Birdie (Levi x OC)

eight

The silence of my room was absolute. I knew that the next few days would bring a temporary reprieve; with the Commander and Eren being called to the capital for the inquiry, there would be time to breathe, but for now, the exhaustion was total. It was a heavy, suffocating weight that felt emotional, mental, and physical. I hadn't slept properly since joining the Scouts, and I welcomed the chance to rest my broken body.

I changed quickly, desperate to rid myself of the day's dirt and the pervasive, iron-like smell of blood. I rolled up my sleeves and washed my hands in the basin on my dresser. I felt so soiled by the mission that I scrubbed my skin vigorously, losing myself in the rhythmic motion until my hands were raw and red.

The smell of blood won't go away.

Tears began to prickle my eyes, stinging the back of my eyelids, but I squeezed them shut. I was too exhausted to cry; I'd save my tears for later. Crying would acknowledge the failure and the grief, and I wasn't ready to face either yet.

I washed my face, carefully cleaning the small bits of dried blood still clinging around my nostrils from where Mikasa's elbow had hit me. After I felt clean enough, I let my hair down from its low ponytail. It was dusty and matted with grit. I brushed out the knots with mechanical focus, knowing I would need to scrub it again soon.

Somewhat satisfied, I changed into my shift and crawled into bed.

I stared up at the ceiling. The light from my candlestick flickered against the walls, casting dancing, distorted shapes in the dark. My thoughts inevitably circled back to one person: Captain Levi.

He hadn't just lost his entire squad, he had also injured himself. I grimaced, remembering the sharp wince of pain when he landed poorly on his foot. With that severe an injury, he wouldn't be fighting Titans anytime soon.

I felt a profound, aching sorrow for him. I couldn't imagine losing my own squad, and I hadn't even known them as long as he had. Would he mourn them openly now that he was finally alone?

I scoffed out loud at the ridiculous thought. I doubted Captain Levi could cry, even if he wanted to.

He was rude, intimidating, and foul-mouthed, yet I desperately wanted to understand him. I understood the others on my squad; their thoughts, feelings, and reasons for being soldiers. But Levi was different, a cipher I couldn't read. My mother used to say people were riddles; I understood most of my squad, but Levi was a completely locked code.

I smiled faintly at the memory of my mother. She had passed away a few months after my eighth birthday, and her death quickly changed the landscape of my home. My father, a military man, stopped going to work. He spent evenings at the bars, often not returning for a day or two. I waited for him, hoping we could make breakfast together as Mother and I had always done. When he did stumble home, he walked straight to his room to sleep, only grunting in response to my greeting. I would quietly cover his sleeping form with a blanket, ignoring the stench of alcohol and sweat. I just wanted my dad.

Most assumed his drinking was grief, but as I grew older, I realized it was guilt; guilt for not spending enough time with his wife, guilt for prioritizing the walls over his family.

I only stayed with him for a couple of weeks. Soon, my grandfather, Commander Pixis, took me to his home, having realized my dad was no longer fit to be a father. "If you want your daughter back, then prove it to me," Grandpa had told him as I left. My father never proved it. He sent a letter every year on my birthday, but even those stopped when I turned eighteen. I gave up trying to find him, knowing he could find me if he ever wanted.

Maybe the alcohol finally killed him, I thought with a hollow bitterness.

And although my grandfather was no saint when it came to booze, he made it a habit to never let it take him away from me.