Birdie (Levi x OC)

seventy-eight

Birdie,

I received your letter. Thank you for attending Sasha's funeral in my stead. I'm sure you've already said what needed to be said to her family. That's enough.

Hange's report says things are moving too fast. I can see it in your script, slow down. Take a minute to breathe. Don't let Floch or those other ungrateful brats get a reaction out of you. They aren't worth the effort. Stay in our rooms or the workshop and keep the door locked. I don't want you near them.

Zeke is nothing but talk. He's a pest ringing in my ear, and I'm just waiting for any excuse to shut him up for good. Don't waste a second of your time worrying about me.

Eat properly, don't push your leg, and get some rest. Stop trying to fix everyone else's mess at your own expense. I'll be back as soon as we're done here.

Stay safe. That's an order.

— L.

I read the letter over and over again. My fingers grazing the place where his pen met the paper. His writing was pristine; a reflection of him. The letter even smelled like him. Although I was alone, I felt a small blush tinge the ends of my ears as I breathed the parchment in.

Although hearing from him brought comfort; his words concerned me. I narrowed my gaze at the letter, his worry was apparent.

Keep the door locked.

I fervently glanced at the door that led out of the office, my gaze darting to the unlocked bolt. I stood, the letter still firmly grasped in my hand, and walked towards it. I turned the lock, my breath hitching at the sound of voices right outside.

They weren't shouting. They weren't banging. That was what made my blood run cold. They were just...there.

"...no, Floch said the Captain's office stays as is for the moment," a voice murmured. It was a young voice, one I recognized as a cadet. "We'll need the paperwork and logs not to mention the schematics for our gear. It would be a waste to lose the progress she's made on the new uniforms and ODM gear."

"Is she inside?" a second voice asked, lower and more clinical.

"Most likely. She's always in there when the Captain is away. Like a bird in a nest."

A soft, metallic clink echoed, the sound of someone leaning their gear against my doorframe. It was a casual, disrespectful sound. People didn't lean against the Captain's door. They stood at attention. They waited to be invited.

"It's a shame," the second voice continued, and I could hear the faint rustle of paper being unfolded. "To have all that talent tethered to a dying era. She's Pixis's blood, isn't she? The old man's legacy is already bought and paid for. He's probably drank through half that alcohol that was sent with the volunteers."

A quiet, muffled snicker followed.

"Don't let her hear you," the first one cautioned, though there was no real weight behind the warning. "The Captain's wife still carries a lot of weight with the higher-ups. For another day or two, anyway."

"Let her have her day," the other replied. Through the gap at the bottom of the door, I saw a shadow move; a pair of boots pausing right in front of the threshold. They didn't knock. They didn't try the handle. They just stood there for a long, agonizing heartbeat, as if they were listening to the sound of my pulse.

"She can stay locked in as long as she wants. It just saves us the trouble of finding her later."

The footsteps began to recede, steady and rhythmic, echoing down the hall with a terrifying confidence. They weren't running away; they were just moving on to the next room they intended to claim.