ʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴘᴇᴇᴅ | 𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣 𝙟𝙖𝙚𝙜𝙚𝙧

𝙒.𝘿.𝙔.𝙒.𝙁.𝙈

022, 𝙒.𝘿.𝙔.𝙒.𝙁.𝙈

.⋆𐙚 🍒

WHEN I WAS A KID, PEOPLE ALWAYS SAW WHAT THEY WANTED TO SEE.

The quiet girl. The one who smiled too politely, who never pushed back when they talked over her. In class, the teachers thought I was just another girl who'd fade out before I ever got a chance to speak up. My friends liked that about me, I think—how I didn't take up too much space, how I was always the one who'd bend to keep the peace. It was easier that way. Easier to play the part they'd already decided for me.

At home, it was the same. My mother didn't want a daughter who made waves. She wanted someone who would fit the picture she'd already painted—someone who wouldn't ruin the quiet perfection she was always trying to build around us. So I learned to keep my voice soft. I learned to swallow my own wants until they tasted like someone else's words. Because if I was small enough, if I was good enough, maybe I'd finally be enough for her.

But even then, I was paying attention. Even then, I was listening. Watching. Learning where to slip in when no one else was looking. Because being underestimated isn't the same as being invisible. It's knowing exactly what they're missing while they're busy looking somewhere else.

I shoved those thoughts down as I stepped into the warehouse behind Mikasa and Armin, the door creaking under my hand. The cold bit at my cheeks, but inside it was warm—alive in a way that felt like it was bracing for something.

Mikasa and Armin walked ahead, disappearing into a quiet corner where Jean, Ymir, and Historia were talking. I peeled away from them, heading toward the main seating area. Connie and Sasha were sprawled across the same couch as last time, pressed shoulder to shoulder like they'd been born in the same breath. Sasha's laughter cracked the air as Connie scooted over to make room, and I dropped down into the seat between them. Sasha's arm looped around my shoulder without a second thought.

"Late again, Mustang," she teased, grin bright enough to cut through the heaviness hanging in the air. "How many times did Hitch have you change your outfit this time?"

"Three," I frowned. "It's my fault, to be fair—I told her I was going out for drinks with Mikasa and you, and she freaked when she saw me in a hoodie and jeans."

I'd walked out of my room five minutes before Mikasa was supposed to pick me up, and Hitch—who'd just finished getting ready for her shift at the Grill—saw what I was wearing: an old sweatshirt with our university's logo on it and a pair of grey sweatpants. She'd practically ripped the clothes off me.

Now I was stuck in a fitted, dark red cropped top and, thanks to my stubbornness, oversized black baggy jeans. I'd managed to pull on a black zip-up hoodie before leaving—thankfully she hadn't caught me—but it was so cold out it barely made a difference.

Sasha snorted, her fingers drumming against my arm. "Classic Hitch. Probably wanted you in a dress and heels just to get a cute guy's number."

"I think she was more worried about making sure I didn't show up like a hobo," I muttered, leaning back into the couch.

The old cushions groaned beneath us, Connie slouching further down onto the couch and leaning his head against my arm. "Midterms are kicking my ass, bro," he groaned, his voice muffled against my sleeve.

I let out a groan of my own, slumping down beside him. "Tell me about it. I don't think I've slept more than four hours in days."

Sasha made a face, reaching over me to flick the top of Connie's head. "You? Studying? That's new."