#reputation.event

"I think I do actually." You reply.

You feel him smile against your cheek, "Oh yeah?"

You nod, and try to hum in response, but the tip of Jean's cock seems to kiss a sweet, sensitive spot inside you at exactly the same time, and so your hum turns into a surprised moan instead. Something that Jean will not let go unnoticed.

"Aw, my angel, does something feel good?" He teases.

He maneuvers his arms so that they cage your head and you can feel the hardened muscles in his biceps squeeze your cheeks ever so slightly. You furrow your eyebrows. But all the fight is taken out of you when he picks up the pace and begins thrusting in and out of you with such unexpected speed that your hands fly about the air looking for something to grab onto, like you're riding a rollercoaster that just took a surprise dip after climbing upwards for so long.

"Oh, my sweet girl, that's it." He purrs when he feels your hands groping weakly for his back. "You just hold on to me, okay? Just let me feel you, let me feel what's mine–fuck you're tight–that's it, my baby."

You squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself to take a deep breath.

Jean has always been able to make your head spin, he's always been able to make you see stars, and make your knees weak. Every metaphor, comparison or simile under the sun—he's all of them. He's a good fuck, basically. The best you've ever had, in fact. That's why the two of you have been doing this for so long, this just two friends who hang out and do friend stuff but also have mind blowing sex together thing. And it's been working well, too well. All your friends think the two of you are dating, it's impossible to hide anything from them, you're not even sure why you tried to lie about it to begin with, especially since Jean has such an obvious tell that if anyone were to ask him about it there would be no way they wouldn't walk away from that conversation without knowing the truth. But it's fine. You can't really complain when he's pulled three orgasms from you already this evening with no sign of slowing down.

"You okay, gorgeous?" He asks, whispering the words out through gritted teeth. His pleasure snuck up on him, he's been running a marathon for the last... he doesnt even know how many hours and all of a sudden his body wants him to sprint sprint sprint.

And he wants to listen.

"I'm almost at the finish line baby, tell me what to do." He whines.

You squeeze around his length, tilting your head back in pleasure as a breathy moan escapes your lips. Jean attaches his lips to your now exposed neck without a thought, sucking on your most sensitive spot while still managing to keep up the pace he had set for himself—although his thrusts were beginning to get sloppy and desperate as he got closer and closer to his climax.

"I–ah, fuck–Jean, please, please, p-please." You reply. Your head spins. You have no idea what you're even begging for, but fuck, you just need... something. Anything!

"Use your words, angel. C'mon now, I need you to–hnng–tell me–aa–tell me where to cum. Need to cum for my pretty girl."

Your broken moans fill the room. You know what you want but you can't seem to find your voice, when you try to speak all that comes out are high pitched whines and whispered repeats of his name over and over again.

"God, you feel so good around me. You take me so well, this pussy was made for me, made to be mine." Jean continues to praise you, his sultry voice coupled with his delicious words have you hurtling towards your own orgasm at such a rate that you finally manage to get out the words you've been so desperate to say—the imminent release of pleasure sends energy shooting through you, enough to take you out of your cock drunk state, even if it's only for a second.

"Inside! Please–ah, fuck fuck fuck–inside Jean! God I love you." You whimper.

You don't even realise what you've said, too overwhelmed with the feeling of Jean's cock pumping into you to realise much of anything—someone could burst through the door carrying a monkey on their back and you would have no idea they were there, too caught up in your own pleasure.

"Oh, fuck. My gorgeous girl, yeah–tssk–yeah I'll cum inside baby. All for you." He whimpers. "My girl, you are too good. Fuck, fuck fu–fuck."

Jean stumbles over his words, too overwhelmed by the power of you to say much more than a string of curse words as he unloads his pleasure inside you. He can feel you squeezing around his length, his eyes screw so tightly shut that he's seeing stars (although one can't blame that wholly on how tightly his eyes are closed...) and your moans fill his ears. Breathy moans. And whispers of his name, over and over again. And then there's that thing. That small thing. Sprinkled in-between the curses and the whispers and the whines.

You love him.

And you've said so at least... 5 times now...? And although Jean would never say, maybe hearing those 3 words was the finishing push that tipped his pleasure over the edge tonight. Maybe those whispered confessions of love were what caused that coil to be released. And if there were a few tears sneaking their way down his cheeks as he painted the insides of your walls with his pleasure, who would know? Certainly not you. Your eyes wouldn't open until Jean started nuzzling into your neck, giving open mouth kisses all the way from your collarbone to your jaw.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!” Reiner says loudly, frustration evident in his voice. “Y/N is not a distraction, or a hindrance, why are you acting like this is going to ruin all the work we've done so far?”

“Because it is going to ruin all the work we've done so far, you idiot!” Annie replies, almost as loudly.

“Guys you need to keep it dow—” You hear Bertholdt whisper.

“No! Don't you dare think about taking his side right now, you know I’m right. We were not sent here to consort with the enemy! It’s bad enough that the two of you seem so buddy-buddy with all the people here, but this—what he's doing—is something else entirely!” Annie sounds tense, and something about her voice makes you shrink into yourself.

You're almost certain that if you were to look at the three of them right now that Annie would be standing obnoxiously close to Reiner, trying to get in his face, with her hands folded in front of her chest, while Bert stands somewhere between the two of them, slightly off to the side, but still in the middle, as if his presence would be enough to de-escalate whatever situation is arising between the two blondes.

“You have no idea what you're talking about.” Reiner repeats, although his voice sounds significantly smaller than it did just a few seconds ago.

Annie scoffs, and you hear her feet shuffling, presumably moving away from where she stands in front of Reiner. You can picture her leaning cooly against the wall. “Right.” Her tone is icy.

Bertholdt sighs, and it's easy for you to imagine how he’s stood—his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, as if trying to make himself smaller. “Reiner,” he pauses, “you know how this is going to end.” It wasn't a question. “Annie’s right—let's say that we’re both too close to the other cadets, our reasons could be acceptable to those back at home, we’re gathering intel, getting information only the locals would know, but you and y/n… you know it’s different between the two of you…” Bertholdt trails off, and you can hear him shifting uncomfortably.

“Wha—no—you—” Reiner splutters, and Annie scoffs at him again.

“Don't bother trying to think of excuses, we all know what you have to do.”

“C’mon Annie, do you really think that's necessary? We’ll be gone before you know it, and he’ll never see y/n again.” Betholdt says, his attention seemingly focused fully on Annie now. He tries his best to play both sides, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of upsetting either one of them. The switch in his argument is jarring, even to you—who hadn’t been listening to the entirety of the conversation.

“He ends this thing he has going on, sooner rather than later, or else we run the risk of exposure. This is not just about him, and it's not up for debate.” Annie directs her words towards Bertholdt.

Bertholdt hums, seemingly agreeing with Annie, but far too anxious to say so in front of Reiner.

“You hear that, blondie?” Annie’s voice echos differently than just now—she must have turned back towards Reiner. “You’re ending this so-called relationship, or you might just find that your beloved undergoes some kind of unexplainable, tragic accident. Because if you don't deal with this, we will.” You assume she indicates to herself and Bertholdt.

You hear Reiner take an uneven breath. “Are you threatening what I think you're threatening?” Reiner’s voice is loud, and the sound of shuffling footsteps floats toward your ears. “If you even think about laying a hand on—”

“Reiner! Quiet your voice!” Bertholdt speaks urgently.

Annie laughs, “Don’t bother Bertholdt, he doesn't scare me.” She clears her throat, and you can just about hear the words she says as she begins to walk away from where the trio were arguing. “This discussion is over, you know I’m right. If Warchief Zeke knew about this…if anyone back home knew about this…you know how dangerous it would be for all of us.”

“Annie…” Bertholdt whispers.

“Don’t.” She snaps. “I have to get back.”

You didn’t know what to make of the conversation. The part of you that wasn’t occupied with questions managed to keep you alert enough to flee the corner you were hiding by, it would not have been good if Bertholdt, or Reiner, had rounded the corner after their conversation had ended and found you there. And you didn’t want to come face to face with either of them.

What was it Annie had said…? Some kind of unexplainable, tragic accident. You shudder, goosebumps covering your skin. The venom in Annie’s voice was lethal, it had turned your blood cold. You couldn't imagine why she would possibly feel the need to threaten your life. What was it that the three of them were up to? Consorting with the enemy? Did Annie mean you? Your friends? And who was Zeke? Your mind was spinning with questions.

You thought briefly about how you were supposed to be with Mikasa and Eren right now, practising your sparring and hand to hand combat techniques. How would you even be able to keep a straight face when you apologised for not turning up? What excuse would you use? There's no way you could tell them the truth, not before you've spoken to Reiner.

Reiner…

The thought of him made your heart ache. All those nights together, all the things you've shared with him, and the things he shared with you… Was any of it real? You raked a hand across your face, unkindly wiping the tears from your cheeks. Your stomach was in knots, and your breath became ragged as you started to find yourself feeling more and more angry. The numbness from earlier disappeared as the anger washed over you. The people you had thought were your friends, who were they? What intel could they possibly be trying to gather? They were talking as if they were here to spy on the Scouts, but why? Where could they have come from? Your hands were balled into fists at your side, and you slowly stretched your legs outwards, letting out a low groan as you did so.

You had to find Reiner. To see him, to speak to him before your heart could catch up with your brain. You knew where he would be now, where he always went when he felt low—an irritated feeling overcame you, and you rolled your eyes. As if he has any right to be feeling low right now. His betrayal had lodged itself deep within you, and you knew that whoever it was you were about to confront, it was not the man you loved.

You round corner after corner, the hallways eventually changing from the grimy, dirty ones you had sought refuge in, to the cleaner, busier ones that you were much more familiar with. You scurry past the door that would lead towards the training area—knowing Eren and Mikasa were still there had you feeling racked with guilt—and you quickly speed past the crates that you had hidden behind only an hour or so ago.

You try not to think too much about the trio as you walk through the area they had been arguing in—instead choosing to focus on relaxing your body, as much as it allows you to. Your face feels flushed, and you take note of how warm your body feels, there's not much time until you reach Reiner, but by taking multiple deep breaths you manage to slow your rapid heartbeat. The focused breathing relaxes your taut jaw muscles as well, but an ache has already started forming from how clenched you were, and you try to ignore the pain that is growing both in your jaw, and at your palms—your fingernails have left dark half circle indents in your palms, and you think to yourself that it's lucky you hadn’t drawn any blood from how hard you were pressing into them.

You stop without thinking, suddenly finding yourself face to face with the door you know Reiner is behind. You wipe your palms against your shirt—wincing slightly at the pain—and take a final deep breath before you press your hand to the door knob and twist it gently. You try your best to be as silent as possible, not wanting to startle him. You jerk, suddenly questioning to yourself whether Reiner will be suspicious at how quickly you found him after his argument with Bertholdt and Annie. Would he find it odd how you had known he was upset, when you hadn't even seen him?

“Hello?” Reiner’s voice calls out from further into the room, stirring you out of your thoughts.

“I—” You manage to squeak out.

“Who's there? I can hear you, you know. What the hell are you doing here?”

You hear Reiner shuffling, and you know he’s about to stand up. Your heart begins to race again at the thought of coming face to face with him. You clear your throat, and speak as clearly as you can. “It’s just me, sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”

You put on a fake smile, although you know he can't see you yet.

Reiner sighs, and as you round the set of shelves in the abandoned storage room, you hear him whisper out your name, so quietly that you wonder if you were even meant to hear it at all.

Upon first glance it becomes immediately obvious to you that even if you hadn't overheard their conversation, the first question you would have asked the man in front of you was whether he had had an argument with Bertholdt. He so rarely looked this downtrodden, that for a second you forget the reason that you came looking for him, and you find yourself drawn to comfort him—wanting to cradle his face in your hands, be the person he confides his thoughts to, hold his hand when he can no longer speak. You shake those thoughts out of your head.

“How did you know I was here?” Reiner voices the question you feared he would ask.

You decide to test the waters, lightly. “I heard you arguing with Bertholdt.” You purposely omit Annie’s name, but you see Reiner visibly gulp.

“You did?” It’s his turn to squeak.

Despite knowing the conversation only happened this afternoon, you are still surprised at how much of a reaction Reiner gave at such a small hint. You expected better acting from the man that had apparently only been pretending to be friends with the cadets for so long.

Although a deeper, quieter part of you hoped that the reason he was so nervous was because it was you asking.

You nod, “Yeah, I saw you guys on my way to training, it looked pretty intense.” You hope he doesn’t question you too much about your training. You told him yesterday you were planning to meet Eren and Mikasa, but you didn’t want to give him the reminder right now—you didn't want to put them at risk.

He makes an ‘O’ shape with his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything else.

You watch as he fidgets with his hands, and you notice that his fingernails are bit down to the quik—something that you know he must have done since he’s been sitting here. They weren’t like that yesterday. His eyes dart around the room, but they never fully land on you, as if he’s trying desperately to stop himself from looking at you, lest he come completely undone.

“I can go, if you want me t—”

“No.” He cuts you off, and a look of surprise graces your features. “You should stay.” He sighs, “I need to talk to you actually, it’s important.”

You feign curiosity as best you can—nodding your head, and stepping a little closer to him. But your palms begin to feel sweaty and you hope you don’t look as flushed as you feel.

“Okay.” You whisper.

You can tell he wants you to sit on the crate opposite him, but something tells you that staying standing up is the wiser option—you just hope it doesn’t look too suspicious.

Reiner looks from you to the crate, and sighs again. He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes almost glazed over, as he tries his best to figure out what to say to you. He stands up, and you can’t help but take a small step back—although a jump of surprise is probably a more accurate description. You try to play it off by walking towards the small window just behind you, but Reiner has a perplexed look on his face. You grimace internally.

You don’t speak first, hoping that your prolonged silence will unsettle Reiner further than your nervous energy already has.

There’s a small bug in the window—you watch as it wriggles and squirms, somehow not realising that it’s already caught in the spider's web. Your eyes scan the window pane, and for all the webs you can see, you only spot one spider, moving slowly, web to web, as if it has an endless amount of time to return to the place in which its prey is captured.

You turn, and let out a small gasp. Reiner is standing right behind you, he must have moved whilst you were distracted, somehow not making a sound, and his hands are resting uncomfortably close to your sides—as if he was just about to grab your waist, but changed his mind at the last second.

“Listen,” he pauses, and you watch like a deer in headlights as he brings his hands up to cradle your face. You take a shaky breath. “About the argument with Bertholdt…did you hear any of the specifics that we were talking about?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, the lack of subtlety from Reiner would make you laugh if it wasn’t so painful.

You feel Reiner’s thumb run across one of your cheeks and you're reminded that the pressure on your face is from his hands there, and you suddenly feel claustrophobic in a way that has your heart quickening. You try to bring your hands up to Reiner’s, wanting to pull them down and away from your face, but when your fingers touch his you freeze.

Hundreds of memories hit you all the once—the times Reiner helped you practice your hand-to-hand combat, the birthday walk he had taken you on and the surprise picnic he had planned at the edge of the forest, how his hands fit perfectly against your waist when the two of you hugged, the way his breathing softens when you watch him fall asleep—and it's all too much.

You rip yourself out of Reiner's arms and spin on your heels, rushing away from him as quickly as you can manage. You had hoped you'd be able to reach the door before your emotions took over, but the tears in your eyes begin to spill as soon as you hear his voice again.

“Y/N? Please…” His voice is barely louder than a whisper, but you hear it as though he was standing right beside you.

Your fingers flex around the doorknob, every fibre in your body is screaming at you to leave—to run. You know you should head to the commander's offices, to see if you can find Erwin, Levi, Hange, Miche—god, you'd even be happy to run into Eren and unload all of this weight onto him. But you can't. You don't want to, and that's what stings you most of all. That after everything you'd overheard, the betrayal you'd felt, the hurt and pain that was thrumming through you like electricity, you still want to hear Reiner out.

Against your better judgement you let your hand drop from the doorknob, and you slowly turn around, this time you are unsurprised to find Reiner standing right behind you.

“What? What is it, Reiner?” Your voice is soft, but you can't miss the way Reiner's face falls at your words—disappointment, sadness, guilt, written all across his features.

“I—”

“You have some nerve,” you cut him off, and jab your finger into his chest.

As you finally look at him, properly, you find words spilling out of your mouth before you can even stop them.

“You were the person I trusted the most,” you jab your finger into his chest again, “I've never shared that much of myself with anyone else before, and what? Now I come to find out that it meant nothing? Or worse, that you were using me for information?” Reiner opens his mouth to speak but you don't give him the chance. “Gathering intel, as Bertholdt put it. God—how could I be so stupid? All those times the three of you disappeared during training, you were just swapping fun facts about us, weren't you?” You take a step forward, forcing Reiner to step back. “Oh hey, Eren told me this today!–No way, I heard this from Armin–Y/N said this after I'd told them how much I liked them.” You mimic a conversation between the three of them, and watch as Reiner flinches at your last comment. Something inside you is telling you to stop, that he's had enough, that you need to let him speak before you say something that hurts you both, but the floodgates have opened and there's no turning back now. “God—do you even realise how gross this makes me feel? That our entire relationship you've been going back to Annie and Bertholdt and relaying things I've told you about my hometown, my childhood, my family! Things I told you in confidence! Y–you…it makes me sick!” Reiner winces, and you can feel the tension in the air rising. You sigh. The look on Reiner's face almost makes you feel bad. “I don't know whether I want to smack you across the face, scream at you until my voice is hoarse or run and find the commander and tell him everything I've overheard. You just… you're ruining everything—you have ruined everything—I don't know what to do. Or if I even want to do anything.” It's obvious that your rage is fizzling out, and is instead starting to leave a gaping hole where something—someone—used to be.

“I—” hate you… despise you… wish I'd never met you.

You want to say any one of those things. To tell him you can't stand him, to make him regret lying to you. But you can't. You know that it's not true, no matter how much you wish it was.

“I—” You try again.

Reiner crashes his lips against yours before you get the chance to finish your thought. Your eyes widen, hands flying to his chest, pushing against him in a feeble, halfhearted attempt to move him away, to stop him from kissing you.

You shouldn't want this.

But he's kissing you so hungrily. His mouth moving fast and hard against yours like he can't get enough of you, like he knows this could be his last chance.

This is a terrible idea.

Reiner feels a sting behind his eyes at the thought of this being the last time he would ever feel your lips against his, and he hurriedly shakes the thought from his head. He presses his mouth to yours over and over, never pausing for a breath, and never ceasing his assault even as his teeth clash against yours. His arms snake around your waist—not tentatively like earlier, there's no hesitation in his movements now—and he pulls your body flush against his. Instinctively you find yourself readjusting so that your legs slot together. It's impossible to miss the hardness that presses against your leg, and your heart jumps at the thought.

All your conviction begins to melt as you relax into the kisses. Reiner runs his tongue across your lower lip and before you know it your hands have knotted themselves at the base of his neck—no longer are they tense and rigid, instead you find your fingers are almost feather-like in the way they trace circles across Reiner's exposed skin. You feel goosebumps erupt in your wake, and a glowing feeling begins to blossom in your core—completely outside of what your rational brain is screaming for.

Reiner deepens the kiss again, and you feel a fluttering in your tummy when his hands slide down your sides and begin kneading your waist. Your mind swirls with so much want that it makes you feel dizzy. You feel as though you are drowning in his kisses. His mouth hasn't left yours since the very first kiss and yet somehow you're not out of breath.

“I—I never told them anything.” Reiner murmurs, so quietly you almost miss it.

He begins planting kisses down your neck, all his initial speed is gone—no longer worried that you're going to push him away—instead he's choosing to savour each kiss, and he refuses to move onto the next until he elicits a moan from your lips. His hands roam your figure wildly, and it all feels so good that you almost blank completely the words that he just spoke.

Your eyes snap open, and your attempt to move your head to look at Reiner is met with resistance in the form of a hand on your shoulder. You roll your eyes, the fog is almost fully lifted now, and you can feel yourself drifting back down to reality.

What am I doing? You chastise yourself.

“This was a mistake. We shouldn't hav—”

“I never told them anything.” Reiner repeats. His voice stern.

Your eyes meet his, and you take an involuntary step back—or rather, you try to take a step back, but you're met with the realisation that your back is now against the wall, right beside the door, in fact. Reiner must have walked you backwards, and you'd been so overcome with the feeling of him kissing you that you hadn't noticed.

How ridiculous.

Reiner clears his throat and it snaps you back into the conversation.

“What are you talking about?” You ask.

“Everything you told me, about your family, your home, your childhood. I never passed it on. Bertholdt and Annie know nothing about your life, I swear.” Nothing in his voice gives you any indication that he's lying—you know exactly what inflections he uses when he's not being truthful—and yet the little voice in the back of your mind is riddled with doubts.

“I don't believe you, there's no way you could've gotten away with lying to them for all these years. They're your best friends—your oldest friends—they would've noticed that something was wrong.”

Reiner's hands are still sitting on your waist, his thumbs are still tracing circles on your flesh and you feel a slight chill on your exposed skin.

He shakes his head. “I promise I am not lying to you y/n.”

You feel your cheeks warm, and your heart beats wildly at the seriousness of his words.

“I never repeated anything you told me. I may have changed it, edited it, warped it so that it had no connections to you, but I promise I never told either of them anything about your life. You have to believe me.” His voice cracks, and you see his lip begin to wobble.

“I think… I think that I… do believe you…” You whisper.

Reiner lets out a shaky, uneven breath at your admission and you can see the anxiety on his face beginning to dissipate. His hands are still set on your waist, still running his thumb gently against your skin, but for the first time today you find yourself wanting his hands to touch you elsewhere. Reiner looks perplexed as he watches your fingers lace with his, he lets you guide his hand where you want it and you take a visible breath of comfort when his hand comes to rest on your cheek. He wipes a tear from under your eye that you didn't even know you had shed.

“We could run away together, you know.”

You narrow your eyes at Reiner, searching for a trace of something on his features to indicate that he's not serious. Fear, anxiety, stress… something. But you find nothing. His sincerity is almost nauseating. You swallow thickly. Your throat is dry.

You find it hard to speak, you're not even sure what you could say to something like that. You both know that what he's saying so casually is anything but. Where would you even go? If you somehow forget about the titans for a minute, there's no way any soldier would let you just wander past the outer wall… And what about your family? Your friends? Do you leave them all behind just because you're in love with a traitor?

Bile rises up inside your throat. You blink back an ocean of unshed tears. Reiner pulls you against him in a tight, crushing, overpowering hug, and it feels as though his arms are the only thing holding you together at this moment. You slip your arms easily around his waist and breathe in his scent, letting the familiarity wash over you.

He hasn't said a word to you since he arrived, although you're not sure when he would've been able to find the time, as it seems he's the most popular—or hassled—person at the party. You heard the whispers start as soon as he had stepped foot through the door.

“Is that really him?”

“There's no way he actually came!”

“I'm surprised he came alone! Doesn't he usually bring dates to these types of things.”

“I heard he's still close with the founder, y’know, Mr Smith? They've been close since their university days.”

“Mr Ackerm–”

“–evi Ackerman…”

“–Levi Ackerman–”

Of course you'd heard of him—Levi Ackerman—hard to get an invite to a party like this without knowing his name, and the reputation that preceded him. You never heeded the gossip, figured that most of it was born out of some kind of jealousy. But still, it was hard to ignore the eyes following his every move, and the whispers growing louder and louder the more people helped themselves to the complimentary champagne.

You try to keep your focus on mingling with the other party goers. Keep yourself busy with the pleasantries and the somewhat fake niceties, but as the umpteenth middle aged man with whiskey on his breath and unkempt hair attempts to compliment you into working for them—or into going home with them—you find your networking facade begins to slip, and so you excuse yourself from conversation.

You're half way towards the exit door when you find him again. He's stood by the window now, and you can see an unlit cigarette rolling through his fingertips.

Your feet root themselves to the floor for only a moment as you lock eyes with Levi, but it's enough to draw his attention fully away from the men talking to him. It's as though everyone else falls into the peripheral when he looks at you. He raises his eyebrow—an inquiring glance—but all he can do is watch as you scurry towards the coat check booth, your cheeks hot and your heart racing.

You mumble the number on your ticket as you slide the thin piece of paper across the desk, quickly thanking the woman as she hands you your jacket.

It's amazing just how quickly an event can go from easy to something you can't get away from fast enough.

And yet a part of you still wishes you were inside, even as the cool night air hits your face and reminds you that, no, this isn't all you are, there is so much more to your life and your job than these stupid networking parties, you find yourself missing the stuffy, intoxicating party.

Or, maybe more accurately, you miss him—his eyes on you, the soft smiles and the bashful, almost wary, looks from across the room. It's peculiar, you think, that your paths have never directly crossed before—that you and Levi have both attended the same parties, events, meetings, even lunches together numerous times and yet you've never had to speak a word to each other.

You make your way down the stairs, hoping to be able to call a taxi and make a quick getaway before your coworkers realise you're missing. It's quiet outside, empty, you count 7 people between the door and the bottom of the stairs—seemingly most of the party goers decided to take their smoke breaks on the few scattered balconies as opposed to the front of the building.

Only one other person is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and as you descend closer and closer to him your thoughts are suddenly able to catch up to why your heart is thumping so loudly.

How did he manage to get in front of me?

You blanch at the realisation—you'll have to walk past him to get to where you need to go. Your mind swirls, heat creeps up your neck and you're sure a shiver is threatening to crawl up your spine.

You pause again, just for a moment, as you reach the final step. And Levi looks up at you. Not a small glance, not a discrete look from across the room. He is clearly and unmistakably looking at you, as if for the first time. It's odd, being so close to him, having his undivided attention and knowing that no one is around to interrupt.

You wonder if he can sense your nervousness.

Your eyes flit down to his hands, and you see the still unlit cigarette.

And you have, you've gotten very used to it. You try and try and try to help him, to offer what you think he might need, to fill in the gaps as best you can without so much as a word from the man himself. But it's tiring. And you're too exhausted.

“Tobio, please, just… talk to me.” It's a fool's game, asking him to let you in, but you refuse to give up. Always thinking that next time he'll ask for help, next time he'll let you in, let you past those final few walls.

It's not as though he point blank refuses your help when you offer. But it's hard to offer help when you don't know what he needs. Advice? A solution? Just an ear to listen? If he would only tell you.

“It's not a big deal. I'm fine.” He says, face blank and eyes refusing to meet your gaze.

You sigh. You thought… you really did… you thought he was getting better, that the two of you were getting better. You thought that he knew he could be open with you, vulnerable with you, and that there would be no negative reactions, no snide remarks or exaggerated eye rolls. You've both spoken about your teen years, and what it was like for you growing up, it's typical getting to know someone stuff, you've shared and listened to whatever Tobio gave you.

You sigh again, shallower this time—defeated. You and Tobio have been dating for almost 5 months now. Christ, you've even got plans for him to meet your family at the end of month, properly meet them, not just a quick hello and goodbye, but dinner plans. And jokes. And chatting. And not just your parents either, but your brother, and his girlfriend too, and your cousin! Maybe that would help… seeing you laughing and talking and sharing with your family.

But then again, maybe it wouldn't.

“I think…” You cough, and it's loud enough to grab Tobio’s attention, finally. He's looking at you, really, actually looking at you. “I think I'm just gonna go.”

You stand up, heading for his front door. You gather up your things quickly, putting your coat and gloves on to protect yourself from the painful chill that awaits you on the other side of the door. You turn to face Tobio, your navy coloured left hand is gripping the door handle, and a sudden chill strikes him, although the door still remains shut.

He thinks you've never looked as far away as you do right now. And have your eyes always had that harshness to them when you looked at him? That coldness shivers through him again.

“Goodbye, Tobio.” You turn and leave and he watches as the door clicks behind you.

The air feels so thick with fear that he could almost swallow it.

Wait…

He doesn't want the question to surface, he does everything he can to stop the thought from intruding into the forefront of his mind. He thinks of home, he thinks of what it's like to fly across a dark sky with nothing but the sound of silence as company, he thinks of cookies, he thinks of his mothe—