’t know why you ask.

The boy ignores you for a length of time, picking apart what little is left of the roll.

“Is that your mom?” he croaks in return.

You’re scared to look at him, but you do anyway. Instead of a gnarled face of a woman like before, it’s finally his face: you're met with silver gray eyes, sunken to their sockets and tired, as he stares curiously at you. His right eye is blackened, cheek subsequently swollen, but he doesn’t seem to be in any immediate pain.

“No,” you answer, the syllable shaken. “I call her Mother, but… she found me.”

He doesn’t react — only chews, like every bite may be his last, and swallows. His tongue darts out to lick the crumbs from his busted lip.

You want to ask.

It’s been so many times, you’ve never gotten this far, and you want to finally ask.

“Do you have a na—”

“Levi!”

Bolting right out of bed with a choked gasp, your hand instinctively reaches for your throat. 

Did you just say Levi’s name out loud, or was that in your dream?

It sure feels like it came from your mouth. Pressing a timid hand to your sweat-slicked face, you find your breath and attempt to quell your gasps in the pale light of the moon. You look to your left to see the curtain billowing in the midnight wind.

A dream.

The same fucking dream, over and over.

“What the hell was that?” you ask the air, and no reply comes beyond someone grumbling for you to shut the hell up.

The barracks — you’re still sleeping in the cadet barracks.

Training with the hopefuls ought to be tougher than it is, but you imagine it’s easy because you lived the war they strive to experience: ODM gear training is a breeze. Strategy classes bring a certain feel of home. You’re able to debate military advancements with the book-drawn knowledge to back it up. Running — so much goddamn running — but your training in Trost paid off.

Commander Erwin’s theory — your theory — is proving right.

The cadet training is helpful, because you now see a puzzle piece perfectly clear in your mind’s eye: that sad child’s face, the one you’ve been chasing for the last four months. If given a pen and paper, then you could draw the damn look of it on command.

Slipping out of bed to relax in the night air, you pull your tan cadet jacket over your shoulders, settle into your knee-high boots, and leave your exhausted bunkmates to dream.

(Yeah — that’s one thing you didn’t anticipate: wearing the swords like you didn’t already earn your Wings of Freedom stripes.)

You could seek out the Scouts. If the rumors are true, then Hange should be arriving today or tomorrow with the rest of them to see how you’re doing.

According to Commandant Shadis, there’s no real need to waste anymore time. You’re battle ready, even if your brain isn’t following up with the finite details. Those, he argues, could come later or not at all. At the end of the day, skill is what matters.

Whether they accept you back to the Scouts is another story entirely, yet having Commander Erwin on your side with the help of Section Commander Hange increases your chances exponentially.

Despite the nerves in your belly, you are excited to go beyond the Walls. To see what you must’ve witnessed time and time again in your military career.

Maybe, in a belatedly morbid fashion, you always wished you could one day relive what it would be like to see it for the first time all over again.

The wind at midnight is freezing in comparison to the blazing morning sun. You hug your arms closer to your sides, reliant on body warmth to push you forward in the stroll to clear your head.

Then two Military police officers enter your peripheral.

Realizing you have no jurisdiction after curfew, you search your surroundings for cover. Abruptly you spot a ration barrel and drop to a crouch, hoping they didn’t see you aimlessly walking around.

You stay low, fingertips pressed to the oak barrel, and wait.

Their mumbles turn into coherent sentences with each nearing step. You don't mean to overhear, but their conversation freezes you in your tracks.

“Did you hear about the extra addition to the cadets?” the one with red hair grunts.

The blonde shakes his head. “What about an extra what now?”

“The cadet that’s not really a cadet.”

Oh? Your hands press further into the barrel.

“Not ringin’ any bells.”

“Remember the chick they called Lieutenant? Served under Erwin.”

“Oh… yeah, now that you say Lieutenant, I kinda do,” the blonde answers, slow to start.

“Well, they’ve managed to wake up that dead sewer rat and thought it would be beneficial to send her to train with the cadets. Word is they’re trying to prep her back to the Scouts.”

The blonde huffs. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope.” The ‘p’ is popped. “Heard the news from Raoul.”

“Wasn’t she in really bad shape? Like… memory screw-y type of bad?”

“Yeah. A coma,” the redhead confirms. “They won’t tell anyone anything beyond hitting her head, but I saw they’re training her here for a few weeks to see what she remembers.”

“Damn, talk about wasting resources.” Your blood runs cold. “That’s about how rodents work, though. That bastard Captain Levi opened up the cellar for the nasty Underground folk.”

Wait.

Captain Levi?

“Can’t believe that shit ever flew with the Scouts in the first place. I don’t know what Erwin was thinking, bringing an Underground brat in.”

Captain Levi was from the Underground, too?

“I thought we got rid of the start of the infestation when they said she died. But you can’t kill that Captain kid. He’s got more lives than a street cat.”

Raven hair.

“Nope — and she’s just as bad,” the blonde laments. “Pretty sure they worked together way before the Scouts, too, if you believe the rumors.”

“No shit?”

“Yeah. Rats stick together. Erwin has a fetish for waywards he can kill under his thumb.”

Sunken gray eyes.

“So we got thugs on the frontlines. Wonderful,” the redhead grunts. “Guess that’s better than the people behind the Walls. Get rid of them first.”

You feel like you’re going to be sick.

Bracing the barrel as they begin to move their post to another section of the training camp, you place your right hand over your mouth.

There’s no way.

Trembling in your crouched space, you replay the conversation over and over in your head like it’ll piece together and make sense. You study the patch of grass under your brown boot, waiting for a rogue tendril to crawl from the earth and drag you back underground.

(Where you belong, according to them.)

Yet you raise your chin to find you’re not alone behind the food barrels:

The little boy in the dream, his messy mop of black hair, stares back at you with a confused expression etched across his malnourished features. His lips part, mouthing an answer to a question you’ve asked him night after night after night.

Do you have a name?

Then he lifts his hand, offering his half of the bread loaf.

When you blink, he vanishes into thin air, leaving you sweating with the very real gravity of the situation sitting heavy at the back of your tongue.

You have to find him.

Tomorrow, you have to find Captain Levi.

.

.

.

.

“They said she’s doing well.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because if I speak any louder, I might scream,” Hange confesses in a rushed hiss, fidgeting with their fingers at the mess hall table. “And if I scream, then I’ll be alerting every cadet within a five-meter radius that we’re here.”

“Pretty sure most of the cadets are already aware, Hange.”

“Do you think she’s remembering more conversations?” they ask, flipping the subject he can’t escape from. “Or maybe a past mission?”

Levi couldn’t roll his eyes any harder.

The second the report came back from your temporary superiors is the second this Special Operations squad lost their fucking minds.

Petra hasn’t stopped babbling about how much she missed having you around after dropping you off to the training camp three weeks ago. Hange isn’t much better, but he can tune out their incessant babbling easier than most. Gunther, Oluo, Eld — they all want to know if they’re bringing you home.

Home — like what’s out here beyond the Wall Rose is any home at all.

By sticking you in the pool of cadet shit-stains looking to claw their way into the interior, Erwin inadvertently slashed the hopes and dreams of the 104th. Adding you to their mix only puts them at a grave disadvantage: if they make you stay the entire time, then you’d walk away with top marks from experience alone.

In a way, putting a memory-riddled veteran in disguise as a cadet is fucking hilarious.

“She isn’t a dog ready for tricks, Hange.” Levi brings the lip of his tea cup to his lips. “And her mind’s the only thing fucked, not her muscle memory.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t even go through cadet training when she first came to us. How much muscle memory could there be?”

“Environmental experiences trump cadet bullshit.”

“I suppose so.” Pursing their lips, Hange waves their spoon around aimlessly. “Acing her ODM gear aptitude test makes the most sense. Hand-to-hand combat, another surefire win. Still…”

Levi narrows his eyes. “Still?”

“I wonder how long it should take for her memory to return. Fully, I mean.”

Confliction makes his mouth itch.

On one hand, he’s hopeful that you never do. An honorable discharge from the Scout Regiment may not hold the same weight as a retired MP, but it’s a safer life behind the walls than whatever the fuck they lead as a unit now.

On the other hand, he can’t forget that this is your choice. 

Even in the aftermath of a horrific accident where you’ve lost everything, you’re still choosing to see if you can one day serve and re-join the Scouts.

Clearly Erwin would allow it. Resources wouldn’t be wasted on a half-assed effort.

But can he afford seeing that blank expression pointed in his direction for the rest of his goddamn living days?

It was hard enough to have a basic conversation with you. Factor in the idea that, somewhere in the not-so-distant future, he may work alongside you outside of these Walls again?

He ought to sabotage your training.

He ought to go back to his old ways and lie, cheat, steal, to ensure your failure.

He ought to do something — anything but the one thing everyone expects him to do.

Erwin Smith is playing a game of 4-D chess and Levi cannot see the board or where his next piece may be headed.

It’s infuriating.

“Is he still going to reinstate her even if she’s still fucked in the head?” Levi asks, maintaining a monotone distance from the subject.

Hange pushes some food around with their spoon. “Hard to tell. I don’t think they would waste the resources if they thought it wasn’t a potential win for us.”

Of course Hange iterates exactly what he’s thinking — they’re opposites on humanity’s spectrum yet somehow always on the same wavelength.

“What about you?”

That question, however, is one he doesn’t expect. Levi uncrosses his legs. 

“What about me?”

“Are you okay with her getting added back to Levi Squad if she passes?”

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

(But would he want you reassigned where he can’t follow? Also absolutely fucking not.)

“Let’s see how she’s faring first,” he decides, eyes trailing the entrance of a taller person as Hange stands from the table. He’s about to ask, but then he sees it: Moblit rushes in from the left with several papers rolled into his hands, looking positively frantic and exhausted.

Never a dull moment in Hange Zoe’s life.

“Quitting on me?” Levi teases against the flat of his voice, and Hange’s lips purse.

“Oh, stop it. Like you weren’t about to shut my twenty questions down.” They stick out their tongue as they dismount the bench. “Party pooper.”

“That’s the closest to a shit joke as I’m ever going to get from you.”

A loud ha! escapes their lips while they walk to the door, hounded by Moblit’s anxious babbling until — nothing.

Silence.

The disappearance of Hange, the lack of Erwin, just leaves Levi to sit menacingly in the corner on his own. At other occupied tables, the overspill of injured and traumatized cadets eat their portioned meal for the morning. 

A quiet place away from the noise of the other recruits thriving at the idea of war.

If he squints hard enough, a woman hunched over the table could be you — bruised to oblivion from the collarbone-up, with shaken hands rattling the ceramic plate below.

It causes his own fist resting on the table’s surface to tighten.

Maybe he should — talk to you, tell you, about everything.

Maybe if you learned just how bad it gets out there, then you’ll change your mind.

(There’s still time.)

.

.

.

.

You take off the minute you’re excused from the morning duties to investigate the grounds.

They have to be here somewhere.

Granted, you’re not sure if your current cadet status will get you anywhere in this camp. Revoked and stripped of the Scout title may bring setbacks when it comes to this — remembering, seeking answers — but you’re hopeful there’s a loophole nestled between your alleged seniority and talent.

When you turn a right corner, you see it: The glasses. The messy ponytail. The green cloak.

You yelp the name when excitement takes hold of your throat:

“Hange!"

Because you’re happy to see them walking by the barracks with Moblit in tow. Anxiety buzzes under your skin as they stop in their tracks and turn on their heel.

Instantly beaming at the sight of you, Hange yells into the crisp morning air and waves their hands wildly above their head. 

You take off on a jog to meet them faster.

“James! Look at you! All dressed up— Huh.” Their excitement washes away at the sight of the double-sword badges on your jacket. “Funny, that’s the wrong emblem.”

You drop your chin as they poke an unimpressed finger to the side of your arm, as if a sticker will peel off and reveal the Wings of Freedom instead. The badge stays put.

“They thought it would be too much of a distraction to give me my Scout jacket,” you explain, hurried, before waving to the man behind her. “Hey, Moblit.”

He blanches to a translucent pale, jaw slacked.

Hange squeals in their throat.

It takes a second to realize what you’ve said.

Up until today, you had never met Moblit.

“Oh. My. God!” Hange says from a whisper to a shriek. “Did you hear that? Moblit, you’re the first person she’s greeted by name!”

“Whoa,” he murmurs under his breath, still flushed from shock. “I, uh… Hey, James.”

“This is amazing!” Hange growls, sucking in a sharp breath as both of their hands clamp down on your sore arms. “Of course, when Erwin suggested the hypothesis that maybe training would kickstart things, I didn’t think it would work that well! What else are you remembering? Tellmetellmetellme.”

As much as you would like to fill them in, you know there’s someone else you need to see first.

“Levi.”

You exhale his name like a prayer, and Hange’s expression shifts to one of awe. 

“Oh?”

“No, not like that. I’m— Have you seen the Captain? I need to speak with him. It’s urgent.”

“I—” The syllable gets trapped in Hange’s throat before a finger raises, pointing to the east. “...he was just at the mess hall. He was supposed to visit the stables after breakfast.”

“Thank you,” you deflate, shrugging out of their grasp. “We’ll catch up later, right? I’ll see you in a bit.”

They don’t try to stop you when you disengage.

I have to talk to the Captain.

Because if he continues to avoid you, then there is a chance the outline of this puzzle will never be completed.

.

.

.

.

Just as Hange suggested, you see it: the smaller framed man in the middle of the horse stables just east of the training camp.

Captain Levi wears the emerald cloak over his shoulders, arm raised to give attention to a horse as dark as midnight. It licks at the palm of his hand generously, and the captain doesn’t pull away until its tongue pokes out a third time.

You stand still at the mouth of the empty stables, watching.

Observing.

Because if you’re going to implode the only chance you might have to get this right, then it has to be done with the utmost certainty that what you’re about to say is true.

And despite how your certainty has yet to reach beyond ninety percent, the clues are littered all over him:

The jet-black hair curved in a fresh, precise undercut. The way his eyes always look like he’s tired even after a long night’s rest. The skinniness to his frame that harnesses such ungodly strength. The curve of his nose at his profile.

His image morphs, changes, from glorious emerald to tattered tan shirts hanging off of his torso. Wild and unkempt hair. Same nose, but smaller. Shorter.

Your brain short-circuits at the images colliding.

“It was you.”

The whispered words tumble faster than you can stop them. 

They curl and float through the air until they reach the shorter man in the middle of the stables in an unfortunate echo, and the world seems so much smaller than it was a moment ago.

He turns.

His stare is bone chilling.

At the sight of you Levi stops brushing the mane of his horse, arm still raised in the air. Carefully he lowers his hand to set the wooden brush on a stool, eyes narrowed to slits.

“Hello to you, too.”

“Captain.” You take a step towards him. “Sir, I have something urgent to ask you.”

He looks like he considers for a moment before his attention lulls back to the horse he had been originally tending to. “Aren't you supposed to be busy running drills?”

“I should be. I am.” You take another step. “But—”

“So then why are you—”

“I saw you!” you blurt, loud and certain.

You realize you may sound a breath short of delusional by the way he rips his attention from the horse to stare at you like you’ve lost your mind. Where he usually appears rigid, expressionless, his eyes gleam with palpable confusion.

Levi snorts. “That was a weirdly-worded question.”

“It was you,” you press on, losing your breath, “before all of this.”

Your stare is hopeful. He is devoid of such.

You dare another step forward, hands out to your sides.

“I’ve been seeing things,” you say.

“Sounds like a condition for a doctor, not me,” he flatly replies.

“Memories,” you clarify, fidgeting with your fingers in a failed attempt to soothe your own nerves. “Of this specific place and the people in it. They’re from the Underground City. I must have been… I don’t know, young? Maybe really young, which would make sense since — but…”

The whites of his eyes grow, if only a fraction.

You try to explain faster.

“Everything is in pieces, right? I told you that last time we spoke. Nothing’s really fit together, not really, but whenever I dream about where I came from, I’m always seeing this young boy. He’s got this black messy hair. His clothes hang right off of him — he’s so small, and he sits with me on this bench eating food I offer him.”

Fuck, is he really going to make you spell it out? 

“And I think it might be—”

Wide-eyed confusion twists to an apprehensive sneer. 

“How could you be so sure it was me?”

Your shoulders slump.

“Because he looks exactly like you. Maybe with a skinnier body and a smaller face, but I’m seeing it now. The hair, the— the gray eyes—”

Finally he bites, voice low. “Because small kids with gray eyes are so fucking rare.”

“Don’t act like it doesn’t make sense!” you bark. “Everyone says I should remember you — because you know me better than anyone in the Scouts. And I’m not insane, because the person I keep dreaming about isn’t just a kid, it isn’t just some subconscious shit—”

His teeth clench together. “Careful.”

“And I heard it,” you continue, ignoring his warning. “Last night, I overheard two Military Policemen talking about how Erwin Smith allowed two rats from the sewers to join the Scout Regiment. Captain Levi, who came from the Underground, and a Lieutenant, who lost her memory.” Your eyes narrow. “I may not have my shit screwed on right, Captain, but it doesn’t take many brain cells to put two and two together.”

At the evidence, Levi says nothing. 

All that keeps the silence away in the barn are the rustling legs and raspberry breaths of horses. 

Your shoulders deflate at his unwavering, piercing gaze.

“You know me,” you finish, voice catching on emotion, “but you won’t help me. Why?”

Levi falters for a second, and you recognize the emotion that flickers over his face this time:

Doubt.

He doesn’t mouth off, which is one good thing about this uncomfortable encounter.

In your gut you can feel that this isn’t an unfounded discovery, but Levi isn’t willing to—

“Because you finally have an out.”

It’s the first real thing Levi Ackerman has said to you in four months.

Defeat settles into your tired bones when he disengages and turns his chin back to his horse. In the glow of the morning light from the open windows, he looks hunched — and, if you didn’t know any better, just as defeated as you — like so little was too much to divulge.

“Did we join the Scouts together?” you murmur, softening with hope.

Levi sets his jaw, and when you think the attempt has failed, he speaks:

“No. I joined without you.”

There.

Your eyesight becomes glossy with overwhelming emotion.

You’re not crazy.

(You were always right.)

“When?” you urge under your breath, nearing without realizing. 

He stays put. “Years ago.”

“And when did—”

“Two months after.”

Where you can’t stop watching him, Levi refuses to look anywhere but ahead.

“So I knew you?”

“Yes.”

“Since we joined the Scouts?”

“Yes.”

“And before that?”

In your mind’s eye is a sullen face, exhausted from an eternal night.

He sighs through his nose. “You’re not listening to what I’m saying, James.”

By the time he turns his head, you’re only three steps away.

Hearing the sound of your name on his lips — not icy, not angry, not anything beyond what it is — takes you off guard. 

“Do yourself a favor — continue training with the cadets. Chances are you’ll get Top 10, easy. Top 10 means you can choose where you serve. Most of the brats pick the Interior.”

Your brows fly high. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Interior is a cushy gig. They’re offered real bedrooms, routine meals—”

“Captain—”

“—and the most danger they get into is wiping the King’s ass,” Levi continues, shifting his left boot closer to you. “I heard he’s got one hell of a shit schedule.”

You both stare, eye to eye, as his words of advice settle into the dirt between you. 

“...so you want me to cheat my way into the interior,” you eventually recap, quiet and disgusted, “and forget the Scouts?”

“Forget all of it,” Levi confirms, dead serious.

This isn’t what you were expecting if – and when – you finally spoke to the captain. For someone who is allegedly important to you, Levi sure has a funny way of showing it. Pawning you off to whatever gets you furthest from whatever lies beyond the Walls is a swift punch to the gut. Maybe you barely know you, but you do know one thing: hiding away in the Interior was never an option.

Forget all of it.

“I’m not doing that.” A humorless laugh exits your mouth. “You know I’m not going to do that.”

“I know,” he resigns, monotone. “Worth a try, though, to get through your thick head.”

“You’re an asshole.”

You’re not sure what compels you to snap, but it’s biting. Venomous.

You near him like a predator challenging another in its rank, chin ducked. Levi steps in a half-circle in a subconscious dance.

“You are. I have been asking you, begging you, going so far as to corner you so you can maybe help me out, and all you’re willing to do is run. Every damn time you see me, you turn like a coward and go the opposite direction. I can even see it right now: you’re hoping Hange or Moblit walk in so you have an excuse to defer me to them.”

You sneer, teeth grit.

“Humanity’s Strongest, my ass.”

It’s about the worst ramble you could’ve offered him. With each passing accusation, Levi’s expression grows darker until it’s unreadable. Yet you keep going, choosing violent words over soft pleads.

The latter never worked, so the former just might.

Then something peculiar happens:

Levi’s voice upticks, melodic in what you can only describe as quiet awe.

“You finally sound a little more like you.”

You watch with lips parted. Levi nods to himself, as if certain his assessment is right, before his arms cross under the emerald cloak decorating his shoulders.

“You’re right: I have been avoiding you,” he finally admits steadily. “I couldn’t stand the wide-eyed and bushy-tailed act. It doesn’t wear well on you.”

All the blood drains from your body.

“Commander Erwin’s set on making you a Scout again. Only a moron would think he hasn’t thought this through, which leads me to a shitty predicament.” He pauses. “Lieutenant or not, you were a part of my squad. Am I so much of an asshole that you no longer want to be a part of it?”

You open your mouth, but no words exit.

He stares directly at you, this time with meaning.

“I won’t feed you our memories. I won’t let you speculate where I fit with the hope that I put the pieces together for you. If you want my help, then we start with a blank slate.”

“A blank slate?” you numbly respond.

“A blank slate,” he repeats.

“As if we don’t know each other at all?”

“Besides knowing what I looked like as a kid, do you?” Levi asks then clarifies. “Know me.”

Looking over his face, you want to say yes. You want to say the truth — that you might have known him your whole life — but you can’t.

Might have isn’t as strong as do.

“And if I eventually remember, even if it’s not every little detail, then will you keep shutting me out?” you question, softening your face when an emotion flickers over his. “Don’t shut me out.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it—”

“I swear it.”

He interrupts before you can finish.

As much as you're afraid to believe it, his statement of conviction is sincere — three words rushed, hissed, with a weight pressing against your wildly-beating heart.

“Okay,” you murmur back. “I trust you.”

Just like that; no more fighting, no more lying, no more doubt. 

His hair flops with the tilt of his chin as he's caught between calling a bluff that isn’t there and the undying truth — three words solemn, slow, with a weight pressing against his heavy-burdened shoulders.

He disputes nothing.

In an attempt to start on the right foot, you hold your hand out timidly between you. Your fingers flex.

Levi’s eyes take a beat to leave yours and look down.

“I’m James,” you introduce softly. “Member of Levi Squad, Lieutenant of the Scout Regiment. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Levi swallows, thick with a hesitance. You’re almost certain he’ll step right past your humble effort to start over — just like he asked.

Then he removes a slender hand from its tucked space at his side and holds it out, hovering fingertip to fingertip.

A beat passes. His hand reaches forward, gliding along your palm to hold your hand.

He squeezes.

You feel it hit, zapping every nerve like a short-distanced lightning strike — warmth floods and envelopes your body with an image you don’t quite have the word for in the moment, but you see it when he opens his mouth.

“Levi Ackerman,” he roughly replies. “Leader of Levi Squad, Captain of the Scout Regiment. Glad to have you on my team.”

(Home.)