Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The last day of summer vacation was always incredulous. It didn't truly feel like the last day, and you couldn't process the finality of summer break until you were a full week into the semester.

At least, that was the case for you.

That particular August afternoon felt more melancholy and existential than previous years - it was your final time experiencing the last day of summer vacation, because you were set to graduate in May of next year. You and your friends had giddily talked about the end since the very beginning, but now that the finish line was nearing, the merriment was fading away fast.

"Isn't it strange?" Sasha's voice pulled you out of your self-induced trance, snapping you back to reality.

"Hm?"

"Y'know, that we're almost done with college. Doesn't feel real." She hugged her knees tightly to her chest as she pondered. You and her were sitting at the park on top of your favorite hill, shielded from the sun underneath the umbrella of leaves that adorned your favorite tree. The two of you had been coming to that spot since you were little kids.

"That's for sure." You agreed half-heartedly. Whatever you and Sasha had been talking about up until that point escaped you, and you assumed by her prolonged silence that she didn’t remember either. So you and her sat quietly, letting the gentle breeze lap at your skin. Its subtle nips hinted at autumns arrival, and you shivered.

"It's getting cold fast." You remarked, pulling your sleeves over your fingers and curling into yourself.

She glanced at you sideways. "Yeah it is. Wanna dip?"

"Yup."

You both leapt up, egressing from your trademark spot under the well-loved and frequented gingko tree.

On your walk back to your place you kicked a small rock along with you, your hands stuffed deep in your pockets and your shoulders slumped forward.

"You going to the party tonight?" Sasha inquired you, feeling pretty confident she already knew your answer. You shrugged.

"I don't know. I'm not really in a party mood." The rock clattered against the pavement as you continued to punt it around.

"C'mon, last day of summer vacation free-for-all party," she wheedled playfully, stepping in front of you with her hands up and fingers outstretched, "forever." Her delivery was grave for dramatic effect. She had stopped you when she slid into your path. The rock you kicked tumbled forward.

"Yeah, that's exactly why I don't want to go. Too depressing." You pushed past her and kept waltzing in the direction of home. She stood there stupidly for a moment and watched you until she thought of something clever to say.

"Awe, someone's got the end of summer bluessss," she lilted as she jogged back up to you, placing her hands on your shoulders from behind and poking her head around you, "and I know the perfect cure! Food and liquor. Which we can bring to the partyyyy." Her finger shot up in the air like she had hatched an original idea.

You grumbled, brushing her hands off of you and stopping in your tracks to begrudgingly cross your arms and look at her with discontent.

Despite your lack of interest, you mulled it over for a few moments. It wasn't until you made eye contact with Sasha that you came to your final decision, with a wry grin threatened the corners of your lips.

"If you buy."

A triumphant smile cracked on her face. "Deal!" She cheered, "it's gonna be so fun. You'll be glad that you went!"

Her assurance did little to convince you, but your whole friend group was going be there. It would be nice to see everyone together casually before you all had to lock in for nine grueling months, and every hang out became a study session.

"For the record, you're not very convincing." You sneered at her, resuming your unhurried stride home.

"Well I convinced you, so." She weakly pushed you in jest, laughing, and you returned it by deliberately bumping into her with your shoulder while giggling. The walk back to your place was uneventful after that.

When you got back to your crib you both lounged around for awhile, procrastinating your preparations for the evening. Sasha dipped after her lazing to run to the corner store and get the food and alcohol as promised.

The sun was beginning to set, yanking down a curtain of orange and yellow hues that casted a warm glow through the windows during your state of repose on the futon. It took a lot of will for you to pry yourself away from your phone to start getting ready. You had gotten sucked into scrolling through the local news on social media - another woman's body had been recovered from the forest. Or at least, what was left of her body. There were only bits and pieces that remained. Dental records had to be used to identify the victim. These strings of murders and disappearing people had been going on for a long time with literally no leads. This left the townsfolk riddled with chronic paranoia, but there wasn't much that could be done about it besides staying together in groups and avoiding going out at night.

You shut your phone off, trying to distract yourself from the depressing news by going to your room and beginning the long process of getting ready for the party.

The function was being held at Reiner Braun's house. He was one of those grossly wealthy jocks that lived with his parents throughout college, because why would anyone opt to live in a dumpy rental if their family owned a mansion with an indoor and outdoor pool? A surprising detail you learned was that his parents were even aware of his parties. They would leave the house with him just so he could throw them under the conditions that he cleaned up. He was your archetypical popular football guy - groomed, well-liked, insanely cut, handsome as hell, and had a very bright future ahead. With him being a collegiate football quarter back while maintaining pretty decent grades, there was talk of him joining the NFL after graduation.

You weren't particularly close to him, but he was pining for your friend Historia, and he saw inviting you as an in to get to know her. However, with the way he had approached you with his invite you had a feeling he was trying to bone you too. He seemed like the type to sleaze around now that college was coming to a close. Him and his circle, including a reserved blonde named Annie and a reticent gentle giant named Bertolt, were all a couple years older than you and your friends but were graduating at the same time as you. You were unsure of why Annie and Bertolt were graduating at the age they were - maybe they took a gap year after high school instead of jumping into the thick of it, or took extra time to finish their credits, but you had a feeling Reiner did it so he could play football for a little longer.

Sasha returned, having already eaten half of the sandwich she picked up on the way back home and joined you in getting ready. She sat at your vanity and used your make-up, brushing on her lashes with your dried-up, flakey mascara. You were lying on your stomach on your bed, using a small hand-held mirror to apply your lip gloss.

"Five bucks Eren and Jean get into a drunk argument about Mikasa." Sasha bet as she replaced the mascara wand back into the tube, leaning into the mirror and inspecting her work.

"I can't believe they're still fighting over her. It's been since high school. They need to let dead dogs lie." You snickered, puckering your lips while checking out your reflection. You weren't even sure if Mikasa knew that their altercations stemmed from a mutual interest in her.

Reiner insisted that you could bring whoever you wanted because he was looking to have a huge turn out, so you invited your whole friend group - Sasha, Connie, Jean, Eren, Armin, and Mikasa. You also made a point to invite Historia and Ymir, who were extensions to your group.

"Boys will be boys." She giggled as she flicked on some subtle eyeliner.

You folded the mirror closed and slipped it into your silver pleather purse. "You think Reiner knows that Historia's a lesbian? And she's literally bringing her girlfriend along?" 

"If he did he wouldn't have invited her, unless he's thinking he can score a..." She trailed off.

"Threeway." You both said in unison, erupting into fits of childish laughter, knowing damn well Ymir would burst into a ball of flames at even the mere sight of a penis.

As your immature giggles settled, you peered to the time on your phone. "We should get going, we're like an hour late." Typical for the two of you.

"Yeah. Shot first?" Sasha suggested while poking around the plastic bag for the raspberry vodka shooters that she knew you liked. You smiled, hoisting yourself from your bed and wandering to her as she pulled out the liquor.

"Yes please."

The function was typical for what you'd expect of a college party - raucous, lively, and messy. However, this one, unlike others, was particularly exuberant. It's high traffic resembled what you'd see in the movies. The crinkled five dollar bill in your pocket was claimed by Sasha as you irritatingly forked it over while witnessing Eren and Jean drunkenly wrestle on the living room rug (one of Reiner's many living rooms, at least). Instead of peeling them away from each other like she usually did, Mikasa watched, embarrassed on their behalf. There was a time at a different party that the boys crashed through the dining table of someone else's house. And another where their tussle ended up flinging them down a flight of stairs, resulting in Eren breaking an arm. Somehow, at the end of every day though, they always made up and were still friends.

At one point you broke off from the randoms and found yourself upstairs where a joint was being passed around. All of your friends were there, along with Reiner, Annie, and Bertolt. Annie was hunched over with her legs crossed, rolling another joint as the lit one was being passed around.

"Did you hear about the body found today? Completely disemboweled. Face cut off and restitched together. Reports said they needed dental records to identify the victim because the face was too fucked up." Connie shared after taking a small drag, plumes of smoke jetting out between the gaps of his teeth as he spoke.

"Yeah, and she went to our school. I had an accounting class with her last semester..." Jean muttered uneasily before trailing off, nibbling on the inside of his cheek. "Makes me nervous because I haven't heard from Marco in a few days."

"Marco's fine." Reiner interjected quickly to manage the tone of the room, steering away from group anxieties, "I'm pretty sure someone told me he went on vacation to somewhere remote, no service." His reassurance did little for Jean.

"I guess. I just feel like he would have told me.." Your friend faltered, nervously rubbing the back of his head.

"He'll be in class tomorrow I bet." Reiner offered a sincere smile to him. Jean accepted the blunt that Connie passed over.

"He better be," he looked down at it hesitantly, then elected to pass it on instead of taking a hit, "I can't wait to move out of this fucking town after graduation." He huffed with resentment, referring to escaping the looming fear of the reoccurring murders.

"Me too." Annie chimed in. It was the first thing she had said all evening.

The joint came to you, and you took a light hit. It felt strange, yet pleasant, to be crossed in a room with all your friends and the extension of potential new ones. You were vetting Reiner and his group, which was a nice change of pace to your typical social environment. Maybe you could get closer to them before the year was over.

The droning from downstairs reminded you that you were at a party as you started to space out.

"I get terrible munchies whenever I smoke." Sasha stated, unintentionally changing the subject as you offered her the joint. She accepted it, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked in with curls of smoke rising from her parted lips. She passed it off to Reiner.

"Only when you smoke?" You joked as you nudged her shoulder. The buzz from the mix of alcohol and weed in your system made your head feel fuzzy. She smiled to you as she read the inebriation in your eyes.

She leapt up. "I'm going downstairs for some chips."

Reiner shifted in his spot, hinting that he was going to stand up as well. "I was just thinking we could go to the hot tub." He proposed, ghosting the smoke puff skillfully after he spoke. There was a unanimous agreement to migrate to the hot tub, which was already pretty busy with people.

The group traversed down the spiral stairs to a palatial shadow piece for a kitchen, where there were marble countertops with opulent finishes, custom-built cabinetry, and floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed for a clear view of a massive terrace with freshly stained Brazilian walnut wood panels. Everyone gathered around the island counter that was littered with abandoned half-drank solo cups and an array of assorted empty liquor bottles. Reiner retrieved an unopened bottle of rumpleminze from a cabinet, pouring a generous amount in a row of red plastic shot glasses. After a toast, each person threw their head back as they downed the peppermint poison. You grimaced as it burned down your throat, warming your stomach.

"Thanks for coming tonight." Reiner spoke up as the others started to get lost in their own drunken conversations, forgetting about the hot tub objective. You glanced up to him, smiling.

"Thanks for having me. It's been a great party. You really know how to be a good host." He shrugged, pouring himself and you another shot.

"One day I won't be able to do this any more. Gotta enjoy it while I can, ya know?" He handed you the shot, and you took it cautiously knowing you were already steadily approaching your limit.

"Very true." You agreed, a little sullen. The thought of the end kept reoccurring, and each time it drove that fact deeper into your psyche. Reiner sensed a shift in your demeanor due to his comment.

"Are you excited?" He asked pensively, leaning on a propped arm against the counter.

You peered into your shot glass, which was full to the brim. After all this time you hadn't really processed your own feelings about graduation. Now that someone had actually inquired you about your thoughts regarding it, your personal realization started to come to fruition. The swirl of toxins in your body coerced you to produce an unfiltered honesty.

"I don't know," you said almost gravely, concerned by your own lack of understanding, "I don't know what I want to do with my life after this is over. I've always been on a structured path, with elementary and middle and high school and now college. I feel like I'm being derailed." You drunkenly admitted, speaking your thoughts as they were coming to you for the first time.

You could tell by Reiner's expression that he hadn't anticipated a dejected response. You mentally scolded yourself for your emotional thought dump.

"Sorry." You muttered, averting your gaze from him.

He stood up straight. "Don't apologize. That was very real of you to say. And to be honest, I'm in the same boat."

Your attention shot to him in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, who doesn't feel that way? It's a hard thing, being thrown into the real world. Everyone thinks I'm joining the NFL. Which, don't get me wrong, I want to and would be honored. But then I have to think to myself. Is that really what I want? I mean, my body will fall apart at that rate. I get a lot of depressing thoughts, too. I feel I only want what I do because that's what I'm being told I should want, you know?"

Despite having as many drinks as he did, his sentiment was very sober. He frowned at his own desolate confession, not looking at anything in particular. You watched him with empathetic eyes.

"Yeah, I do know," you held up your drink in the air, "we can navigate the end together."

He perked up at your optimism, raising his drink to bump it to yours.

"To figuring out life together, with the help of our friends." He cheered, and you both downed your shots with drunken ease. After wiping your lips with the back of your hand, Reiner addressed you again.

"You know, I've wanted to get to know you for awhile. I just didn't think you'd ever be interested in coming to one of my functions. Couldn't tell if you were the party type or not." One of your eyebrows quirked at him and you chuckled dryly.

"I was under the impression you just invited me so Historia would show up, ya know, since inviting her directly would be too obvious." You jeered, and he looked away sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

"Well, sure, I think she's cute, but-"

"You found out she had a girlfriend." You cut him off, eyeing him in an accusatory yet playfully unserious way.

"What? No, no- wait, she has a girlfriend?" His voice dipped in disappointment, and you busted into fits of laughter.

"You give yourself away." You jested lightheartedly.

Reiner sighed, his gaze falling to the bottom of his empty shot glass before setting it back down onto the counter. "It's not like that. Promise." 

"It's okay if it is," you remarked, "it's not that serious." When you returned him with a half-smile, he seemed to relax.

"Yeah, you're right," he took a step closer to you, "but I'm being honest that I've found you interesting for awhile from afar. You can choose to believe it or not. And whether you want to explore my honesty is up to you." He simpered, his neck craning down to look at your face closely. Because of his daunting height, he towered over you. As he gazed down, you looked up to maintain his eye contact. Admittedly, he was a very handsome man. You were drunk enough to not think too much about the repercussions of your actions.

"Maybe I will." You murmured. He started to lean in, only to be interrupted by a very inebriated Connie.

"Guys- GUYS! Jean and Eren are fighting again!" He announced to everybody in the kitchen dramatically, slurring his words and stumbling upon entry. Reiner pulled away before his lips made contact with yours. He groaned.

"Should probably check it out before they put a hole in my wall. After, wanna hit the hot tub?" He offered, and you gave him a slight nod.

After Reiner diffused Eren and Jean's senseless squabble, most of the group from earlier's smoke sesh found themselves soaking in the hot tub like they initially planned. You sank into the hot water all the way up to your neck as the jets of bubbles massaged your back. You gazed up at the warm string of lights that traced the perimeter of the massive porch while eavesdropping on your friend's frivolous conversations.

Even in the later hours, the party was still bustling with no indications of slowing down. There were a few people you didn't recognize making out in corners, large groups that were dancing to early 2000's pop, and clusters of bodies surrounded by folding tables with various drinking games. You weren't sure where Reiner had gone off to, but you weren't worried. You were pretty drunk, and needed a chance to revel by yourself before socializing anymore.

Despite the distracting commotion, you were stuck in your drunken reverie about that woman from the news.

Her name was Mina. She was around your guys' age. When you were mindlessly scrolling while Sasha was out earlier, you couldn't find any photos of the crime scene on the general web but were able to locate some that were leaked to Reddit. The gruesome images were haunting, to say the least. Even though it was against your better judgement, your morbid curiosity got the best of you. You were a criminology and forensic psychology major, after all.

You woke up severely hungover and dehydrated. Sasha had fallen asleep on your floor, wrapped around your bathroom trashcan that she dragged out so she could watch reruns of Jersey Shore in between her dry-heaving. You don't remember how you got home, but you do remember that at one point you sloppily made out with Reiner, who tried to coax you into his bedroom. He respected your rejection after you decided you were too inebriated to not regret your decision later.

You peered at the clock. 9:35 am.

"Fuck!" You shrieked, jumping out of bed and aggressively shaking Sasha.

"We're late! On the first day! We do not want to give Professor Jaeger a bad first impression!" You shook her relentlessly by her shoulders, and her eyes shifted behind idle lids. 

"I'm going to die." She muttered, gripping your wrists to thwart your harsh jostling. She leaned over and puked up bile into the already half-full trash can.

"Gross."

You dropped your grip from her, letting her slump back over the garbage. She waved a hand at you with her face stuffed into the hole of the can.

She coughed, retching in between her labored breaths. "Go on without me. Just fill me in later."

"Fine, fine." You didn't have time to argue. You heedlessly threw on some dirtied clothes that littered your floor, gave yourself a quick glance in the mirror, wiped your smudged make-up off with the back of your hand, and swiped your keys off the counter, flying through the door and forgetting to lock it behind you, leaving Sasha to fend for herself.

Lecture started at 9:30, and ended at 10:20, and you had made it twenty five minutes late, missing half of the lecture.

Eren's half-brother, Zeke Jaeger, was the professor of your level 300 Evolutionary Genetics lecture. Your entire friend group needed additional upper level credits to graduate, and this was the only class that had the seat availability for all of you, so you collectively connived and registered together. Even then, the lecture wasn't particularly huge.

The class was infamous for Zeke's harsh grading and the difficult material, but you all wanted to be together. You figured strength in numbers. You guys were also under the false pretense that because of Eren's and Zeke's blood relation he would be easy on him and his friends, but you all quickly realized that would not be the case.

Reiner, Annie, and Bertolt were also coincidentally in your lecture, unbeknownst to you. You sheepishly shied away from his gaze when you and Reiner made eye contact upon your late arrival, both out of embarrassment for being late and your interaction from last night. You hoped he didn't think you were a prude.

Zeke's overly pedantic ramble about the syllabus was severed as he eyed you upon your entry. A significant portion of the lecture followed his eyes to you. Your face grew hot as you quickly located your friends, hustling wordlessly to them and sitting in between Connie and Armin, who had graciously left an open seat for you. You struggled to keep up with stem lectures that were unfairly quick with excessive information and esoteric jargon, so Armin sat next to you for your aid. He was valedictorian of your graduating class, which was only one of many indicators for his brilliance. He took the LSAT and the MCAT for shits and gigs, and got near perfect scores on both. Academia was his whole life. His weakness was that a lot of his identity was tied to it, and he's admitted that before. He was double-majoring in Physics and Philosophy.

"What did I miss?" You leaned into Armin as Zeke resumed his crude slideshow presentation. 

"So far he's gone over the course's and his personal introduction, the classes itinerary for the whole semester, and the grade breakdown. Attendance is going to be super important. So will punctuality," he eyed you, clued in on your history of tardiness, "I would definitely review the syllabus on Canvas later tonight." He whispered with a slight urgency in his tone.

Armin was the type of guy to have read all the class syllabi a week before the semester even started. Based off of what he's learned about the course he already could that tell you (and much of your friend group) were going to struggle. Connie's head swiveled around, searching for something.

"Where's Sasha?" He asked quietly.

"Out for the count. Too much rumpleminze." You reported. He grimaced at the remembrance of the peppermint taste from last night. His nose was wrinkled in disgust.

"Valid."

When lecture concluded, your group packed up and promptly left. Reiner and his gang were sitting towards the front of the lecture, with you and your clan in the middle-back. They caught up to you as you exited and started chatting up your friends. Annie and Armin somehow got tangled up in a conversation. It was amusing to watch as Armin tried to look every which way that wasn't into Annie's half-lidded eyes, his face dusted a faint shade of pink. You also observed as Bertolt eyed them as they spoke.

You felt around the outside of your jeans for your keys, only to notice that the usual bulge wasn't there. You stopped in place and the group continued on before halting after realizing you'd stopped moving.

"Fuck, I forgot my keys." You announced as you rooted around your empty pockets. You slipped off your backpack and heedlessly unzipped all the bag compartments, rummaging through and finding nothing.

"They're probably in the lecture hall, don't wait up." You zipped up your bag and slung it over your shoulder, pivoting on your heel to turn back.

"We'll wait for you, it's cool." Connie assured as you jogged away.

"No, seriously, I'll catch up." You waved your hand over your shoulder as you disappeared around the corner. Luckily you didn't get far before you realized you had lost your keys, so it wasn't long before you were at the double doors of the lecture hall. With haste, you pushed them open and stepped through the threshold. You scanned the room, locating where you had been sitting just minutes ago.

As you walked down the wide, platformed steps to your seat you noticed a short man that was standing by the podium, quietly sweeping around it. He looked up to you boredly as you drew nearer to the front before glancing back down again, minding his task. You found it kind of odd that class literally just ended and he was already inside and cleaning up, but you ignored him as you strode to your old spot. Your keys weren't sitting on the desk where you had put them. Confused, you ducked your head under the desk to see if they had fallen onto the floor. You got onto all floors, crawling around on the carpet while you hunted. After concluding that they were nowhere to be found you lifted yourself back up with support from the desk. Your gaze fell back onto the janitor who was minding his business.

"Excuse me," you called to him, "have you seen a pair of keys here just now?" You approached him as you asked, striding down the steps. He peered to you as you stepped onto the wooden part of the platform. He examined you up and down before speaking. 

"You mean these?" He reached towards his janitorial cart and pulled out your overly-ornamented keys from one of the side pockets.

"Yes! Thank you," You sighed in relief as he handed them off to you, "I was worried I lost these." You toyed with them for a moment, briefly examining them before slipping them into your pocket. His attention fell back to his mindless sweeping.

"You should really be careful where you put those," he muttered with an eerie tone as he returned to his work, "don't want them to end up in the wrong hands."

You stared at him for a moment, slightly unnerved by his delivery, but you brushed it off quickly as you turned to exit.

"Uh, thanks again." You repeated as you hiked up the steps and disappeared through the double doors.

You jogged back up to your friends who are loitering around in the hallway.

"Took you a second. Did you find them okay?" Jean asked, coolly leaned up against a wall.

"Yeah. The janitor found them - weird guy." You reported. The group continued its casual gait outside. The college of biology had a garden leading up into the main entry way with tiny engraved plaques that labelled the genus name and specific epithet of each plant species.

"The short one with black hair?" Jean questioned and you nodded. He clicked his tongue.

"Yeah, he's super anal about cleaning and doing it as quickly as possible. He's always in the room immediately after class gets out. I've seen him start mopping before the professor had even finished lecture once." Jean chuckles at his recollection. You shot him a quizzical look.

"You must see him a lot. I've never seen him before."

"Not a lot, only when I was taking that chemistry class two years ago. He's usually in the chem building I think. It’s strange you’ve never seen him, he’s always been around." Jean pointed out and you hummed in response, losing interest in the conversation quickly.

”I donno. Maybe I’ve just never bothered to notice him.” You shrugged. Eren glanced at you sideways.

"I've seen him before. I'd run into him while he was taking out the trash in the hallways of the college of political science at the same time nearly every day last semester. He'd chat me up when I was by myself. I couldn't tell if he was hitting on me or not." Eren reflected out loud.

"Trust, nobody would try to flirt with you." Jean jeered, and Eren shot him a murderous look. Before he goaded Jean further, Eren caught a glimpse of Mikasa's glower, warning him otherwise. Ymir was poking Bertolt's shoulder and pointing to the bickering boys, whispering something into his ear. She was probably explaining their lore to him, since he was new to the group. Historia giggled at their pointless bickering. Reiner leaned into you, whispering.

"Do they always do this?" He laughed, feigning interest in their relationship. He was seeking an excuse to talk to you.

"Always." You deadpanned, readjusting your backpack strap as you watched them otiosely argue.

Your group dispersed as you all broke off into your respective colleges for your other more major-related classes. You had a gap hour before your Psychopathology and Deviant Behavior lecture, followed by your Victimology lecture. The girl who was murdered and found the other day, Mina, was brought up in the Victimology course. It felt tactless to have used her as an example, especially because there was no way to know if some of her friends were in that class. She was a relatively well known and well liked girl.

You finally got home around 3 pm, completely pooped after forcing yourself to focus while clouded with hangover brain fog. You fished out your keys, fumbling around your numerous superfluous keychains that you've collected over the years to find your apartment key. You fiddled for a long time, turning your keys over once and then again when you couldn't find it.

It wasn't there. Strange.

You paid it little mind, too exhausted to care or think about where it could have gone. You rationalized that it had just fallen off, since that has happened before. Your fist was heavy as you knocked on the door, praying that Sasha was home and desperate to be let in so you could lie down on the floor and die.

"It's open." Sasha's voice was muffled through the wood. You pushed past it to see a nonchalant Sasha that was lounging on your futon with her feet casually kicked up onto the coffee table, compulsively flipping through channels while sipping on iced coffee. She seemed to be in good shape considering she was knocking on death's door earlier that morning.

"Have you been here all day?" You asked, slinging your bag onto the floor and flopping ungracefully onto the oversized beanbag chair next to the futon.

"Yup." She confirmed unapologetically with her eyes glued to the TV. She settled on Sex and the City 2.

"You missed all your classes today." Your question was more of a self-answered statement.

"Yup." She repeated.

"You're going to flunk out of college." You groaned, rubbing your temples as you felt an oncoming headache growing.

"Nuh-uh." She countered childishly, shaking around the plastic cup to work the remaining coffee around the ice so she could finish it off.

You sat there and watched the rerun in silence for a moment.

"I've seen this before. This movie sucks."

"Yeah. I can tell." She switched to the next channel while chewing on her plastic straw. It was the local news. "Anything interesting happen on the first day of school dear?" She cooed, pretending as if she was a loving mother and you were her young child who just got back home.

"Not really. Except I ran into this freaky janitor who found my keys for me. I left them behind in Zeke's lecture."

"Oh right, prof Jaeger. How was that?"

You groaned. "Eren was wrong about us being favored. We might have made a mistake taking this class. This semester is going to be hell." A thought sporadically popped into your head.

"Oh, speaking of my keys from earlier. Do you think you could run to Walmart and make me a duplicate of my spare house key I gave you? At one of those minute-key kiosks? I lost mine today." Sasha looked at you strangely. You could tell by her eyes that the cogs in her head were turning.

"Didn't you say that the janitor found your keys?" She asked, confused, sitting up a little straighter.

"Yeah. And?"

"And you can't find your apartment key?" She was trying to get you to register what she was getting at. You eyes widened slightly at her suggestion.

"Oh, no shot." You denied her implication of the janitor swiping your house key.

She leaned back into the futon, not particularly alarmed by the idea. "You sure? You did say he was freaky." 

"Yeah. And how would he have known that that specific key was the key to my house? I have like a bajillion things on my key ring. Car key, mailbox key, work key to the building door, work key to the cell hallway, padlock key to my gym locker..." You started rattling off the assortment of keys that you had, partially to self-soothe the back burner anxiety that someone could identify which key allowed access into your home.

"True, true." She agreed with divided attention, listening intently to the man on the news. Whatever the news anchor was saying, she had quickly become completely engrossed in it. Your attention was pulled to the TV as she turned up the volume.

"Another body has been located this afternoon. It was recovered in an alleyway between 48th and Stohess street. The victim has been identified as..."

Both your's and Sasha's eyes expanded, your jaws unhinging wide in utter shock and heartbreak.

"Marco Bott."

Chapter Text

Did you see the news?

You blinked at the text from Connie that you received just moments after you and Sasha heard about Marco on the news channel, unsure of how to read your own feelings about the situation. You felt utterly numb. You didn’t answer his question directly, but your response spoke for itself.

Does everybody else already know?

You hit send, and Connie responded instantly.

Armin is the one who told me. And shortly after that I got a call from Jean. He saw it on the TV. He is….. Not well. I don’t think we should talk about Marco’s death in the group chat.

Just as you thought, each of your friends had heard the devastating news at around the same time. Upon learning about Marco's death, the group collectively journeyed to Jean's house, knowing full well that he was going to need to be surrounded by support. Reiner had texted you while you were in the passenger seat of Sasha's car on the way to his apartment.

Hey, I heard about Marco... Is there anything I can do to be supportive to you and the others? To Jean?

You glanced at your phone and smiled at his thoughtfulness. It was touching that despite not knowing you well, he still wanted to try and be helpful.

No, that's alright. We're just going to spend time with Jean. Thanks for checking in, though.

You sent the text as you and Sasha rolled into Jean's apartment parking lot. Your concurrent arrival with Armin, Mikasa, Eren, and Connie was coincidental as everybody hopped out of their cars at the same time.

Connie fished a spare key to Jean's building and apartment door out of his pocket, anxiously fiddling with the lock before opening the door wide. Jean had stopped responding to Connie’s texts, and it was throwing him into a silent panic.

Jean had an abhorrent tendency to push everyone away in times of need. It was hard to thwart the plague of guilt that came with forcing yourself onto your friend, but everyone was worried he would do something reckless or regrettable. Marco's death was likely one of the hardest things Jean had ever experienced.

It was unspoken knowledge that Jean definitely had some kind of romantic feelings for Marco, but he fought and denied his gay thoughts arduously. Nobody ever addressed his closeted sexuality to him. It would have made him wildly uncomfortable; he would just deny it anyway.

Traversing up the stairs, your group pooled around Jean’s apartment door, standing quietly as you waited for Connie’s directive. Connie knocked on the door softly, his voice wary.

"Jean?"

Radio silence.

"Jean, I'm with the gang," he paused, "we're coming in."

No response.

Connie inserted the key into the keyhole, struggling with it for a moment then turning it, hesitantly wrapping his fingers around the doorknob before exchanging nervous glances with everyone and pushing the door open.

Behind the door revealed a desolate living space. Its already cramped nature made it so the smallest mess appeared large and unruly. Faint speckles of dust particles floated in the slivers of light that filtered through the closed blinds, leaving the space dim and uninviting. Jean was nowhere to be found in the den or the kitchen.

You all encroached towards his bedroom, where you found Jean lying in bed completely still. In his torpid state, he was slumped on his side and facing away from the bedroom door, shielding his face from view.

"Jean?" Connie addressed him softly.

Jean grumbled pitifully after moments of silence.

"Go away."

Mikasa stepped through the door first, wheedling to him quietly. "Jean.. Let us be here for you."

The group gathered around the bed. Connie and Sasha sat at the foot of his mattress, you and Eren stood at the foot of the bed, and Mikasa and Armin sat on the floor, leaning back on their arms. You all wallowed in somber silence as you let Jean acclimate to the air of your presence.

Finally, Jean sat up. He was shirtless, with his hair matted and disheveled like he had been writhing in bed and sobbing into his pillow all afternoon. His eyes were puffy and pink and swollen, tears staining his cheeks. He looked awful.

"In half."

Jean's voice wavered, and you could tell by the quivering of his bottom lip that he was resisting the urge to burst into tears.

"They found his body sawed in fucking half." He repeated the gruesome knowledge that each of you were already acutely aware of. Everyone shifted uncomfortably in the room, unsure of what to say. No string of words could be nearly as comforting as he needed them to be.

"I'm going to find the guy who did it... I'm going to murder him, cut off all his limbs, rip him to fucking shreds ." Jean’s voice cracked as it crescendoed until he was nearly screaming. His fingers curled into the fabric of his bed sheets, white knuckling them as he balled them into his fists. Connie and Sasha exchanged sad glances to each other.

"Jean," Sasha put an empathetic hand on his shoulder, "it's gonna be okay."

Jean deflated, his eyes welling up.

His voice was so hushed it could barely be heard. "I never told him."

Jean couldn't fight the tears any longer, succumbing to them as they leaked out. Connie held out his arms and Jean fell into his comforting embrace. He silently cried into Connie's shoulder, trembling as his quiet lacrimation evolved into an uncontrolled sob. Connie rubbed warm circles into his back.

You, Armin, and Sasha started to tear up. Not just from witnessing Jean's agonizing reaction, but because Marco was your friend, too. He had been a part of your circle since it first formed in grade school. Mikasa sat to herself silently, a dejected frown imprinted onto her face. Even Eren, an emotionally underdeveloped prick, was holding back the imminent tears that threatened his waterline.

"Shit.." Eren muttered, his voice faltering, "Jean, I'll help you find this guy. We'll--"

"Eren." Mikasa cut him off sternly, finding now an inappropriate time for a heroic monologue.

Eren's fists balled up, rage towards the world evident on his face, and he quickly wiped away the single tear that escaped him and rolled down his cheek.

The painful reunion went on for a long time, and after Jean had cried himself out Armin suggested that everyone relocate to the living area to watch some TV, put on a comfort show of some kind, and order a pizza.

Not knowing what else to do and accepting that there was really nothing that could ease his pain right now, Jean agreed.

Everyone piled onto Jean's sectional. Mikasa thumbed through Netflix shows and movies as Armin had the Pizza Hut app opened on his phone. He deliberated out loud with the group which kind to get.

"I was thinking hawaiian." He suggested, his eyes fixed to the screen. Jean nibbled on his lip.

"Hawaiian was Marco's favorite." He sighed, tearing up again. Too prideful for his own good, Jean quickly and fiercely wiped the water away from his bloodshot eyes. He was mildly embarrassed from his vulnerable outburst in front of all his friends - or more specifically, Eren - from earlier.

“Yeah, hawaiian is good..." He followed up, looking down diffidently. Sasha chirped from her spot on the sectional chaise, ignoring Jean. 

"Can you please also get a triple meat pizza too. I promise I'll pay for the extra toppings." She typically forgot to pay for her extra toppings.

"Fatass." Connie sneered. Sasha whipped around towards Connie, who was sitting right next to her, and lunged towards him with a hand at Connie's throat. Both of Connie's hands shot up to pry Sasha off his neck.

"Who you calling fatass, dumbass?!"

"Who you callin' dumbass, fatass?!" Their voices rose and they started to wrestle on the couch. Everybody watched them, not bothering to interject. Their sibling-like bickering brought a weak grin to Jean's face.

He sniffled, his eyes wetting again. "At least I still have you guys." 

You reached out for Jean's hand from where you were sitting on the couch, taking it into yours and giving it an affirming squeeze. "Yeah, at least we have each other," You chimed in, offering Jean a sincere smile, "we need to take care of each other." Jean nodded firmly.

"Agreed. We shouldn't be hanging around alone anymore. We need to take this shit seriously until this guy is caught."

The next day, the university made an announcement saying that all buildings were to be closed by 9 pm instead of their usual midnight close, and no students were permitted to wander around on campus after the new curfew. Dorm students had stricter rules, seeing that college students were a recent primary target. Campus police were going to patrol much more frequently and diligently as well.

Your group spent the rest of that evening at Jean’s trying to brainstorm ways to stay safe. Everyone had already had each other’s locations on their phones for years. Connie suggested to Jean that he move in with him - not even just so they weren't living alone, but because he kind of wanted a roommate, too. Jean was enthusiastic about the idea, being that Connie was his best friend.

I hated my apartment anyway. It was a rat hole , Jean had justified, subleasing his apartment to someone random and moving his shit into Connie's within the week. Everybody else either had a roommate, or lived within extremely close proximity of someone else.

You and Sasha lived separately, but she was basically your roommate with how often she came over and crashed at yours. You talked about the idea, but you were keen on maintaining your independence and you absolutely did not trust Sasha's ability to keep up with the dishes and other basic cleaning tasks. You decided you were content with the situation you had, and it was safe enough considering she was always around. 

About two weeks had passed since the beginning of the semester. You were already falling behind in Dr. Jaeger's genetics class, and Sasha, Eren, and Connie were doing just as poorly as you. Admittedly, everybody was floundering, but the others were at least keeping their head above the water. Except for, of course, Armin, who was sailing through Jaeger's strict grading policies with a cool ninety eight percent average on all his assignments accompanied by his perfect attendance. Armin took it upon himself to be anyone's and everyone's tutor. The group chat was constantly being flooded with questions from every which way, asking Armin for help on a specific homework problem or for him to explain a complicated concept. He tried to convince Eren and Connie that they should accept his help and come study with you and Sasha today, but they declined. Eren's perception of his own intelligence was overestimated, and Connie was lazy. You and Sasha, on the other hand, happily took up Armin's offer.

The three of you were hunkered down in a compact, stuffy study room nestled in the heart of the library. Armin was sitting squarely to Sasha's right, and she was folded over with her head down on the desk while using her arms as a pillow. You were lying on the ground, staring at the ceiling with blank eyes. It was a gloomy Sunday with a forecast of severe thunderstorms. The blanket of threatening grey clouds that could be observed through the library windows suggested it, too.

"Because of differences in peak breeding time, 5 species of frogs rarely produce interspecific hybrids. The isolating mechanism is A. behavioral B. ecological C. geographical D. mechanical E. temporal." Armin read off a practice question to you and Sasha. You both groaned.

"I don't know, B?" You said unconfidently, biting back your passive aggressiveness. It had been a long, seemingly unproductive study session. It was impossible for you to focus.

"Yeah, B." Sasha agreed, clearly not remembering what the answer option 'B' even was.

"Close," Armin said sheepishly, "It's E. Temporal."

You both booed at him half-jokingly and he frowned.

"Fucking why is it E?" You chided, throwing a hand up into the air in frustration.

"Because the definition of a temporal isolating mechanism refers to a reproductive barrier between species where individuals are unable to mate due to breeding at different times," he explained meekly, "the answer is in the question, if you know the definitions."

He thumbed through the practice problems trying to find more simple questions, but that was about as simple as they were going to get.

"Are you guys paying attention in lecture? Doing the assigned readings? These questions just involve memorizing terms... We haven't even gotten to genetic probability, which will involve math. Our first exam is next week."

His hounding suddenly overwhelmed you, making you snap, "Armin, I genuinely don’t care. Unlike nerds like you, I have other things on my mind besides school.”

Your blonde friend winced at your rude remark, falling silent as his gaze sunk to the floor. Sasha’s head craned up slightly to give you a disapproving look from where she lied on the table, rebuking you for lashing out at someone as passive and patient as Armin. Upon seeing the hurt evident in his eyes you frowned, feeling guilty.

"I’m sorry Armin, that was mean. I do think you're a nerd, but in the best way possible, and I know that you have other things going on in your life besides school, too. I appreciate you for taking time out of your day to help me. You're carrying the whole friend group through this class right now, so thank you for that and your patience with our dumbasses."

You apologized sincerely, to which Armin smiled shyly. You could tell he was debating saying something in his head.

"You have such a way with words when apologizing. What grade did you get in your English class freshman year again?" Armin unexpectedly and playfully shot back; your mouth gaped in shock as a smile forced its way onto lips. Sasha giggled wildly, prompting her to sit up.

"Ow!" You launched into a sitting position, laughing while dramatically throwing your hand to your chest and clutching your heart as if you'd been shot. It was no secret that you hated reading and writing for assignments and that you barely ended the class with a D+.

"Armin's picking up some of our wit~" Sasha grinned, throwing him a blithe slug on the shoulder. He rubbed the tender spot that Sasha landed on, chuckling nervously, a little proud of himself for his successful attempt at a retort.

“Sorry, that wasn’t nice of me to say.” Armin quickly back-peddled, to which you scoffed.

“Don’t apologize to me, I deserved that,” you defended his valid reaction, "but if the nerd really needs an explanation for everything, the reason I haven't been doing the readings is because they've been running me ragged at work lately." You excused, sticking your tongue out at him. Sasha interjected.

"Also because you're lazy."

"That’s rich coming from you, potato girl. How many lectures have you missed?" You narrowed your eyes at her with a sly grin. During the third lecture of the semester, Sasha ate a baked potato out of her hands the way you would eat an apple during Zeke's lecture, to which he paused to comment on, making her the spectacle of class for all of 20 seconds. Naturally, she wasn't embarrassed, but rather annoyed that he felt the need to point it out in front of everyone.

She threatened while pointing the tip of her pen at you. "Watch it, I know where you live."

"Shhhhh, careful, the murderer might hear you." You joked, holding your hands out in a pretend plea for her to stop. She jumped up to her feet.

"And I hope he does! 626 NORTH DAUPER DRIVE!!!!" She screamed, amplifying her voice by cupping her hands around her mouth.

Panicked, Armin grabbed at Sasha's wrists to pull them away from her face.

"Shush! That's not a funny joke, Sasha!"

"Yeah, Sasha." You added, crossing your arms triumphantly as if Armin was siding with you. He scowled at you with disfavor.

"You too, (Y/N). You made the joke first. Both of you, knock it off." He nervously glanced at the wall clock. It was 8:13 pm.

"Actually," he started, "I think we should get going. It's almost curfew, and the storm is projected to begin around 9 anyway."

"Armin, that's the smartest thing you've said all evening." Sasha wasted no time crudely packing up her belongings. You sat in your thoughts as your friends collected their notebooks and pens.

"I'm gonna stay here. Reiner told me he'd pick me up at 8:30, we're gonna grab some dinner." Armin and Sasha looked at each other and then back at you, gawking in surprise.

"You're going on a date?" Sasha asked teasingly while she nudged Armin with her elbow, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

"No, we're just gonna study for the exam at his place over some food." You rolled your eyes.

Sasha puckered her lips. "So, a study date?"

"No."

"Is he paying for your food?"

"Yes." Sasha and Armin glanced at each other, grinning.

"Date." They both agreed in unison.

You covered your face with your hands, groaning melodramatically. "Fucking fine, call it whatever you want. But it's not like it's going anywhere." Sasha hummed a cooperative 'mmhm', smiling to herself. She loved to teasingly get under your skin.

“Do you want it to go somewhere?” Armin queried, and you hesitated for a moment. You hadn’t really given yourself time to think about what you wanted out of him.

“I’m not sure yet. I’m kind of just exploring.”

Both him and Sasha nodded.

"That’s valid,” he paused, “anyway, I think it's best we wait with you until he gets here." Armin proposed and you waved him off.

"Nah, I'll be fine. I'm not leaving the library. They won't kick me out until 9 and the campus police are swarming around the area anyway. Reiner will be here well before then." You assured Armin as you hoisted yourself up off the ground and straightened out your stuff to pack your bag. Armin eyed you anxiously.

"It's really no issue to wait-"

"You can wait all you want, I'm going home. I'm famished." Sasha announced, turning to the door after she heaved her backpack over her shoulders.

"Wait, Sasha, we should walk together!" He exclaimed to her as he scrambled to her side and she stopped in her tracks, her frustration growing at the same rate as her hunger. Armin sighed in defeat.

"Promise you'll be fine? You're going to be picked up by Reiner?" You placed your hand on Armin's shoulder.

"I will be fine. You have my location, don't forget that." You promised Armin, and he gave you a dubious smile.

"Fine. I trust you to be okay." Armin slinked next to Sasha, who quickly hurried out the door to get home with Armin following closely behind, "Bye, (Y/N)! Text me when you’re home!" He shouted over his shoulder as they disappeared in between the endless aisles of bookshelves.

"Yeah, I'll be okay." You affirmed to yourself even though they could no longer hear you.

You finished rounding your stuff together and left the study room shortly after. As you waited patiently for Reiner you browsed the limitless selection of books in the library, skimming their titles without much intention or focus. It was hard to find something that seemed interesting just by glancing at their covers. Your fingers waded over each book as you walked parallel to the shelves, running your fingers across the multi-colored spines. After touching probably a hundred books you landed on one that seemed relatively interesting, its title serendipitously catching your eye. Without Conscience: The Disturbing World of the Psychopaths Among Us by Robert D. Hare. You glanced up at the section banner of the aisle you were in. You hadn't realized that you had been roaming around in the psychology section of the library. You slipped the paperback out from its slot and flitted through it before deciding to stuff it into your bag.

You checked your phone. 8:36 pm. No text. You were surprised, because Reiner had presented himself as a very punctual person. Your resolve was to phone him. The first time, it rang six times before going to voicemail. You nibbled on the skin of your lip, starting to feel nervous that maybe he had forgotten about you. You called him a second time, and this time he picked up.

"Oh my god! (Y/N), I'm so sorry. I forgot to tell you that I had something come up with my mom, so I won't be able to swoop you. Is that alright?" His voice was strained on the other line. He was clearly stressed.

"Yeah, totally cool. Don't sweat it." You assured, feeling your anxiety quell now that he answered.

"God, I feel so guilty. I hope you're not upset."

"No Reiner, I'm not upset. I promise," you then smiled through the phone, biting your lip at the thought of teasing him a little, "actually, I take that back, I'm sooooo mad. I'll only forgive you if you take me out soon. On a real date." You twirled your hair flirtatiously even though he couldn't see it. He scoffed on the other line, and you could tell he was smiling too.

"Ok, deal. I'll make it up to you next time. I'll get us some ice cream too, or something."

"Ok, apology accepted," you let a beat pass, "for now." He chuckled.

"Alright. I'll see you soon."

"Bye Reiner."

"Bye, (Y/N)." The line clicked.

You weren't too worried about finding a way home now that your plans had changed. You drove your car to campus that day and planned on leaving it there when Reiner picked you up, but now you could just drive home by yourself.

You approached a campus police man with a black, hideous, straight-edge bowl cut and tapped his shoulder.

"Hello sir, would you mind walking me to my car?" You asked innocently. As he turned around, you peered at his badge. Freudenberg.

"Not a problem, miss."

He followed you out to your Mitsubishi Mirage. About halfway through your walk, the dribbles of rain transformed into a relentless downpour, soaking you both to the bone.

"Have a nice night, get home safe." He waved you goodbye. It was hard to hear him over the battering rain on the pavement.

"Thank you! You too!" You nearly shouted to return his farewell as you fished around your backpack for your keys. He walked off, seeking shelter from the rain as you continued to rummage through the mess of crumpled papers and old granola bar wrappers that started to dampen as water seeped through the polyester of your bag. The rain got even heavier as you fumbled around until your hands finally located the mass of keychains that sunk to the bottom of your backpack. You yanked it out, hurrying to unlock your car. You slid inside and tossed your bag onto your passenger seat as you tried to start your car.

The lights flashed and the engine choked for a fleeting moment, then died.

You cursed. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me." Irritated and cold, you tried to crank the engine a second time. It sputtered to life before failing again. You turned the key in the ignition a third, fourth, fifth time until you gave up. You let out an exasperated sigh as you whipped out your phone. You decided that you'd call Sasha for a ride. To your dismay, her phone went straight to voicemail.

"No way this bitch's phone is dead." You hissed to yourself, angrily sifting through your contacts until you found Armin's name.

Before you hit the call button, you were startled by a brusque knock on your driver's side window. You yelped, jolting in your seat.

Slowly, you glanced up to see the janitor peering into your car. You groaned.

"Jesus dude, you scared me." You rolled down your window just slightly to huff at him.

"Need a lift?" He offered, holding up his car keys loosely between his fingers.

You shook your head side to side. "No, I'm alright. I'm calling my friend to pick me up. Thank you for the offer, though."

You figured that declining his proposition would be enough to send him away, but he remained in place, letting the rain pelt him. "I see. I can wait until they answer your call."

You clutched your phone, indecisive if his gesture was genuine or not.

"Okay." You replied warily. Your attention shifted from him back to your phone. You tapped the screen, but it was unresponsive. When you tried the power button, the glass illuminated just barely to display the image of an empty battery.

Your phone had died. The janitor noticed.

“Fuck.” You barely muttered, trying to evaluate your options from that point. I could go back into the library and try to ask someone for their charger, wait for a ride from one of my friends. But then curfew would hit, and they’d kick me off campus. Maybe I could get one of the uni cops to give me a ride home..? But do the cops patrol after the colleges shut down for curfew? You considered alternative routes in silence until he knocked on your window again.

"I really don't mind giving you a ride. I'd feel bad leaving a girl to get washed up in the rain. Besides, you shouldn't be left by yourself. You've heard the news lately." He gently tried to coax you, and you scanned him skeptically. He wasn't wearing his usual navy boilersuit, but instead a skin-tight black turtleneck with black trousers. The rain made his soaked street clothes cohere to his figure, contouring his body. To your surprise, he was very muscular. His wet raven hair clung to his face as he stood in the pouring rain, seemingly unfazed by it.

You ruminated carefully. Getting into a stranger’s car was the exact opposite of what to do, considering current events. But, he made a decent point about being left alone. Your car was fucked. Your phone was dead. You were unsure if you’d be able to hitch a ride from the college police. He had returned his keys to you in the past and he's worked for the university for at least two years, according to Jean's timeline. His history with the college made him seem credible enough. With your quick profiling skills, he didn’t appear to be threatening - just kind of depressing. Not to mention, the man was a midget; you could take him if you needed to, you thought. With all of these aspects accounted for, you made your decision, and you weren't known for your prudent nature.

"Yeah, honestly that would be great. I'm freezing." You stepped out of your car and into the downpour, leaving behind your backpack on your passenger seat.

"My pleasure." He said monotonously. He led you maybe 15 meters away before stopping in front of a car you hadn't ever seen before on campus.

Before you was a sleek black Rolls-Royce Phantom with glossy rims and heavily tinted windows. It was a sick fucking ride.

"Holy shit." You gaped, musing at his vehicle as he clicked a button that prompted the car doors to open automatically.

"Try not to get anything wet."

From his flat tone you were unsure if he was being facetious, considering the both of you were completely drenched.

"Roger." You stated as you slipped onto the heated black leather seats. He got in on the driver's side and closed the doors, pushing the start button that jumped the car to life. Even its mechanical purr sounded expensive.

"How much did this thing cost?" You asked earnestly as your hands waded over the smooth leather.

"Five hundred thousand, I think. I don't remember." Your face whipped to him in total shock. He disclosed the price so casually, he made it sound like it was merely pocket change. He paid your surprise no mind, his eyes trained ahead as he put his car into drive and cruised forward.

"You could buy a house and pay for my college tuition with this car," you stated breathlessly, your head on a swivel as you drank up every detail of the car’s interior, "might just have to steal it from you." You chuckled dryly. He said nothing. Swallowing hard, you folded your hands on your lap and looked ahead. Not the humorous type, you noted.

"So where am I going?" He asked after some moments of awkward silence.

"Go south on the main street Liberio, then- you know where that local tea house is?"

"Tutti's? I'm familiar."

"Yeah, take a left at Tutti's and then turn right on Dauper." He didn't say anything, but you assumed his lack of confirmation was his version of a confirmation. He didn't seem to be a man of many words.

"So, what's your name?" You asked, trying to subdue the weird tension between you two by starting a conversation. He said nothing. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck tingle as your nervous system inflamed with your growing anxiety. You recalled every horror movie you had ever seen, and started to swell with the feeling that you made a terrible mistake getting into his vehicle.

At least I’ll die in an ultra fancy car , you thought to yourself, trying to self-soothe with lame humor.

You sat in the quiet for a little longer, letting the weather speak for you. The patter of the rain crescendoed into violent bullets against the roof of his car. Sudden flashes of light were followed by daunting claps of thunder that echoed in the distance. Would it kill this guy to turn on the radio?

"Not to be nosy, but how does a guy on a janitor's salary make enough for a car like this?" You tried to initiate conversation again to thwart the crushing awkward silence.

He waited before responding. "That is pretty nosy."

You gulped. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry." You apologized as you shrank into yourself. You weren't far from campus, but due to the treacherous weather he was driving excruciatingly slow.

He finally spoke up after debating what information he wanted to share with you.

"I have another job. I'm a plastic surgeon." 

You sat there, stupefied by his comment. He could see your befuddled expression in his periphery.

"Like, boob jobs and stuff?" You asked dumbly. He scoffed.

"Something like that." You nodded, still astounded at this information. 

"Then why be a janitor? Seems like a lack-luster contrast."

"Keeps me busy. And I really enjoy cleaning."

Although his explanation was reasonable, you sensed an air of untruthfulness in his words.

"That checks out." You agreed, impulsively checking your phone out of muscle memory only to remember that it was dead. The rest of the silent ride was grueling as he took his time turning around Tutti's and down your street.

"Which house is yours?" He asked. You opened your mouth to tell him, but shut it quickly, thinking through your actions. You didn't know the guy, and you didn't need a weirdo stranger knowing where you lived.

"That white one on the right, just before the corner." You lied straight through your teeth as you pointed to a random house just a few blocks away from yours.

"Okay." His car rolled into a stop in front of the unfamiliar white building.

"Thank you." You nodded to him before trying for the door, and it didn't budge.

"Um.. The door is locked." You pointed out, putting in effort to mask the twinge of panic in your voice. He hummed, clicking a button on the door's control panel. There was a click.

"The car locks automatically when it’s in drive.”

Whether or not he was being honest, you didn't care to investigate. You just wanted to get out of this stranger’s car, get home, and strip out of your sopping wet clothing and curl up into bed.

You double-checked that you had your phone and keys. "Makes sense."

"I'll wait for you to get inside." He proposed, and your stomach knotted slightly at his tenacious efforts.

"No, it's alright," you protested, "I have to go through the back anyway."

"Oh, did you lose your house key or something?"

"Actually," you paused, turning to him and eyeing him suspiciously, "I did. I had been meaning to ask you if maybe you'd seen mine? Since you found my keys the first day of class. That's the same day I lost it."

You could have sworn you saw the corner of his lip twitch.

"That's unfortunate. No I have not."

You didn't trust him. Not for a second. His gaze on you was intense as he watched your face, like he was searching for something. You could feel the blood draining from your cheeks as your nerves had become impossible to ignore. Alarm bells were going off in your head. All you had to do was get out of this man’s car, and then you’d be safe again, or so you had convinced yourself.

"I see. Well," you started, trying the handle that triggered the door to float open on its own, "thank you again." You slipped out into the cold, pouring rain, about to walk away until you heard him call out.

"And you don't want me to wait for you to get inside? In case you get locked out?"

"Nope. I'm good." You said firmly, growing tired of his persistence.

"If you insist." He complied as the door automatically retracted back into place, shrouding him behind his surely illegal tints. You jogged away with your sopping jacket over your head as if it would do anything to protect you from the relentless water. As you rounded the corner of the house you ducked down into a bush in the backyard and camped there for a good while until you were confident the janitor's car wasn't there anymore, unless the little freak was willing to wait outside your "house" for fifteen minutes. With extreme caution, you peered around the corner. No car. With careful steps you looked both ways on the street and inspected each of the nearby driveways. A luxury car like his wouldn’t be hard to spot, considering it would stick out like a sore thumb in your neighbor full of broke renters. Most of them were college kids.

After concluding that he had truly left, you jogged several blocks back to your house, using the duplicate Sasha made for you and barging in through the door. Sasha was out cold on the futon, a half-eaten order of chow mein in a styrofoam take out box on the coffee table and the second season of Game of Thrones blaring on the TV. She had residual sauce rimming her lips. You rushed her and gripped her shoulders, shaking her violently. 

"Sasha, wake up! I have to tell you a story!" 

She jumped awake, completely frazzled. Her voice was coarse and she reached for your wrists to lessen your aggressive jostling. "Huhhh? About what?"

"About that freaky janitor guy!"

Her eyes widened, her grogginess completely vanishing at the news.

"Holy shit, tell me everythin- wait actually, wait - let me grab the soy sauce." She hopped up and dipped into the kitchen, retrieving the soy sauce and hurrying back to pour it over her remaining rice and noodles. She resumed eating her room-temperature leftovers, staring at you intently.

And so you told her about all of the events that unfolded in the last hour: what happened to your plans with Reiner, how he had to cancel due to family shit, how you had someone walk you to your car in the pouring rain just for your car to not start, how your phone died, and then how you were offered a ride by the janitor who drove a remarkably boujee vehicle. You also told her the limited information that you learned about him.

You weren't sure what it was, because he hadn't done anything particularly bad or alarming - if anything, he did a good deed taking you home - but something about the janitor was off. Maybe it was the way his cold eyes pierced you when he spoke, or the fact he said near to nothing on your slow drive home and his silence had a way of distorting the air around him, but even just talking about him left you disquieted and uncomfortable. Surely, this was a testament to your intuition about that man; you were going to make a point to not interact with him again.

Chapter Text

"Plastic surgeon?" Sasha gasped, dumbfounded.

"I know right," you nodded aggressively, "like, who'da thunk? Guy’s probably rolling in cash."

Her head titled to the side, unsure if she could believe you or not. "Geez. I wonder if he's good at what he does. I've been wanting lip filler. Maybe he'd cut me a pity student discount." She pondered as she gingerly touched to her lips, only half serious about the idea.

You scoffed. "Doubt it. From what I can tell, he seems like kind of a dick. Not very personable." You glanced to the wall clock as you spoke. After all of your storytelling and gossip, the time had miraculously jumped to 11 pm.

"Fuck, it's late, and I have a meeting with one of my professors early in the morning tomorrow. I'm going to bed." You declared, leaning over and stealing Sasha's fork to snag a bite of her food before she could inhale it all. You rose to your feet to retire to your room.

She called out to you as you padded away. "G'night! I'm crashing on your couch tonight bee-tee-dubs." 

"Cool. Leave your rent money on the table while you're at it."

"Suck my dick." Her rebuttal was muffled by a mouthful of food. You snorted, closing your room door behind you without giving her the satisfaction of a response.

Your forehead thumped on the door and you sighed heavily. What a day. You languidly peeled off each damp article of clothing, with every piece sticking to your cold skin. Your clothes were heavy as they puddled to the floor, and you didn’t bother to toss them in the hamper, letting the wet fabric seep into the carpet.

You elected to take your shower in the morning instead, because sleep was the only thing you could focus on. You threw on your pajamas and slipped in between your faux silk bedsheets, curling up and sighing satisfactorily in its warmth. Your eyelids fluttered shut and you drifted off to sleep almost instantly.

The next morning you got up earlier than usual, sure to shower before your meeting with the professor of your Criminology and Forensic Psychology Capstone class. You were scheduled to discuss what your capstone project was going to be, and he was going to tell you if your project was acceptable or not.

Dr. Keith Shadis oversaw your lecture and he had implored everybody to come to the meeting prepared with ideas in mind. He recommended analyzing cyber-crime, examining the impact of social media on crime, researching the effectiveness of specific criminal justice programs - anything of that nature. These topics were recommended because they were relevant to your generation. Everybody was aware that the law was not caught up to internet crime, making it an easy subject to dissect. And while all of those ideas were interesting to you, you didn't care to devote an entire semester-long project to them.

However, you were arriving to your appointment with no other proposals in mind. When presented with so many plentiful options, decision paralysis betrayed you. You were intrigued by everything and having an array of choices made it too overwhelming to decide on just one topic.

Once inside the forensics college and in the office wing, you stood before Dr. Shadis’ door hesitantly. Keith Shadis was notorious for being a hardass. On top of being an ex-drill Sargent, which was painfully evident by his booming voice and crass nature, he was extremely strict when it came to rules and syllabus guidelines. This made his class unforgiving and difficult. Knowing you had no ideas to present to him was certain to earn you a slap on the wrist.

After sucking in a deep, nervous breath, you quietly knocked on his office entrance.

A few seconds of silence passed before a muted 'come in' could be heard through the wood.

You pushed the door open slowly, peering around it to find Keith leaned over his desk, his dull hazel iris glued to his computer screen. He was too preoccupied with whatever he was reading to pay you any mind until you sat down across from him. His attention diverted to you.

”Good morning. Remind me of your name again. I’m still learning who everybody is in my class this semester.”

It was a simple request, but the depth and tone of his gruff voice made it feel like a command.

You shifted in your seat anxiously. “I’m (Y/N) (L/N). I usually sit in the back of the class.”

You resisted the urge to let your gaze shy away from his. He hummed in response, folding his hands as he rested his elbows and forearms on his desk.

”Alright (Y/N), what do you have in mind for your capstone project?” He jumped right into the purpose of the meeting, having no interest in wasting time with frivolous small talk or introductions.

”Um,” you paused, quickly trying conjure an idea that gave the illusion you put actual thought into it, “I was thinking about doing a case study of Peter Sutcliffe.”

Your less-than-confident eye contact wavered under his bored stare. Dr. Shadis responded with an annoyed click of his tongue.

”You don’t know what you want to do, do you?” His hand raised up to pinch the bridge of his nose, frustrated, “and you clearly didn’t read the project guide and expectations. I said no popular or known serial killer studies - no Wuornos, no Bundy, no Holmes, none of that shit. We want to look at real world issues, not overly examined, tired cases where googled information can be regurgitated onto an essay.” His voice was stern as he maintained his relentless, iron gaze on you.

You bit your lip, chewing on the skin as a faint pink dusted your cheeks in embarrassment. This was your first time formally meeting the man who was going to be partially responsible in whether or not you graduated, and his first impression of you was that you are irresponsible and disorderly.

Real world issues, you pondered.

You anxiously bounced your leg up and down. ”You’re right. I don’t know what I want to do, and I didn't read the guide. I’m sorry.” You apologized and prayed he’d show a little clemency on your indecisiveness. His chest rose and fell in a heavy sigh.

”It’s fine. You’re not the first. It can be a difficult decision to make. I want you to actually care about this, because it’s going to take up a significant amount of your time this semester. So, is there any particular field or topic that you’re interested in? Property or financial crime? Cyber attacks? Penology?” He rattled off a list of options, pausing for a minute to give you a chance to think. You blinked at him a few times, a little surprised by his patience. You weighed his suggestions carefully.

”Penology is interesting. So is classical criminology. I like the philosophical aspect of it,” you started as you continued to talk through your thought process, “I work at the Orvud psychiatric hospital, so I’m in close proximity with a lot of patients that involve those sorts of ideas.” You explained matter-of-factly, and Dr. Shadis’ eyebrow quirked up, causing his forehead to crease drastically. 

”Oh? And what do you do there?” He queried. He seemed interested. 

”I’m a behavior health technician. I also help mental health aides. I get to shadow a lot of the psychologists there too, it’s really interesting.”

You landed the job on a whim, despite being a little under qualified for your position. The hospital was short staffed and desperate for all the help they could get. You felt a sense of pride knowing you were deeply involved in work that reflected your studies without having graduated, and that Dr. Shadis was now aware of this information about you.

Dr. Shadis cleared his throat after considering what you divulged to him. “Well, due to HIPAA, I can’t imagine you being able to actually incorporate any of your personal work relations into your project, but working there could certainly serve as an advantage to you knowledge-wise regarding whatever topic you decide on.”

”Right.” You agreed with a firm nod, continuing to try and brainstorm something clever.

Current events. Relevant topics. Maybe it doesn't need to be large scale? Maybe it could be locally applicable?

"Maybe I could do..." You trailed off.

Then it popped into your head.

That could work, you thought.

”Actually, I think I have a relevant topic that I want to study!”

You nearly blurted the thought as the idea came to you, and Dr. Shadis looked at you sideways, surprised by your sudden and impulsive enthusiasm.

”What is it?”

Your confidence that you had picked an interesting, pertinent subject quelled your worry, and your leg stopped bouncing. ”I could investigate the string of unsolved murders that have been happening in town.”

But Dr. Shadis’ didn’t say anything, and he didn’t say anything for awhile. A cold wash of goosebumps pricked at your arms and you began feeling as though you had made a mistake by suggesting it.

He scowled. ”Studying active and local crimes is atypical, and you would only have access to the limited information that is already public. You’re also not the first person to ask. I told all the others no, so I have to decline your suggestion as well.” His face was stone as he spoke.

Your eyebrows furrowed inwards as you chewed on your argument. ”I understand that it's pretty small scale and vague, but it’s a current event, and it's a real world issue. That’s what you wanted, yeah?”

Dr. Shadis shook his head sullenly. “I’m sorry. I can’t allow it. Along with all of my other reasons, this project would involve a case that is too recent. I think it could potentially be dangerous for you to be poking around something as uncontained as this.”

His apology fell on deaf ears. Now that you were being told no, you suddenly felt even more passionate about your resolve, the way a child does when they don’t get what they want.

Your professor sighed, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his bald head.

“I'll allow you to do a project on the residents at your infirmary. Maybe you could conduct interviews and write about them anonymously."

You frowned. "So you're back-peddling and telling me I can do my project relating to my work? That doesn't seem relevant to real world issues or contemporary events."

"I don't want you or anybody touching these unsolved serial killings with a ten foot pole. My decision is final."

You maintained strong eye contact with him as he spoke, and deliberated to yourself some justifications. As you did, an idea came to you as a sort of epiphany.

“I want to pursue this because I have a personal connection to the case. My friend was one of the recent victims who was murdered.”

You felt a little guilty for using Marco as a leveraging point, but you followed through with it anyway, believing that it would be good countenance.

Tired, old eyes measured your expression as he evaluated his own feelings about your personal investment in the situation. He was debating something internally. When it was not apparent to you that he was going to say anything, you continued.

”Please,” you begged quietly, “this project topic is important to me. I care about it. Because of that, I will produce quality work.”

"All the more reason to not do it. You're emotionally charged. We want an unbiased study."

"But-"

"I said no." He barked, steadfast.

You both sat in silence for a while, staring at each other.

Your face twisted into a scowl and you muttered coldly. "Do you think the police are doing an adequate job at hunting this guy?"

Your professor closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring. "My opinions about PPD's due-diligence is one that I don't need to discuss."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "But do you have a positive opinion on it?"

He went silent.

The ticking of the wall clock seemed to echo throughout his small office, doing nothing but adding to the brewing tension.

Finally, he grumbled in an almost condescending tone. "Do you really believe that your project will contribute to this case in a meaningful way?"

You crossed your arms begrudgingly. "I really do. And even if it doesn't, I really don't see the harm in trying."

The strain between you tightened further. He sighed again, tapping his finger against his desk impatiently. His personal disfavor towards the city's police force swayed his judgement.

"I am frustrated with the city's lack of progress and effort towards these murders." He reluctantly admitted.

Your lip twitched as you resisted a wry smirk. He waited for you to respond, to which you didn't, letting your determined face and body language speak for you. He seemed to falter after you cornered his logic.

After what felt like hours, he eventually mumbled in agreement. "Fine."

A smile cracked on your face, and he cut in before you could get too excited. "-But I don’t want you talking to your peers about your capstone project topic. I don’t need anyone whining to me that I gave someone special privileges."

You nearly leapt in your chair as you grinned triumphantly, trying to contain your elation.

”Thank you Dr. Shadis. I think you’ll be pleased by my work.” You boasted confidently.

“I’m sure I will be.” He responded flatly, turning his attention back to his computer screen. "You can leave now. Be sure to read the project requirements today. There are draft deadlines throughout the semester."

You nodded obediently and rose to your feet, slinging your backpack over your shoulder to take your leave. As you pivoted on your heel to head out, Dr. Shadis voice interposed.

“I’m sorry about your friend.”

His apology stopped you in your tracks, anchoring you at the doors threshold. You peered over your shoulder to him, offering him a pained half-smile.

”His name was Marco Bott.” You sighed.

Without saying anything more, you disappeared out the door.

After attending the rest of your classes for the morning, you took a quick pit stop at home to change into your work clothes. You had picked up an extra shift, because you knew that as you got deeper into the semester it would be harder for you to fit work in without overwhelming yourself between your job and school work. While the semester was new and you were still dipping your toe into your classes, you figured now was your chance to make some extra money.

It didn’t help that you typically worked the graveyard shifts. The pay was so much sweeter, but it would certainly interfere with your sleep schedule, and by proxy, your school work. You’d have to talk to your boss about adjusting your hours to a more student-friendly availability, which you knew wouldn’t go over well. A big reason you were able to land the job in the first place was because of your willingness to do the grunt work at less desirable hours.

The handoff from the morning shift was fast. One patient tried to elope at 3 a.m., while another had a panic attack after a nightmare. The adolescent wing had to be put on modified observation after a group argument escalated. Another patient was refusing meds - which was always one of the most tedious issues to wrangle. You nodded thoughtlessly as the tech before you relayed the information with tired eyes after their own long shift. You scribbled notes, your mind already syncing into clinical mode.

You referred to the whiteboard after talking with your coworker: today you were assigned to adult acute. Seven patients. Three on 1:1 observation. One detoxing from alcohol. Two dealing with command hallucinations. One who hadn’t spoken since intake two days ago.

You spent most of the afternoon checking vitals, shadowing counselors as they examined resident's behaviors, passing out snacks, and getting cursed at by someone who was wholly convinced you were part of a government experiment. You nodded anyway, trying not to flinch or entertain their delusions. One ill individual told you about how she used to teach art therapy to children until the voices got too loud. As she rambled on about colors and what personalities they had, you asked her what her favorite color was. She said burnt orange.

“It’s the only color that doesn’t lie.” She added, her voice cracking as she spoke.

You didn't know what that meant, but you wrote it down in the margins of your notebook anyway.

As the afternoon slowly transitioned into the evening, you assisted one of the therapists during a group session. You kept an eye on body language - who was withdrawing, who was agitated, who was suddenly quiet. One patient interrupted constantly, another stared at the ceiling. Then someone else spoke up for the first time all week, sharing that they missed their dog.

It was a small moment of sentiment, but in the hospital, small moments like that mattered. It was an important reminder to you that everyone you worked with was still human, even if they were behaviorally and socially removed from society; that these people weren't broken entities that needed containing and monitoring, but rather rehabilitating.

Around the six month mark of working in the mental facility you learned that your job was less about fixing and more about being. Being calm when someone was spiraling. Being firm when boundaries blurred. Being composed when someone was crying and didn’t want to explain why. Patience and empathy were the most valuable things that could be given to each of the people there.

After your meeting with the infamous alcoholic who was going through terrible withdrawals, one of the residents suffering from hallucinations, and your one-on-ones with the three that were either in substance or domestic abuse recovery, you rounded the corner to check in on the other patient who was also being tormented by aberrations and auditory delusions. You were tasked to administer her the medication she was prescribed. She was your last scheduled meeting for the evening.

Before going into her room, you glanced at your clipboard to review her profile once more with her pill bottle in your other hand. You hadn’t met her yet, but she had been in the hospital for awhile - at least a couple of years. She was a girl. Her name was Ymir Fritz. You let out a deep sigh as you scanned her age.

She was only 21 years old; not much younger than you.

She allegedly had been in a very abusive relationship with a much older man, about 30 years her senior. She was already unstable while in the relationship, but shortly after making her escape she had a near-death experience that sent her spiraling. What exactly that near-death experience was wasn't disclosed in her file. There was also no written information on if she checked herself in or if someone admitted her on her behalf.

You first knocked on her door, signaling your entry before unlocking the iron deadbolt and slipping inside. She was sitting on her bed, her back turned to you, staring out of the barred window with hollow eyes. She didn't move, but she could tell that you had entered.

”I saw him again.” She uttered ominously with a subdued voice, not bothering to look at you as you stepped inside. You watched her as you approached, sitting at the foot of her bed whilst maintaining an appropriate distance from her.

“Saw who again?” You asked quietly, sure to have a tone that wouldn’t provoke her.

”The black haired man. At first he’d only appear in my dreams. But he couldn’t get to me there, so he decided to start visiting me in my room.” Her voice was soft, empty, and her survallience never broke from the outside world.

Your fingers nervously tapped on your clipboard as you thought of what to say to her, sure to calculate your words carefully. You were acutely aware that each thing you said to the people you worked with held weight. You rolled the pill bottle around in your hand. “Do you know this man?”

”No. But he knows me. He tried to kill me, but I can’t be killed. And neither can he. So I escaped, and he hates that. Now he haunts me.” Her sentences were fractured as she spoke. You hummed in response.

”Well, he can’t hurt you while you’re here,” you assured, opening the pill bottle and shaking out one of the large white pills into your palm, “I think this will help you.”

You held out your hand to her, and she finally turned around to face you. Her gaze floated down to your outstretched palm. She had done this many times before; she knew the protocol. She accepted the pill, placing it in her mouth and dry swallowing it.

”Open your mouth.” You calmly ordered, and she complied, unhinging her jaw so you could examine inside her mouth to make sure that she did in fact swallow the pill.

"Now lift your tongue." She did as you asked, and you nodded.

”Good job,” you rose to your feet, prepping to take your leave, “I’ll be back later in the evening. We have some games scheduled for us to play later!” You tried to sound optimistic, but her face remained stoic as she revolved back to absent-mindedly gaze out the window.

”I hope he’s not there when we play them.”

Her response made you wince.

Poor girl.

By midnight, the ward was quiet. Mostly. There was always someone restlessly awake, pacing, or pressing the call button because their mind wouldn’t shut down. You sat in the observation window with a cup of lukewarm coffee as you watched the night slide by. You didn’t get off until 5 am.

When your clock out time rolled around, you exhaustedly updated the whiteboard and relayed the events of the day to your replacement, a veteran tech who had been there for five years, handing her the updated medication schedules for her assigned patients. She thanked you. With the clipboard in one hand and an iced coffee in the other, she took her leave to supplant your role and visit her first patient.

Finally, you were able to clock out and go home. The drive was quiet and slow as you drove in the direction of the rising sun. You yawned, rubbing your eyes to subdue the sleepiness that started to weigh heavier and heavier on you with each passing minute. When you finally rolled into the driveway, you were quick to barge inside and flop onto your bed. The time was 5:30 am. If you fell asleep at that moment, you’d be able to get at least 3 hours of sleep before your Evolutionary Genetics lecture. It wasn’t long before you submitted to your exhausting.

You had slammed the snooze button too many times. By the time you woke up, the clock read 11:57 am. 

”Fuck.” You groaned. You slept through your lectures. Again. By now, you had missed about 25% of your classes so far that semester. You checked your phone notifications to see that your friend’s group chat had blown up, roasting you for missing class.

You’d better have a good excuse for skipping this time (Y/N), Armin’s chat bubble taunted you as you frowned. He couldn’t relate to the struggle of working while in college, and you didn’t believe that he gave you enough credit for that. You kept reading.

Btw, study sesh in the library at 1 pm, Eren had sent out following Armin’s text. His message was liked by Armin, Connie, and Jean, insinuating they’d be present for the session. You sighed, throwing your phone onto your bed as you raked your fingers through your bedhead. You did not have the energy it would take to get ready for the day, let alone hunker down and study for hours on end with your friends that were likely doing much better in your shared class than you were.

Regardless, you managed to strip yourself from the warmth and comfort of your bed to prepare yourself for the outside world. After doing a sped up version of your usual morning routine, you set off to campus to meet with your friends.

Instead of a typical study room you were all stationed in the common area of the library. It was usually bustling with people at that time of day, but for whatever reason it was far less occupied than usual. There was quiet, steady conversation happening amongst the clusters of people that were present.

”Did you guys decide on your capstone project yet?” Eren asked as he chewed on the tip of his pencil eraser, taking a break from learning by changing the subject, “I’m writing a paper on conflict resolution through international relations and human rights.”

”I haven’t,” Connie sighed as he propped his face onto his hand, looking to Eren with lazy eyes, “I don’t have a single idea. I have a meeting with my prof.” Jean clicked his tongue and sneered.

”I don’t have to have a capstone for my major.” His tone was borderline boastful as he leaned back into his chair with his hands behind his head. Connie rolled his eyes.

”Of course you don’t. Makes sense when your homework assignments are coloring sheets and basic addition.” He chided bitterly under his breath, earning him a slug in the arm from Jean.

Armin shot both of the boys a disapproving look at their naivety, huffing to himself. “I have to have two separate projects, one for each major. I think I know what I’m going to do for my physics one. I’m just gonna do something with the research I’ve been conducting at my lab internship. But I’m kind of stumped for my philosophy one,” he detailed, glancing at you sideways, “what about you (Y/N)? Got anything in mind?”

Off to the sidelines of the library, that strange janitor was changing out one of the overflowing trashcans. When you finally noticed him your gaze hovered over to his direction. You stared at his back as he pulled out a fat plastic bag and tied it shut before effortlessly heaving it into his janitorial cart, peeling a fresh bag out of a paper box and lining it into the can. You hadn’t intended to watch him so closely, but you couldn’t pry your observation away from him as he worked. You began to think about your missing house key.

”(Y/N)?”

”Hm?” You looked to Armin as you were dragged out of your trance, who was watching you expectantly.

”What’s your graduation project gonna be?”

”Oh,” You mindlessly doodled in the margins of your notebook, not looking to anyone as you spoke. “I think I’m going to do my capstone project on the murders that have been happening around town.”

There was an uneasy shift amongst your friends. Jean’s body tensed up, his grip vice tight on his mechanical pencil.

You didn't notice, but the janitor's movements ceased as well. He was careful not to turn to see who was speaking when he remembered he was out in public, and he resumed doing his menial work tasks. As he discarded his latex gloves into his own trash, he was sure to eye you from afar as you spoke, his surveillance subtly keen on you.

”Why?” Jean’s voice was hushed, his eyes narrowed towards you as if you had said something offensive to him.

You mumbled, preparing for criticism, “I think it’d be interesting and relevant to my studies.”

Realizing your friends weren't going to be very supportive or ecstatic about your topic choice, it killed a lot of your excitement around them. You weren’t in the mood to defend your decision. But Jean pressed further.

”You want to write an essay on our friend's death?” His voice was hostile, and you peered up to him.

”Jean.” You started firmly, sitting up straighter.

He put his pencil down and jabbed a finger at you. “No. I don’t care what your reasoning is. This whole thing is beyond you.” He growled as you made eye contact. Eren and Connie exchanged troubled glances with each other, not knowing whether they should interject or sit and let your argument play out. Your attention shifted to Armin as you desperately sought some kind of support from him.

”Armin,” Jean beat you to it, “you can’t possibly think this is a good idea, right?”

Armin’s ocean blue irises oscillated between the two of you, discouraged by both of your expectant gazes.

”With how, uh, volatile the circumstances are, I don’t think it would be in your best interest to get involved.” He meekly took Jean's side, avoiding your gaze as he defended your bristling friend.

You scoffed, “Oh, come on. I don’t think it’s that deep-“

”That deep?” Jean jeered, his voice going up an octave, “you don’t think Marco’s death is that deep? ”

”No, that’s not what I meant! You know that’s not what I meant.”

”Then what did you mean? Please explain.”

You frowned, leaning back into your chair and sinking deeper into it as you shrank into yourself. You didn't know how to reply to him.

”Well? I’m waiting.” He goaded, his arms crossing over his chest as he stared you down.

Nobody noticed, but the janitor was staring at you as well from afar.

Your fingers twisted into the fabric of your pants as stress and guilt bubbled inside of you. ”I just want to have a better idea of what’s happening. Of what happened to Marco. I care about him, and maybe adding some meaningful work to solve this case would do him justice.”

”You don’t seriously believe you could contribute to solving this shit, do you? You’re no detective. If the police have hit nothing but dead ends, I doubt you could do anything useful either.” Jean diminished you with a punitive glare. 

”I don’t think I can solve it!” Your composure snapped as you shouted at him.

A throng of confused heads that shared the library with you turned to face your table. You caught wind of the unwanted attention, your face burning hot, and you curled back into yourself. “I just- I don’t know. I want to contribute. I want to help. I want to know. Wouldn't you want to requite him, too?”

The look on Jean’s face twisted from resentful bitterness to hurt, his vision falling to the side.

You muttered underneath your breath as the memory of your friend came flooding back to you in full swing. ”I fucking miss Marco, man.” 

Mentioning him made you realize that you hadn’t fully acknowledged or processed his death. Even while you stood surrounded by your friends, all dressed in a dreary black, mourning him at his funeral, it hadn’t entirely occurred to you that he was actually gone. Forever. Tears threatened you as you clutched your pencil, your fists curling into tight balls. Jean sensed your mutual pain and his angry attitude dissipated into a shared empathy.

”So do I,” his own eyes started to water, “fuck. Fucking fuck.”

Eren intervened quickly, addressing you with optimism, “I think it’s a great idea (Y/N). It could be the closest thing we get to closure for Marco.” He smiled at you compassionately, and you returned his smile weakly as a single tear rolled down your cheek. You wiped it away with your sleeve, dismissing your tears.

”Thanks Eren.” You sniffled.

The group fell silent for a moment until Connie piped up. “Anyways, I still don’t understand word problem number six. Can we please go over that again Armin?” He redirected the conversation, and Armin happily jumped on the opportunity to change the subject.

”Yeah, of course.” He agreed, involuntarily shifting back into his academic nature as he reread the problem and helped the group go over it again.

The tension had subsided, but the janitor was still apprehending your table closely as he started to exchange the bags for a different, less full trash can that was farther away.

After studying for nearly four hours, you unanimously agreed to call it a day and get food before going home. When you had finished your mediocre dinner at the dining hall Connie offered to walk home with you because he had plans to play Super Smash Bros with Sasha after your study session. The walk usually took about 20 minutes. 15 if you were in a rush. Because it was a beautiful day out you and Connie took your time getting home.

”I’m sorry about Jean’s reaction earlier,” Connie apologized on his behalf, his hands holding the straps of his backpack, “somehow he’s been struggling more this week with Marco’s death compared to last week. He’s probably only going to get worse for a little while before he gets better.”

You sighed, closing your eyes. ”I don’t blame him. I don't think I've fully processed his passing either.”

"Me too." Connie concurred.

Birds fluttered in the sky above and chirped cheerfully as they floated in smooth circles near the tree lines. It was a cloudless day, the limitless blue stretching over the curvature of the earth and making it appear that you could see everything beyond the city as you walked over a large hill. The serenity of the outdoors was a stark difference from your dispirited moods. You acknowledged the sun rays that warmed your skin, enjoying the instant.

”It’s a beautiful day today.” You pointed out, your tone somber.

Connie took a deep breath. “It is.”

More silence. When you rounded the corner of Tutti’s, you stopped in your tracks.

”Is this a bad idea?”

He stopped with you, regarding you quizzically.

”What do you mean?”

You sheepishly looked away, your attention shifting to the daily specials menu that was posted on Tutti’s door. ”My graduation project. Should I just do something else?”

Connie sucked on his cheek in half-deep thought. “I mean, I don’t think so. But what do I know? I'm the dumb one of the group.” He was only joking, but at the expense of poking at one of his insecurities.

You met him with a supportive expression. ”You’re not as dumb as you talk yourself down to be, or as the other’s joke about. I value your input.”

He blinked at you, seemingly caught off guard by your affirmation. “Thanks,” he said before pausing and resuming his thought, “I think if you care about it, then you should do it. I really don’t see much harm in your idea. Like, what do they think’s gonna happen? That you’re gonna become a target for this murderer?”

You both laughed.

”Yeah, right.” You weakly and playfully shoved him away.

As your laugh fizzled out, you nodded to Tutti’s.

”Let’s get some drinks to go.”

”Better get one for Sasha too. She’d throw a fit if we got some for ourselves and nothing for her.”

And so you both went inside and purchased a beverage. You got yourself a caramel latte, Connie got himself a hot chocolate, and you both agreed Sasha was going to want a strawberry lemonade. Once home, you found Sasha already on the futon playing Super Smash Bros by herself. You and Connie berated her for missing the study session, and then fell into the usual loop of playing round after round and eating chips and dip until the evening had scooted by.

”I think I’m gonna head home.” Connie announced, elongating into a cat stretch as he yawned obnoxiously.

Sasha polished off what was left in her lemonade cup. “Thank god. Good riddance.” She teased as she powered off the game. You stretched as well, then jumped to your feet.

”Yeah, I’m gonna hit the hay. I have a lab tomorrow that I absolutely cannot miss.”

Sasha whined at your statement. ”Noooooo.”

”Yesssss. Some of us actually care about our school work.” You lilted, leaning over to her. She puffed up her cheeks and protested weakly.

”I care about my school work..”

”Sure you do.” Connie mocked as he sauntered to the front door, well aware of her poor academic record. You shuffled to your bedroom.

”Bye Connie.” Sasha and you bid farewell in unison.

"Bye losers." He waved before disappearing into the night, shutting the door behind him.

”I’m crashing here tonight by the way.” Your brunette friend stated as she splayed herself comfortably on your futon, switching on the TV to fall asleep to family guy. She never asked if she could sleep at your place nowadays, and you were completely fine with it. You were at a level of friendship where she didn’t need your permission to occupy your space.

”Alright.” You agreed, and she sluggishly stood to lock the front door before slumping back down onto her indentation in the futon.

“Night.” You nodded as you promptly vanished into your bedroom, closing the door and quickly swapping into your pajamas. Tonight you decided to wear a lace cami and boxers. Sometimes you'd sleep naked, other times you'd wear sweats, but your room was warmer than usual so less clothing seemed optimal.

You slipped under your covers, nestling deep into your duvet. Your eyes fluttered shut and your mind went blank as you surrendered to sleep.

You had a dream that night.

You were that tortured girl from the hospital, Ymir Fritz. At least, that's what appeared to be the case or who you appeared to represent.

You were being chased by a nameless, faceless man with raven hair before teleporting into a cold, white, unfamiliar room. There were no doors. No windows. No discernible way free.

So you sat there, trapped, and you screamed.

You screamed until the dream dissolved into black nothingness.

Chapter Text

The air was different when you woke up. The atmosphere wasn’t nearly as warm as it was when you had fallen asleep. It was cold.

Frigid, actually.

You emerged from your slumber and opened your eyes, but they purchased no light. All that met you was darkness.

You weren’t completely roused yet; you hadn't processed the situation until after the third or fourth blink and your vision was still null. When you rapidly opened and closed your eyelids you could feel the wisps of your lashes brush against thick fabric:

A blindfold.

Huh?

The second thing that came to your attention was a malodor of something wholly unfamiliar. It was musty, rotten, and certainly nothing that could possibly be coming from your bedroom.

Panic ensued and you violently jolted forward, but your movements were stifled by cold metal that bit into the tender skin of your neck. You attempted to throw your hands up to investigate the object that ensnared your throat, and quickly discovered that your wrists were equally bound to your sides, as well as your ankles. Your body involuntarily twisted in opposition and began thrashing against its impossible restraints. You tried to call out, only for your voice to emit as a muted buzz. Your cries were entirely snuffed by a high-grade muzzle that was strapped to your face.

You futilely screamed into it, because you didn't know what else to do.

Your voice wanned under the discouraging weight of the iron gag until it fizzled out entirely. Your heart was erratic in your chest, sending a red hot flush to your cheeks that burned like someone had pressed hot embers onto your face. Each of your shaky, horrified breaths were shallow and your lungs struggled to keep up.

You were helpless. There was nothing you could do but wait.

Time slowly dissolved into a shapeless fog of waiting.

Then, with what could have only been a condemning omen, the suffocating silence and void was cut into by the flip of a switch, an electric buzz, and a sudden sterile flood light that shone down onto you. The overhead brightness was evident as the light seeped though the miniscule gaps in your blindfold.

The first sound you could make out were leaden, booted footsteps that meandered from the right side of the room to the center. Then you could hear the clamoring of steel objects being moved around and clinking together.

You then felt the sensation of someone precipitously touching your face with the back of their icy fingers as they gingerly pressed against your cheek. You withdrew into yourself, shaking your head in an attempt to break contact. The rigidity of the collar suppressed the movements of your head, leaving harsh scrapes along your skin.

“You’re quite lively." A hollow voice mumbled, and the fingers that touched you pulled away. Your nostrils flared. Condensation accumulated on the muzzle as your breaths got hotter and heavier.

Mfffmm, mffffff.

"I'll let you talk later."

The voice was farther away from you this time, like it was on the other side of the room. You could hear the sounds of more objects being shifted around.

The blindfold started to dampen as it absorbed your hot tears. You flailed again, squeezing and warping your face muscles to shimmy the mask off of your eyes. Whoever was in the room saw this and readjusted the fabric that robbed you of your vision back into place.

"Try to take that off and I'll cut your eyes out." He threatened, his tone rather calm and nonchalant. You whined into the gag.

You could discern a cold and sharp item trace along the soft curvature of your jawline, leaving the faintest whisper of a mark, just enough for tiny beads of blood to ooze through. You shrieked, but it amounted to nothing.

With your eyesight gone you dialed in on your other senses, reliant on your ears to establish what was going on. The person that was working around you - presumably a man based off of the octave of his voice - was now on the other side of the room again. Judging by the sounds of metal pieces clanging together it seemed as though he was handling large industrial chains.

Heavy footsteps drew nearer to you again. The click of his heels echoed throughout the walls of the room, suggesting the space was small and insulated. He stopped at what you assumed was the side of the table you were strapped to.

He managed to do whatever movements he was doing next in complete silence. You then perceived the faintest sensation of something razor sharp poking your sternum - right where the hem of your lace camisole sat. You exhaled sharply. 

With a feather-light touch, the blade dragged down the thin fabric, managing to slice through it without so much as a nick on your skin.

Hhhhhh!- Your breath hitched.

You were now partly unclad to your perpetrator; as if you weren’t already vulnerable enough.

When your shirt was halved he snaked it from underneath you, pulling it through. Your bare chest, back, and torso were completely exposed and you cringed at the feeling of the frigid air. You assumed he was staring at you in silence, observing your naked upper-half.

Then the icy-hot sensation of a flat, unwelcoming palm planted itself on your chest. The hand slid past in-between your breasts and trailed purposefully down your abdomen, stopping just below your navel. You instinctually tried to slink away from his touch by pressing your back harder into the table.

"Not bad." The voice muttered as the man’s hand glided back up, cupping one of your breasts tenderly before lifting his fingers away. “You have a nice natural frame.”

Mmmmmhhhhh , you recoiled at his perverted touch and whimpered into the metal, inferring what he was going to do next. Based on the direction of his actions, you wallowed in anticipatory dread as you blindly waited for his next move.

And, just as you suspected, you felt that same blade start to tease the polyester of your boxers.

MMMMHHHHHFFFFFF!

Your heart was hammering in your ears as the knife effortlessly divided your bottoms. Your tears ran like flooded rivers, your useless eyes soaking wet and still blind. He slipped the remaining clothing out from underneath you to ensure you were entirely exposed to him; then he replaced his same hand that explored your chest onto your navel.

His hand subsequently drifted downwards, pausing for a moment as it caressed the mound of your sex.

With all your might, you thrashed in every which way in an attempt to hinder his pursuit. You heard a faint scoff.

"Relax. I'm not going to do anything." He assured before reluctantly withdrawing.

When you could no longer feel him touching you, you took a moment to try and catch your breath, which didn’t work at all.

You could feel something inserted into your ears. Then you could distinguish the sensation of a tapered needle being pushed into the bulging vein of your forearm. An intense burning sensation followed, and then after a few seconds, nothing.

Literally nothing.

You couldn't feel anything at all.

It didn't take long for you to conclude that he had injected you with a chemical that dulled your physical sensations to virtually zero. Lidocaine? You couldn't be sure. That couldn't have been a logical answer, however, because that medication was typically used as a local anesthetic, not fully body.

But this wasn't your typical intravenous general anesthetic either. You weren't in the slightest bit drowsy. You were wired, as though you had just been administered a shot of adrenaline.

Whatever the substance was that was now swimming through your bloodstream, it was something that he concocted himself.

And that fact brought you to a terrifying realization:

this man was calculated, and fucking smart.

Without your senses, you wouldn't have been able to dictate the sound of heeled shoes clicking against the floor, or the flipping of a switch. You could tell that he had turned off the lights as they died along with the remainder of any possible vision you had. Due to the earplugs you also couldn't discern the sound of a door groaning open and promptly shutting close.

There was no more light. No more noise.

Without the ability to see or to feel, you were completely immersed in a void so dark you couldn't determine which way was up or down or left or right. You hollered into the muzzle just so you could hear something, anything , but your ears couldn't purchase the sound of your muffled, pithy screams. You couldn't even tell if you were trying to open your mouth or not.

Sensory deprivation.

You were all too familiar with psychological torture tactics. Whatever this man was doing, he was going to try to break you mentally before he did anything to you physically.

Fuck...

...

...

Fuck!

...

...

…

…

For a fleeting moment the silence was soothing. It feigned safety from whatever terrible thing the man was about to do to you next. You were able to think clearly, unencumbered by your immediate fears and distractions. However, it didn't take long for the absence of sensory input to start to have its effect. From what you could remember from your research it could take as little as 10 minutes in a sensory deprivation chamber to start to experience delusions.

10 minutes must had passed.

Desperately, your mind sought stimulation, so it started to conjure its own.

Faint whispers echoed in the darkness; indistinct voices murmured just beyond comprehension. Shapes and patterns danced in the void that was your vision, evolving into detailed hallucinations. You couldn't differentiate your eyes being opened or closed; the darkness was still dark, all the same.

The panic came back in full force. You screamed again, this time as loudly as you could muster, but you couldn't perceive the strain on your vocal cords without your capacity to feel. You assumed that your own heartbeat would have been a deafening drumbeat in your ears if you had the capacity to hear it. You felt as if you were dissolving, your sense of self eroding with each passing moment.

Time lost all meaning.

You were unsure if it had been minutes, or hours, or even days.

But eventually, physical sensation gradually started to return. You were beyond relieved to be coming down from the drug; to feel the cool metal of the table on your bare back, and the cracked leather of the wrist and ankle restraints biting into the thin and sensitive flesh around your joints.

The door moaned open again. 

Shortly after your sensation returned, to your surprise, your earplugs and blindfold were finally removed.

The harsh brilliance jumped to life, blinding you for just a moment and inducing you to blink rapidly, squinting until your eyes adjusted to the fulgent overhead lights. Whoever removed your blindfold was behind you to evade from being within your view.

You could hear their footsteps fade away, a door groan open, and a loud slam as it was shut. The person had exited again.

Bright, fluorescent bulbs irradiated your surroundings. You scanned the room, and your eyes expanded wide at the scene.

It was a sterile box. Medium in size, with the walls, floor, and ceiling layered with opaque white tiles resemblant of a hospital room or the basement of a morgue. You were strapped to a slanted operating table with worn leather adjustable wrist and ankle wraps. To your left was a steel mayo-stand on wheels with terrifying looking medical instruments that were meticulously placed in parallel lines. You could see forceps, an array of different sized scalpels, scissors, clamps, suture supplies, and a couple of different small bottles of liquid. One was labelled HCl and the other was NaOH.

However, all of these attributes of the dungeon were details that you noticed after.

The first thing that caught your attention was a thick chain hanging from the ceiling with a hook dangling from its end.

Pierced on the hook was a limbless, human torso.

The torso had been dripped dry, and the blood that had pooled underneath had gone stale over time. The blood’s usual crimson color had oxidized to a rustic brown. It flaked at the edges, suggesting that the mass of flesh had been suspended there for at least a few days. The chest of the body's trunk had been carved open and you could see through the ribcage that had been pried apart. All of the internal organs were still relatively intact.

All except for the heart. It had been cut out.

The head of the person was still connected, but the jaw had been surgically detached. There was no way to tell what the person looked like initially because their face had been skinned off and crudely restitched together. The face they wore now was what you assumed was supposed to be an idealised iteration of their original face, like if they were getting plastic surgery done to accentuate their natural beauty, but instead it was mangled into a mutilated, harrowing mess.

Next to the torso was a series of identical additional chains that hung from the ceiling with assortments of body parts. You assumed that those parts had been severed from other victims, considering their varying sizes and skin tones. Other bodies. More bodies.

Each one had been physically experimented on in some way; some having been outright disfigured then abandoned mid-project, some with unusual seams and stitches that were flawlessly done, some with other bodily pieces and chunks that were sewn onto other areas of limbs that were unnatural. By the color and consistency of the blood you could tell that these ‘experiments’ performed on them had been scarily recent.

You let out a blood curling scream, though your kidnapper had only removed your earplugs and blindfold and not your industrial muzzle, so it came out as a whisper. You writhed again wildly and desperately, the tears running faster and harder than ever before. Your heart couldn’t keep up with itself as it raced so fast you thought it would explode.

As you futilely wiggled around you could hear the door open up again behind you. The footsteps ominously approached. The person responsible for your abduction rounded the table to face you, and you let out an inaudible gasp.

It was the Janitor.

The one who found your keys. The one who gave you a ride home. He was wearing a white button up shirt that was taut around his chiseled body and freshly ironed black slacks. Protecting his nice formal clothing was a black apron that had been viciously scrubbed clean from former 'projects', which was evident by the faded grey patches and blood stains that never fully came off. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing thick, veiny forearms that suggested he was constantly practicing hard physical labor. Contouring his hands were traditional blue latex medical gloves.

He held your eye contact hostage as he stared at you blankly. His expression was impossible to read. He reached over and swiped a thumb across your cheek, wiping away a stream of tears from your pink and puffy eyes.

"It took you a while to wake up. Thought I might’ve given you too much propofol."

His finger that swept your face turned into a palm that cradled your cheek. Compared to your burning hot face, his skin was freezing. The same hand that cupped your cheek trailed from your face to the back of the muzzle. With his other hand, he reached forward with a key. A quiet click could be heard from behind you and the pressure of the muzzle from your face released. He slowly removed it. There was a part of the muzzle that jutted out and had filled your mouth with a bulb of plastic, keeping your jaw forced open. You coughed as the gag was extracted, a string of spit connecting you to the mouth piece.

As soon as the muzzle was off, you screamed as loud as humanly possible.

The Janitor, unalarmed and unreactive to your abrupt cries, calmly reached for one of the tools on his medical stand - a scalpel - and pressed its tip to the thickest vein in your neck.

"I wouldn't do that again, unless you want me to cut out your tongue and vocal cords," The force of the blade was just barely shy of drawing blood, "besides, nobody can hear you."

You went silent against the threat of the scalpel to your throat.

What could you possibly say?

Swallowing hard, you licked your cracked lips, your cotton mouth leaving you dry and at a loss for words.

"..How did you find me?" You finally croaked. Your vision was still blurred and insignificant, your tears clouding the man's distinct image as if you were watching him through frosted glass.

"I drove you home. Do you not recall?" His question had a condescending tone. You frowned.

"But I had you drop me off at a fake location.."

"I know. You keep your sky blue 2010 Mitsubishi Mirage parked on the street in front of your place. Wasn't hard to find. It was down just a few blocks south from your fake location."

The color drained from your face.

"How did you–"

"I got a good look at all of your keys when you left them behind in Dr. Jaeger's lecture. Also, it was the same car you were in that wouldn't start in the parking lot, remember?"

You thought about your Mitsubishi car key fob that you had bedazzled with rhinestones, undoubtedly drawing attention to it, and recalled the moment he was standing outside of your car in the pouring rain while he coaxed you into his car. Your fear combined with humiliation at your naivety in trusting a stranger.

"How did you know which key you took was my house key?"

The corner of his lip twitched, like he was fighting a smirk.

"The first 3 ridges of the keyway are the same for every house on that shitty college renter's block. Makes for an easily identifiable house key. Cheap landlords. Cheap locks." He deadpanned. His gaze shifted from yours and swept over your naked body once more before returning to lock eyes.

You felt a swell of anger. Even with his inscrutable expression, you could just imagine him being overly prideful in his wit.

"Fucking freak!" You howled, your fingernails digging crescents into your palms as you balled your hands into tight fists and jerked inefficaciously in your restraints.

A mirage of past memories suddenly flashed through your mind. A particular freckled face drilled into your memory, and you haunted yourself with the depiction of him being in the same place you were, helplessly strapped to the same exact table earlier that semester. Your voice deflated and sank to the floor.

"...You killed my friend."

The man said nothing, and his focus floated down to his array of medical tools on the little steel side table. After replacing the scalpel in its assigned spot his fingers indecisively hovered above each of the other instruments as he contemplated which one he wanted to use.

Beads of sweat doused your hairline as you observed his movements with petrified eyes. "What do you want from me?"

He looked up to you without moving his head from its tilted position towards the side table. Then, he leaned forward.

"I want," his voice was salacious and low as he poked the center of your chest, right above where your heart was nestled underneath your flesh, "this."

In a fit of sheer panic you instinctively flailed again despite your awareness that it would produce zero results. You didn’t know what else you could possibly do.

"I-I'll give you anything!– money, sex, I don't care. I won't tell anyone if you let me go!" You stammered as you begged pitifully.

His hand hovered over a particular scalpel as he processed your pleas. "It's interesting how humans pathetically offer all that they have when their lives are at stake," he started, selecting one of the medical-standard knives, "don't you think if I wanted any of those things I would have taken them already?"

"No! Please– please please please don't–" Your cries were severed as he stuffed your cut up cami into your mouth.

"Don't ruin the moment." He shushed you as he roughly gripped your jaw with his free hand and held your face to meet his gaze. You cowered under his glower and squeezed your eyes shut.

He barked. "Look at me."

Your nostrils flared as you sucked in a sharp breath, your jaw aching both from being held open for such a long period of time and from the pressure of his fingertips rooting into your face. However disinclined, you complied, wincing as you slowly blinked your eyes open.

You locked eyes. He had leaned in, his face uncomfortably close to yours. In this position you were able to get a clear image of him. His irises were steel, hollow, and his gaze was utterly haunting. It was as though he was asserting himself just by starting you down and forcing you to look at him.

The most unnerving thing about him was how empty he appeared. It was like you were peering into the soul of a dead man walking.

He released his grip on your face and returned his attention to your body.

"You're very beautiful," his compliment fell flat as his finger traced the outline of where he planned for his incisions to be, "your skin is so soft. Not a lot of girls I work on are as genetically blessed as you."

He gently put down the scalpel and retrieved a black sharpie. “Perhaps that’s why they come to see me in the first place..” He muttered to himself as he envisioned his intentions with the fresh canvas in front of him.

Carefully, he drew dotted lines in a Y shape just over your breasts and down the middle of your sternum all the way down past your belly button. After he finished creating his outline you recognized the pattern instantly. They were the outlines for an autopsy.

"..I can just tell, your heart is going to be different.”

He paused as he mused at the thought of you and your taste.

“You’re going to be such a prize." The Janitor barely whispered as he admired your figure, his hand mirroring his earlier actions as he felt you up and down, familiarizing himself with every inch of your body. You wailed into the scrunched up fabric of your shirt.

Mmmfff Mff!

He used his fingers to acquaint himself with your flesh, wading over the entire surface area of your torso swiftly and thoroughly. "I've found that killing the person before the operation makes it so the heart isn't as fresh. Doesn't taste as good. I've also discovered that it tastes ever so slightly different when the person has been flooded with adrenaline for an extended period of time. It's a lot more work, but it's all the more rewarding."

Your eyes expanded wide at his comment. Was he going to eat you alive?

He regarded the fear on your face and clicked his tongue. Then, at long last, he pulled away from you.

"Not yet.." He muttered indiscreetly as if he was arguing with himself in his head.

Without another word he replaced your blindfold and your ear plugs, removing your shirt from your maw and reattaching your muzzle. Following the reestablishment of your torture pieces you felt the needled probe into your veins, assumably injecting the same substance into as last time, and you subserviently let it happen, terrified of the needle shredding the insides of your arm if you wiggled around in retaliation.

And, just like the first time, you were instantaneously enveloped into nothingness.

You couldn't tell if he was in the room or not anymore, but the anxiety of that possibility was quickly replaced by the oncoming paranoid hallucinations.

Tap

You fearfully whined.

...

Tap

…

TAP

At first, the tapping was irregular and echoed as a dull, metallic sound like fingernails on a steel pipe. The subtle noise crescendoed from a passive hum into a demanding bellow. It oscillated from your left ear, and then to your right. Then it was behind your head, until it teleported to just inches from your face. It would suddenly be far, then get closer, louder, slower, faster -

Tap

Tap

...

Tap

Tap Tap Tap

...

Tap

Tap TaptaptaptaptaptapTapTapTap

Tap

...

TAP

TAP TAP TAP TAP

The tapping was severed by an ear-piercing shriek, one from a woman you could not see, but you could feel her fear. It was the realest thing you had ever heard; it perfectly reflected what you felt while simultaneously adding to your paranoia.

Her scream withered into indistinct mutters and whispers. It died, making you question if it was actually there as it skittered across the edge of comprehension, until a low, barely audible murmur teased you again, like strangers that were having a hushed conversation in another room next door. Then the whispers evolved into laughter, this time from a man. His sounds were dampened as if he was at a dinner party downstairs and you were a child hiding in the bedroom during an unwelcoming family reunion.

Your eyes starved for meaning, so much so it created its own toxic sustenance as fractals bloomed like cracks in the ice of a frozen lake, breaking off into colorful shards that resembled church mosaics, however unholy and insidious. The patterns shifted smoothly into harrowed faces that resembled nobody you had never seen before or at the very least remembered. The planes of their ghostly faces warped into shapes and horrifying proportions - cheshire grins that stretched unhumanly wide, or eyes that expanded to an animated size, only for the carousel of tortured expressions to disintegrate into ripples of static.

You began to cry again, unsure if tears were actually pouring out or not.

How much more of this can I take before I go crazy?

Chapter Text

You weren’t sure how much time had passed while you were in your state of sensory deprivation, but you had somehow managed to drift off to sleep during your delusions. You only knew this because you were rudely woken up by the Janitor heedlessly removing your earplugs, blindfold, and muzzle yet again.

You gasped awake, fear flooding back to you as you remembered where you were.

The Janitor tossed your torture items onto the mayo stand. He moved much more quietly compared to last time as he moved swiftly at his work station, deliberating on his instruments before fixating on his tool of choice.

“C-can we please talk this out? I’ll do anything you ask, just let me live.” Your voice was hoarse as you tried to reason with him, watching him in terror as he retrieved one of the larger scalpels. 

He didn’t respond. Instead, he drew the blade near your right wrist and slowly sank the blade horizontally into the soft skin of your under arm. You shrieked as the cool steel sliced deeply into your flesh, puncturing your thin blue veins that sat just underneath the surface of your delicate skin. Blood dribbled rapidly down your wrists and coated your hand.

"I’m testing out the blade's sharpness. It’s seen a lot of use lately. How does that feel?"

You responded with a holler at the piercing pain that fired up your arm. He cut you deep . So deep you worried you'd bleed out. The thought and the sight of your own blood made you light headed. He seemed satisfied with your reaction.

“This will hurt. But it’ll be over quicker than you think. The body goes into shock pretty shortly after it's been cut open.” He elucidated as he repositioned his scalpel by placing it at the part where all the markings he made earlier met in the middle at your sternum. The pressure of the knife increased against your skin. He pushed down, and blood gushed around the tip of the blade as it sank into your chest. You squealed helplessly.

Oh god–!

You pinched your eyes shut as you braced yourself for the pain.

You were going to die.

You were going to die .

Your life started to flash before your eyes. You always thought that that trope only happened in the movies, but it was happening to you, and that was a testament to your reality. It was like your body knew your time was near. You were about to cease to exist.

You reflexively thought about all of your friends. About Armin. About Jean. Mikasa. Historia. Ymir. Annie. Bertolt. Connie. Reiner. Eren. Sasha. 

Then, suddenly, a ringing sound blared, echoing off the empty walls. It was the chime of a device and it was coming from the Janitor.

He turned to his pocket, pulling out a pager.

Jesus, how old is this guy to still be using one of those?

"What inappropriate timing."

The Janitor huffed irritably and withdrew the blade tip from your chest. He set it down while using his teeth to peel off one of his gloves as he examined the pager with his other hand. When he replaced the pager back into his pocket he shelled off the other glove, snapping it as it slid off his fingers.

"I forgot I was on call. I'll be back in a few hours." He stripped himself of his apron and walked around the table until you lost sight of him. The raven haired man languidly hung his weathered apron up that neighbored other hooks draped with clean scrubs and other clothing by the door, flicking the light switch off and leaving you alone in the dark. When the door closed you could hear a heavy lock click into place.

You were drowned out in complete pitch black darkness. The metallic odor of your own blood wafted into your nose, making it scrunch up in disgust. Your tears hardly slowed down during your fleeting, illusionary period of safety.

You sucked in a deep breath and screamed at the top of your lungs whilst unsuccessfully squirming in your restraints.

"H-HELPPPP! HELP ME!"

Your cries reverberated off the walls, bouncing back onto you. It was a painful reminder of your isolation. You filled with despair as you drew in more air to holler again.

“HELP ME PLEASE!”

“HELP! SOMEONE!”

You relentlessly persisted with your pleas, until you couldn’t anymore.

You shrieked for almost an hour until you started to lose your voice.

"Help... Someone, please….. Help…......" Your voice collapsed as you began to lose hope. You were depleted of energy, and your body went limp against your restraints.

You closed your eyes and thought about all of your friends. How long were you passed out for? How long had you been there? Did anybody notice you were gone yet?

You gulped a deep and shaky breath, musing at what you could possibly do in your situation, if anything.

You twisted your neck side to side in the collar only to irritate your already chaffed flesh. You attempted to pull either of your legs up, then kicked forward to see if the tattered leather would give way at all to the force of you throwing your leg out. Nothing happened.

Then, you twisted your wrists against the cuffs. The friction from one of your wrists burned, but you noticed that your other wrist slid around much more smoothly against the leather. Then you remembered - your forearm was soaked in blood from the test incision the Janitor had made earlier. Your face cracked in surprise.

With a new found will to keep going, adrenaline surged in your veins again and you swirled your wrist around more as you experimented with how slippery it was. Using the blood as a lubricant, you strove to pull your wrist through the cuff.

Even though the exit strategy appeared to be feasible, the cuffs were still too tight.

You cursed defeatedly, resisting the tears that pricked at the corners of your eyes again.

There’s no point in crying , you scolded yourself, you need to think.

As you racked your brain you recalled the time you shadowed the police station for a crime scene investigation class you took last year. The cops were telling you a story of the time an extremely inebriated man broke his own wrist to wriggle out of his handcuffs. He was successful and slithered out of his restraints without drawing attention to himself before fleeing for his aggravated DUI. One of the older cops said in his twenty years of service, he had only ever seen that happen twice. You grimaced at the thought.

You tried yanking your wrist through again before resorting to anything as drastic as that.

No dice.

You whimpered in the dark. You lost your battle to the tears and let them stream freely down your flush cheeks.

This can’t be the only way.

You contorted your hand every which way, bending and flexing your fingers as much as possible to try and compact them to a size that would set you free. You failed again.

Dammit.

…

After many minutes of intense deliberation, you inhaled, your exhale coming out shakily as you braced yourself. 

With as much force as you could muster, you pushed your arm downwards into the leather, bending your wrist against the cuff farther than it was physiologically designed to go.

"FUCK!" Your scream was shrill at the abrupt pain that shot up your arm. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. The debilitating affliction of your injury made you groan as you lied there idly for an instant to recoup yourself.

For the second time, you made an effort to slide your wrist through again. Agony rippled down your fingertips as you pulled at your damaged wrist, yet it was still too rigid against the cuffs. It wasn’t broken enough.

"Oh come on." You croaked, your tears source shifting from fear to pain.

Sucking in another heavy breath, you pushed downwards again, farther and harder than your first attempt.

"Ah, fucking GOD! ” Your lacrimation had become a hot river that trickled down your neck. Gently, you twisted your bloodied and flaccid wrist around, making sure to rim as much of the bodily liquid around the leather as possible.

You pulled and twisted hard simultaneously, fighting the piercing pain that was demanding you to stop.

And it worked. Your wrist slipped free.

You gasped.

"Hah, oh my god. Ha, haha! "

You couldn't withhold the panicked and relieved laugh that bubbled in your throat. You lifted your arm weakly, and your disfigured wrist fell loosely to the side. You tried moving your fingers. They responded to you, although very slightly and you had little to no feeling in them. You took your arm over to your other wrist and felt around for the metal clasp that secured the restraint taut. Your bloodied and frail fingers struggled in the dark, fumbling on multiple accounts before finally managing to unfasten the straps of your other hand.

It broke free. You laughed again but harder, shocked with yourself and your perseverance.

“Ha ha ha!” Triumphantly, you raised your good hand up into the air and outstretched your fingers to the ceiling. You felt like you had just done the impossible.

Next you tried for your ankle straps. You couldn't sit up to reach them with your arms because of your neck restraint.

You knew this was going to be the hump of your struggles– the collar was a metal cuff instead of malleable leather. Your fingers explored the rim by wrapping over it and gliding along its surface. On one of the sides you could feel the indent of a key hole. On the opposite end you could feel the ridges of the collar’s hinge.

Ok. Key, was your first thought.

With an outstretched arm, you blindly searched for the side table in the pitch dark. The mayo-stand was conveniently closest to your unbroken wrist. Your fingers carefully grazed over the tools, and you hoped that maybe he had left the keys behind before leaving. You glossed over the assortment of instruments and bottles, but after inspecting the entire area of the table, nothing you explored resembled that of a key ring. You sighed in defeat.

And then, you remembered the labels on the bottles.

HCl and NaOH. Hydrochloric acid and sodium hydroxide. Thank god that your forensic lab work required you to get a minor in chemistry.

You strained your neck as you leaned your body sideways to get close to the table and reach for the bottles. You couldn't remember which order they were in when you first saw them in the light.

Hydrochloric acid can corrode metal and soft tissue, and sodium hydroxide is a base that can neutralize it, but it can also burn skin. You reminded yourself as you recalled your previous lectures. You old chemistry professor Dr. Zoe would have been proud of you for remembering.

You grabbed the two bottles, using your good hand to wedge one of them between the floppy fingers of your broken hand and keeping it as tight as you could in your feeble grip. Whichever bottle you were about to use was imperative to what would happen next. If the table was made out of titanium - and it probably was, if this man was as smart as he appeared to be - then the hydrochloric acid would be strong enough to dissolve the metal. You could hear Dr. Zoe's voice repeating the acid lab lecture in your head: Titanium forms a very stable oxide layer that is only readily attacked by hydrochloric acid; so HCl is the most effective acid for breaking down titanium's protective oxide layer, allowing for faster dissolution.

With the hinge being so close to your neck, you prayed that you wouldn't get any on your skin. Regardless of which one you used, however, both would cause serious damage to your skin if it made contact.

You pensively settled on one of the bottles and raised it to your head. With your pinky you felt for the grooves of the hinge. 

Carefully, you tried to untwist the cap of the bottle.

You lost your grip. The bottle fumbled from your grasp and plummeted onto the ground and away from your reach. Your face contorted in shock and anger.

“GOD DAMMIT!” You screamed in frustration, taking a moment to rage before gathering yourself.

You breathed deeply a few times to calm down before reaching for the other container. There was a fifty-fifty chance you dropped the acid. If you had, it was over for you.

Again, you felt for the hinge of the collar with your pinky. With your middle and ring finger, you secured the bottle to your palm as your index finger and thumb made quick and attentive work unscrewing the cap. You could hear a quiet pop as it opened.

With extreme slowness, you raised the nozzle of the bottle over where your pinky finger was feeling around. You tilted it and squeezed gently. As a few drops dripped from the nozzle, you could immediately hear sizzling. Instant relief.

You tried to contain your excitement as you let a few more drops dribble out of the bottle. Then, very mindfully, you brought the container over to the other side of the collar where the lock closed shut and you repeated your steps. It took ten minutes for the acid to break down the thin and delicate mechanisms of the hinge and lock hole. You put the bottle in between your broken hands fingers and tried pulling at the collar.

Astonishingly, it broke off with little effort. You beamed in delight.

Without wasting a single precious second you flew up and clawed at the leather that bound your ankles. With nimble fingers you pried them free, and you leapt up from the operating table.

Holy shit , you wobbled as you lurched up, discombobulated by the darkness of the room and the state of your fatigued, post-drugged body.

You used the operating table as a guide and unconfidently shuffled around to behind the table where you knew the door was. Then with outstretched arms you felt through the darkness.

You cautiously stepped forward, fearful that you would run into a dangling corpse, until you bumped into what seemed to be a wall. Your good hand wadded over the smooth tiles until you felt a small nub of a light switch. You flipped it, and light flooded the room. You averted your gaze from the graphic scene of the bodies before your vision fell to your naked body. Next to the exit were the clean scrubs hanging next to his apron that you noticed earlier. You rushed to the door, ripping the clothes off and jumping into them in record time before trying the knob. To your luck, he had locked it from the outside so nobody could come in, but you could get out.

When you opened the door, you were met with an inky darkness that was seldom illuminated by a faint overhead glow from the opening of a staircase.

You exasperatedly sprinted through the dark to the stairs, clumsily running up them with extreme haste and trying to avoid tripping over yourself. You were hyperventilating with each step, stumbling up while clutching your broken hand to your chest, tears staining your hot cheeks.

After you made it to the ground floor your eyes shot around as you sought for the nearest exit.

Upon scanning the space you noticed that the Janitor's house was very thoughtfully decorated. The interior was a modern 70's aesthetic, but you didn't take much time to observe his living conditions as you made eye contact with the front door. You barrelled towards it, fiddling with the lock with your unbroken hand and flinging the door open to broad daylight. The outside air was refreshing in a way you had never felt before.

Without a second of hesitation, you beelined to the police station.

Chapter Text

It happened to be a stunning, cloudless day outside.

A stark difference from the sterile and sinister chamber that you had just been locked away in. The stale weight of fear shrouded your critical thought, creating tunnel vision that succumbed you to primal fight or flight. Your phone wasn’t on you, and as badly as you wanted to book it straight back to your place you knew that you couldn't risk the Janitor finding out you were gone before you had the chance to report anything. He had to have been the man that was responsible for all of the murders happening around town. But beyond that blatant observation, you were confident in one fact– you were the only person to have ever escaped him.

You vaguely recognized where you were as you sprinted through the streets. The neighborhood he lived in was one you had been to a handful of times. You were deep in rich mid-town suburbia; the same general neighborhood that Reiner lived in. You cursed yourself for not remembering where Reiner’s house was specifically. You could almost hear Armin taunting you for your poor memory and for being directionally challenged, which were both things you despised about yourself. Instead, you took your broad knowledge of the area to try and find a way to the main road. From there, you'd know where to go.

You were sprinting until your stamina was depleted, and even then you maintained a hurried, uneven jog throughout the neighborhood, huffing and puffing, trying to scope and flag down cars that passed by along the way.

You waved your limp, bloodied hand around. The first couple of cars that came into view drove right past you; maybe they hadn’t noticed, or maybe they were freaked out that a girl with a fucked up hand in medical scrubs was trying to get them to pull over. It wasn't until the third car that someone stopped.

A beater Chevrolet truck rolled to a halt. A thin, gaunt man rolled down his window with a disquieted look. His dark blonde hair was mid length and parted down the middle, and his cheeks were hollow. You had never seen him before.

"Everything alright?" He asked cautiously upon noticing your flaccid, blood-stained hand. Your body was hunched over as you huffed, exhausted from your tireless escape. You were still chasing after your breath.

You begged in between your labored sighs. “Can you please, please take me to the police station?"

With uneasy eyes he scoped you up and down. It was hard to say what he was thinking as he let a couple beats pass. He was taking too long to respond. Fearfully, you pressed him again.

"Please. I'm so scared right now." Your voice came out as a pathetic whimper as your eyes started to wet. You could tell he was tempted to drive away.

"Um," he paused for a moment, "sure."

He complied and unlocked his car. He didn't ask any further questions as you rounded the hood of his truck and slinked into the passenger's side, ducking in and crouching forward to be out of sight from anyone driving by.

"G-go. Go," you stammered nervously with your eyes flicking all around the neighborhood, petrified that the Janitor would come rolling around the corner at any moment in his stupid expensive Rolls-Royce, "fucking drive!”

The urgency in your voice prompted him to propel forward hastily. He sped off.

”Why do you need to go to the police station?" He asked warily, his fingers tenaciously gripping the steering wheel.

You bit your lip, unsure of how to tell this random man what had happened without sounding crazy or setting off alarm bells. Your mouth felt dry as you tried to speak.

"Someone was holding me captive at their house and I just escaped, I need to go to the police station now." You evaded any information of the dead bodies, or how you thought the man holding you hostage was responsible for the local murders. You didn’t want to scare your way out of a free lift.

The man's eyes expanded, but they never deviated from the road.

"He's not chasing you, is he?"

You noticed his hold tightening on the wheel. He was white-knuckling its rim. You winced, concerned that you may have damaged your chances of him continuing to give you a ride.

"No! No. He left the house maybe a couple hours ago. I’m not being followed. Just keep driving please." Your voice was frazzled, unable to maintain composure that wouldn’t ensue panic in both you and the generous stranger.

The man responded by flooring the pedal, speeding you both down the road. For the entire drive you were gingerly cradling your busted wrist to mitigate harsh movements from the bumpy ride.

To your luck, the police station wasn't too far from the neighborhood. As he pulled into the roundabout at the front of the building, you barely gave him enough time to come to a complete stop as you leapt out with haste.

Before you slammed the door shut the man called out to you.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" You looked up to him to meet his eyes, caught off guard by his unanticipated offer. Despite being fearful his offer seemed sincere. Your head moved side to side.

"No, you've done enough. Thank you so much for your help," you pivoted away to rush to the door before faltering, then turning back again to him, "what's your name?"

He gave you a half-smile. "Ian."

”Ian. Thank you Ian. You literally probably saved my life." You praised him before waving him off, wishing there was a way to better demonstrate to him your eternal gratitude for his kindness before slamming the car door and rushing to the police station entrance.

After barging through the main doors, you tried pulling the second set of doors open, only to find yourself trapped in the vestibule. An exasperated huff was followed by anxious glances around the room until you discovered a small black box on the wall next to the second door. It had a button and a speaker. Hesitantly, you pressed it.

"How can I help you?" It emitted a static buzz as a bored voice cracked through the intercom.

There was a brief wash of relief. “I was abducted and I just escaped the person's house. I think it was the killer who has been responsible for all of the local murders."

Your voice was exasperated and quick, but despite sounding desperate, the woman on the other side sighed, not matching your urgency whatsoever. There was a sting of disregard that you quickly forgot about as you heard a short buzz, followed by a click, and then the door unlocking. You flung it open and marched up to a tired middle-aged secretary at the front desk.

"Take a seat. I'll have somebody meet with you shortly." She muttered curtly.

The woman was clearly in a bad mood. Her gaze drifted to your broken hand. She seemed unfazed by the sight and didn’t ask you any questions about it.

That recent feeling of being discounted prodded at your heart strings. You felt like you weren’t being taken seriously.

Despite this, you tried your best to shake it off. Surely, the police wouldn’t overlook your issue.

“Alright. Thanks." You squeaked, turning on a heel and placing yourself in a waiting room chair. Your leg anxiously bounced up and down as you sat during a painfully long intermission.

After what felt like days two men emerged from a locked, iron-clad door. One of the gentlemen was tall, blonde, and maybe in his early 40s. The other was bald, fashioned a thick and grey handlebar mustache, and appeared to be in his late 50s or early 60s. The older one nodded his head at you.

"Hello. I'm police deputy Dot Pixis. This is police corporal Hannes," the bald man introduced, drawing his attention to your disfigured hand, "we've been told you have important information to report regarding the killer." His voice was deep and clear, and for the first time since being there you felt like you were going to be taken seriously. With widened eyes, you nodded aggressively.

"Yes, yes! I just escaped from his house and– "

"Come with us." He cut you off rudely, walking back to the door he came through and motioning for you to follow. You blinked at the men for a moment, gulping, and then rose to your feet and obediently trailed behind him and corporal Hannes.

The three of you traversed through a few narrow, white hallways before he opened a door to what looked like an interrogation room. Inside was a single ceiling lamp that dangled from a long link-chain above a plain, dusty table. You sat, and Hannes and Dot nonchalantly placed themselves in the pair of chairs facing across from your seat.

Everything about their demeanor was strange. The way they looked at you was peculiar enough, but they also seemed entirely unenthusiastic and unconcerned about your presence, your potential information, and the fact you were obviously seriously injured.

Pixis was the first to address you. ”So, who are you? What do you do?”

You shifted back and forth in your seat, anxious to skip the introduction and get straight to the point. “My name is (Y/N) (L/N). I’m a senior at Paradis University. I work for the Orvud psychiatric hospital.”

Pixis scanned your attire, associating your scrubs with your work.

“What seems to be the issue?" Hannes spoke up, slightly leaned forward while resting his elbows on the table, folding his hands in a stilted, practiced manner.

"I was fucking abducted and just escaped." You jeered as your patience spread thread-thin. You were repeating yourself at this point and you were extremely frustrated and offended that these men couldn't seem to care less about what you were telling them.

"We're going to need more information than that," Pixis responded, unamused. He crossed his arms over his decorated police vest and leaned back into his chair casually, "start from the beginning and tell us the full story."

You steadied your breaths, holding your loose hand in your lap.

"Alright.” you grumbled, trying to give the men the benefit of the doubt. They probably had received a lot of prank calls and fake leads about the killer before, desensitizing them from any claims.

You drew in a shaky breath. ”The janitor from my university campus was the person who kidnapped me. I believe he managed to get my house key after I left my keys behind in lecture, and then he gave me a lift home when my car wouldn't start. Because of this he found out where I lived and had access to my home, and then when I went to sleep last night I woke up in his basement,” as you elucidated, you could feel the fresh terror start to attack your nervous system again, “there were dead bodies, blood everywhere–"

You started to choke up as you relived the traumatic memory. “He left for work, and while he was gone I managed to escape. I broke my wrist to get out of the restraints he put me in." You revealed your mutilated hand to the men, holding it up in the air so they could get a good look at it. They both grimaced at its state.

Pixis hummed in response while raising a wrinkled hand to his face and rubbing his chin, feigning deep thought.

"Do you remember where he lived?"

"Yes, I didn’t catch his address plate before I ran away but I remember how to get there.” You explained, hoping that despite your directional illiteracy you’d be able to recall the way.

“Have you told anybody else?"

You perplexedly blinked at him a few times, your lips pressed into a thin line, “No, I went straight here. I literally left his house maybe 30 minutes ago. Does it matter if I told anybody else?”

The older men both exchanged knowing glances with each other. There was something in their eyes that you couldn't recognize.

They nodded to you in unison. "No, it doesn’t matter. We'll take a ride in the police car and have you navigate us there."

The walk out of the interrogation office and into the car was swift. Once situated in their vehicle, you fidgeted in the backseat, your hands trembling as you tried to steady them in your lap. Every single nerve in your body was screaming at you to leap out of the car and go home, go back to sleep, and to pretend none of this was happening. You prayed that at any moment you'd wake up, and that all of this would reveal to have been just a shitty nightmare.

But you remained in your seat, waiting as if you were a dog on the way to the vet to be put down. Deputy Pixis was driving at a relaxed pace - not a care in the world.

"Right or left?" He asked as he decelerated towards the next intersection.

"Take a left here," you murmured, "then the first right." Your heart pace picked up rapidly as you drew nearer to the fated house. As it slowly started to fade into view, your heart jumped into your throat.

The Rolls-Royce was in his driveway. The Janitor was home.

"Here. This is the house." You announced, and Pixis rolled to a stop by the curb of the Janitor’s expensive abode.

You were shuddering uncontrollably. Both Pixis and Hannes stepped out, regarding each other again before glancing to his home and then to you.

"Come with us." They ordered, and you peered at them warily.

You frowned, your expression pleading for them to let you wait in the car. "Can't you guys go by yourselves?”

Deputy Pixis shook his head unapologetically. "If we're going to enter the house, we want you to show us where the bodies are. We don't have a warrant, after all. You're our probable cause." He explained while you narrowed your eyes at him resentfully.

"Fine." You reluctantly agreed, not fully understanding the legalities of those kinds of things in your state. You cursed yourself for skipping out on this part of one of your criminology law courses homework assignments.

You stepped out of the vehicle and ghosted behind the men closely as you encroached upon the main entrance of the house. Pixis knocked on the door.

You waited with bated breath. The anticipation of seeing the Janitor again face-to-face was tearing you apart. It was bizarre to think that you were locked up in his basement just an hour ago.

After a few agonizing moments the front door slowly creaked open, revealing the raven haired man. It was apparent by the scrubs he was wearing that he had just gotten home from work, the same work that had given you the window of chance to escape. The scrubs he wore didn’t match the ones that you had on, despite them both being his.

He first surveyed the cops and then beyond them to see you cowering behind them. His eyes had rested on you far longer than they did on the men. They were unfeeling and hollow.

What surprised you was that he wasn't the slightest bit reactive to the authorities at his doorstep– not a shred of fear or guilt evident on his expression.

"Levi," Pixis began, "we've gotten some alarming reports about your activity and behavior. This young woman claims that you abducted her. Do you consent to us searching your home?" Pixis addressed the Janitor by his name.

Levi , you thought to yourself, keeping his name in mind.

You then clocked another detail, eyeing Pixis from behind, confounded that he addressed the Janitor by his name at all - did he already know this man?

And that's when you put together why the Janitor wasn't fazed upon seeing them. They were all too familiar with each other.

Something wasn’t right, and your body had a natural reaction to your intuition. Nausea set in.

The Janitor's - or Levi's - bored gaze flickered back to them. "No warrant this time? You guys have gotten sloppy." He jeered, although he didn’t actually care. Deputy Pixis shook his head.

His compliance was nonchalant as he stepped back, opening the door wider and granting all of you entry into his home. The men stepped in, and with extreme reluctance, you followed them as they moved forward.

Once inside they examined around the room without much observance to detail, like they had seen it all before.

"Where did you say you were being held captive?" Hannes inquired you.

You made eye contact with the door to the basement, plagued with a sense of doom just by the mere sight of it, and raised your good hand to point at it with a shaky finger.

"Down there." You nearly whispered. As you spoke you could perceive Levi's eyes were hard on you as he malignantly stared you down. However, without resistance or a lick of hesitation Levi shuffled to the basement door and opened it up to allow you and the men entry. His compliance caught you off guard. Everything felt meticulously orchestrated.

Levi led you and the men down the carpeted stairs, with the air getting a little cooler as you descended. You hadn't remembered this many steps when you escaped, but you hadn't really been paying attention to anything else as you ran away. You had tunnel-visioned while zeroing in on the objective of escape that almost all details of the house went unnoticed.

The Janitor opened the door at the bottom of the staircase casually. Everyone stepped inside the pitch black room, and Levi flipped a switch on the wall, illuminating the space.

You stared at it, stupefied.

It was just a normal basement. It was nicely furnished, similar to the upstairs living area, however windowless. The walls were clad in wood paneling that was a flattering light brown shade to make the large space feel even bigger, with red nylon carpet, retro poster art, and conceptual-era canvas paintings. There was a faint scent of vinyl records, mixed with an intoxicating aroma of expensive cologne hanging in the air. In the corner opposite of the door was a vintage wood-paneled wet bar, complete with a mirrored backsplash and glass shelves displaying a colorful array of expensive liquors and whiskeys that were both modern and matched the era of his interior design style - Galliano, Blue Curaçao, Whistle Pig, Yamazaki Malt, among many, many more opalescent crystalline bottles. There was a chrome-rimmed bar rail with a few swivel barstools wrapped with cracked faux-leather seat covers. Hanging over the polished, resin encased counter top was a Tiffany-style pendant light overhead that complimented the bar colors with a casted, warm amber glow. In the center of the room was a sunken conversation pit with plush, low-profile couches and lots of accented throw pillows. A console stereo system sat against the wall across the couches, flanked by a crate of records. Despite the retro style, he had a flat screen TV mounted on the wall above the stereo, the only truly modern piece in the room. There were a few bookshelves, completely free of dust, and to the left of the room opposite of the TV was a nook in the wall, where it held a small at home gym with all the equipment someone could possibly need for a solid workout.

Nothing about it was indicative of the tiled dungeon you were in just an hour ago.

"I-" You stammered, your mouth drying up.

"This is where you were being held captive? Where are the bodies you claimed to see?" Hannes and Pixis stepped forward, scanning the space expectantly.

"They were- this whole basement was a fucking white-tiled dungeon. There were meathooks with carcasses and limbs. It was all right here–" you ambled past the men, examining everything to see if there was a false door, a secret compartment, something that led to the room you could have sworn you were trapped in just earlier. Your good hand glided over the walls. You felt your heart in your throat.

Terrified, you twisted around to face the men who were eyeing you like you were stupid and crazy. As you peered to the men and past their figures, you could see Levi standing idly behind them.

He was staring at you.

But he wasn’t just staring - he was smiling . His harrowing, haunting, unnerving grin accompanied his icy grey eyes. It was, quite possibly, the most uncanny smile that had seen and it was now permanently seared into your memory.

You started to well with tears, more fearful than you were when you first woke up in his basement. Somehow, this felt worse. It was like you were screaming at the top of your lungs for help in a room full of people but you were being ignored by everyone. Am I going crazy?

"I swear, it was all right here. There was an operating table that I was strapped to. I had to break my hand to escape," you held up your flaccid hand, the blood now clotted and dried on your skin, “these aren’t even my fucking scrubs. These are his! I took them when he cut all my clothes off! You can take them in and scan them for his DNA, that will prove it!” Pixis clicked his tongue dismissively.

"Didn’t you say you worked in a hospital? And who's to say you didn't break your wrist yourself?"

Your jaw dropped in complete disbelief at his disregard.

“You’re joking.” You groused, glaring at the men murderously.

Hannes stepped in. "Look, this isn't our first complaint about Levi. There's also plenty of people who make shit like this up because of their own personal vendettas. Some people have gone as far as to hurt themselves to blame it on others–"

"You think I would do this to myself? Just to get some guy I don't know in trouble?" You abruptly severed Hannes cheap excuse. Your blood was boiling. You couldn't believe what they were implying. It was obvious to the men that you were shaking from the influx of strong emotions that swelled within you, yet they remained unreactive. Terror, rage, confusion - and all of the feelings that could exist in between and outside of those melted together until your face was blue-fire hot. Steam was practically fuming out of your ears.

The policemen had their hands comfortably tucked and rested on the top of their vests as they peered to one another. 

"Well, I don't know you. But what I do know is that Levi isn't a person of concern for us. He has been a suspect in the past but he's been cleared every time."

Deputy Pixis glanced sideways over his shoulder at Levi, who had been boring holes into his back with his gaze during your entire conversation. There was a flicker of something in Dot Pixis’ eyes that you hadn’t seen yet, something that you barely caught and wouldn’t have had you not paid close attention - was he afraid?

He pivoted on his boot heel to face Levi. "We'll be taking our leave. Sorry for the bother." He nodded his head, and Levi shook his in annoyance.

"Wouldn't be the first time. Pain in my ass, you guys are." He grumbled and turned around, leading the men out of the basement. You took one final scan of the room before following the police, not wanting to be left alone in any part of that house. You trudged behind them until everyone returned outside, nervously watching the back of Levi's head as you walked, careful to keep him in view the entire time. You feared that somehow he would vanish into thin air right before you or slip into the shadows and capture you when you least expected it.

Once outside the older men faced Levi. You made a point to stand closely beside Hannes, mindful to maintain distance away from the Janitor.

"Again, sorry for the trouble. Have a nice night Levi." Corporal Hannes bid their farewell, and the men started to walk away to their police car.

You mirrored them, sure to keep close by Hannes side until you felt a sudden, sharp grip around your broken wrist that anchored you into place. The abrupt and forceful hold sent a shooting pain up your arm and your vision flashed to see Levi. His head was low and his irises were disfavorally narrowed at you.

"Hey!-" You yelped, turning to the police who continued to walk forward and blatantly ignore your shriek. " Hey! " You repeated, and Levi's grip grew tighter. You gasped, sucking in a sharp breath as the pain grew intolerable.

"Shut the fuck up," he hissed, the police quickly growing farther and farther away until they were out of earshot, "those fucking pigs won't do anything to help you. I pay off their entire department, and my external connections deter them from reaching out to upper authorities. I've already contacted my partners. If anything happens to me, there's a crosshair on your fucking head. And your friends too– I know where they live. All of them." His eyes tracked yours intently. As he held your gaze captivate in his it felt like he was piercing into your soul with his pale stare. His threats were not empty - you could tell.

With a wide, fearful expression, similar to that of a prey animal, you desperately turned to the cops who were oblivious - or apathetic - to Levi’s apprehension of you as they continued towards their vehicle. When you broke eye contact, Levi's other hand shot up, gripping your jaw tightly and forcing your head to crane back towards him. The pads of his fingertips were pressed hard into your cheeks, so hard you thought he'd crack your skull. He displayed surprisingly in-human strength.

"Don't scream," he warned, "they'll look the other way if I drag you back into this house."

You tensed at the thought of being forced back into his house and whimpered in his vice-grip, the tears immediately exploding out of you. Your lungs expanded and deflated rapidly as you began to hyperventilate again.

"And don't tell fucking anyone . I will find out. I'll start with Sasha first if you do."

And with that, he released his punitive grip on your battered wrist and face. He was sure to give you one last admonishing glare before he stepped back towards his house, turning around after crossing the doors threshold.

"I'll see you in class tomorrow." He sneered, then slammed the door shut.

You were cemented to the lawn like a deer in headlights. Everything happened so fast you could hardly even process what had just happened, so all you did was blankly gape at the door he was just standing in, confused and terrified.

I'll start with Sasha first , his threat echoed in your head. If anything happens to me, there’s a crosshair on your fucking head.

You didn’t fully understand what or who he meant by external connections, but what you could confidently say you gathered was that this man wasn’t operating alone. If you ratted him out, he’d surely send whoever it was that he worked with after you.

Tears started to roll down your cheeks and you glanced back over to the police who were viewing you with their car doors open. Had they seen any of that? Had they been watching the whole time?

"Are you going to need a lift home?" They offered - the most genuine thing they had done all day - and your gaze oscillated between them and Levi's door.

"Why the fuck did you guys ignore me? Did you see or hear fucking any of that?" You nearly shouted, scolding the men for not upholding their sworn duties.

They exchanged the same look they had been giving each other since the moment you met them - one of subtle concurrence. It made you sick to your stomach.

"We don't know what you're talking about." 

You opened your mouth to protest, to scream at them that you knew that they were lying, that you knew they were hiding something, but your jaw snapped shut when the you felt your skin suddenly crawl at the eerie feeling that you being watched - the insidious presence of hard eyes staring at you from behind. You couldn't see him, but you just knew in your gut he was watching you through the window of his home.

You shuddered, then sighed.

"I guess I could use a ride home." You breathed, defeated. You approached the police car then slipped into the backseat and remained silent the whole drive home, horrified and lost at what to do at that point. You wanted to address what had happened to them now that you were blocks away from Levi, but if they were willing to go this far to play dumb for this long, you thought it to be futile to press any further.

When the men dropped you off you exchanged no words with them as you stepped out of the car. No ‘thank you’, no ‘have a nice day’. They didn't bother to wait to see if you made it inside your home before speeding away.

You stood at the door like a ghost that wasn't allowed inside. Knowing you didn't have your keys, you wondered if Sasha had been home to let you in. You knocked, and waited for many eerie moments as nothing happened. You decided to try the door anyway. To your surprise, it was unlocked.

Sasha was nowhere to be seen. You shuffled to the futon, slumping down on it and sinking into the stiff cushions. You felt like you were in a dream. The day felt like a VR game. Your wide, bloodshot eyes darted aimlessly around the room as if trying to catch a glimpse of something hiding in the corner, unseeing yet overwhelmed. It was like you were trapped in a world that no longer made sense. Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, hands trembling at your sides, fingers twitching like they couldn't decide whether to clench or reach for something. Your scrubs, or his scrubs, rumpled and stained, hung on you like a forgotten thought, and your tangled hair clung to the sweat on your forehead. Every noise made you flinch, every shadow stretched too far - the heat and pressure of your daze made you sway slightly, as if the weight of the moment was too much, as if the earth beneath your feet was no longer solid. The world continued to move around you, but you sat frozen, drowning in a vicious pool of today's memories that tormented you on repeat. You recalled his cold hand grazing your face, the image of the body parts on display in front of the operating table, the feeling of his razor sharp knife effortlessly slicing the thinnest layer of your skin - you winced at all the flooding memories.

You rotted there on the futon for probably hours before the door swung open. Like a terrified animal, you shot up, eyes wide. It was just Sasha.

"Oh, hey," she chirped casually, a drink holder readied in her hand with two plastic cups of bubble tea wedged into the cardboard, "I didn't see you this morning, and I didn't see you in class. I figured maybe you had work super early or something." Her remark fell on deaf ears as you sat back down on the futon, your gaze fixed straight ahead of you at the wall blankly. Sasha's voice faded in and out as your ears started ringing.

(Y/N)? Sasha's voice called out warily, funneling into your ears as a distant, unrecognizable echo. You didn't acknowledge her.

Hey, are you okay?

"Huh?" Your anxious attention to the nothingness of the wall fractured as you felt a warm hand fall upon your shoulder, and you violently flinched at the sensation of touch. You followed the hand to see Sasha, who quickly withdrew her arm at your sudden recoil. She looked extremely concerned.

"What's going– oh my god! " She yelped at the sight of your mangled hand, falling to her knees to inspect your injury more closely.

Frazzled, she gingerly lifted your wrist to assess the damage. "What the fuck happened?"

You hissed and reeled backwards at the pain that shot up your arm.

"Fuck, sorry," she squeaked as her fingers relocated to a less delicate spot, still closely eyeing the way your hand flopped downwards, "your hand is completely broken." Her statement didn't faze you. You were acutely aware that your shit was busted.

"(Y/N). What. Happened." She emphasized the words out of her mouth emphatically and sternly. Your gaze slowly floated to hers. Your eyes were unblinking and hollow. You weren't looking at her, but through her. Hardly a single thought crossed your mind, but if there was one thing that was at the forefront of your brain it was that you knew you couldn't tell the truth. It wouldn't do anything, not if the police wouldn't help. And it would drag her into your dilemma, maybe risking both her life and yours. You knew he'd find out somehow. You weren't sure how, but if he had gotten away with his crimes for this long he had to have some kind of leverage that extended him to various corners of town. Even if you had physically escaped from the Janitor’s clutches, you were now psychologically at his mercy. You couldn’t decide which one was worse - to be physically or mentally held captive by him.

"I fell." You lied.

Sasha scowled at you, rising back to her feet with her hands falling squarely on her hips.

"You fell?" She repeated your statement skeptically, and you nodded unconvincingly. Her foot tapped the floor impatiently as her arms went from her hips to crossing over her chest. "So you must have fallen at work, considering you’re still in your hospital attire?" She examined you up and down, noting the sweat-stained scrubs that clung to your body.

You looked down to your tattered clothes, unsure and too exhausted to come up with an elaborate excuse or story. You responded to her with a dry ‘yes’.

Sasha shook her head. “Look,” she plopped down onto the futon next to you, “if you really don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. But at the very least tell me that you’re okay. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Her request zapped you in the chest. How could you possibly tell her, while sounding sincere about it, that you were okay?

”Yeah, I’m fine.” You confirmed. You must have sounded convincing enough.

“Good. Let’s take you to urgent care to get this thing wrapped up.” She nodded to your wrist before her eyes flickered up to yours to meet gazes, “You can change into some other clothes and I can drive you there. Oh, and do you want some bubble tea? I got extra cos I figured I’d find you at home.” Sasha reached for her own cup, taking a sip as she leapt up onto her feet whilst she twirled her car keys around her index finger by the key ring.

”Sure, I guess.” You took the cup with your good hand and raised the straw to your chapped lips. The drink was sickly sweet, just how you liked it. ”This is good, where did you get this?”

”Tutti’s. They just put this new mango bubble tea on the menu.”

You went rigid. ”Tutti’s…” You repeated quietly. You thought about how you used that tea place as a marker when explaining to Levi how to take you home. Even the image of such a wholesome, locally owned tea place that you adored was now tainted by that man. That monster.

You disappeared into your room, going through the motions of changing into clean clothes absentmindedly. There wasn’t a single meaningful thought that came to mind. You were operating completely on autopilot - a defense mechanism to keep you from curling into a tight ball on your floor and breaking down.

You emerged from your room in grey sweats and a light blue, lacy tank top. She turned on her heel towards the door, and you followed her closely with a much slower and less enthusiastic gait.

Sasha drove you to urgent care where the physician looked at your wrist with a grimace that suggested she hadn’t seen anything quite that gruesome in awhile. Of course, she asked what happened, and of course, you maintained your lie with Sasha sitting next to you, who was watching you like a hawk.

”I fell.”

The physician hummed in response and didn’t pry any further. She probably didn’t care all that much. But you really, really wished she did. You wished anyone did. And perhaps that would have been the case, if any one of them could know. But they couldn’t, unless you wanted to kiss everyone near and dear to you goodbye.

The physician put you through an X-Ray, commenting on how miraculous it was that you wouldn’t need to get surgery. You should feel lucky , she had said without knowing just how distasteful her statement was to you at that moment.

Lucky? You thought bitterly, in what world would any of this be considered lucky?

She patched you up, fitting you in a cast after offering to refer you to the emergency room or an orthopedic specialist. You politely declined, knowing that the hospital or doctor bill beyond urgent care would suck what was left in your savings account completely dry. Shortly after that, you and Sasha were sent home.

Sasha was playing Bob Dylan’s 'Hurricane' at a considerable volume. She was singing along, drumming her hands against the wheel. She really enjoyed folk and rock music, and she also picked up a country ear worm from her rural country bumpkin family growing up.

“Hey Sasha,” You cut into her mediocre karaoke session, “you crashed at my place last night right?” You asked earnestly, and she side-eyed you.

”Yeah. I slept great. Why?” Her attention diverted back to the street, oblivious to your growing anxiety. You fidgeted uncomfortably in the passenger seat, your hands clamped in between your thighs with your shoulders as rigid as rocks.

“Did you– was there any noise last night? Did you hear anything? Wake up to anything?” The abruptness of your question drew her gaze back to you, a look of confusion apparent on her features.

”Not at all.”

You nibbled on the inside of your cheek, your eyes bouncing to different structures and people that you passed as you drove by. You were convinced you’d see Levi prowling around somewhere - by a bus stop, on a coffee shop terrace, anywhere - he had to have been waiting for you at any corner you’d turn and you were fully convinced that was true, even if you were being delusional. “Was the door unlocked when you left my house this morning?”

She paused for a moment, turning down the music just slightly to think more clearly. “No, it was locked like it always is.”

When the cogs in her head started to turn, her expression towards you transformed from mild concern and confusion to a wry, cheeky grin.

”Why do you ask? D’ya sneak someone in last night or something?” Her voice drawled out as she cooed his name, “maybe Reineerrrrrrr?”

Your breath hitched at the thought of knowing that someone had in fact snuck in, and Sasha mistook it for you being caught red-handed in some kind of romantic pursuit.

”Oh-ho man, I just knew you guys were going to end up becoming a thing! Connie owes me ten bucks.” She assumed while cheering triumphantly and it was like a switch flipped inside you. Fear turned into annoyance in an instant.

”Why are you guys placing bets on my love life? You know I’m private about that shit.” You scolded, forgetting for just a fleeting moment about your harrowing fears. She shrugged, a grossly sly grin pulling her cheeks upwards.

”As private as you and him making out in the hot tub at his party in front of everyone? Yeah, superrrrrr secretive, (Y/N).”

Her taunt made you blush hard, and you sank into your seat.

”Rumpies.” Was your one word defense.

Your reference to the potent liquor made you reel a little in memory. Rumpleminz was certainly the liquor for making bold choices. Sasha grimaced, and then chuckled.

”Touché. I’m never drinking that shit again. Was nice of Reiner to provide it to us for free though. He’s such a generous guy.” Sasha commented. Her statement made you blink once, then twice in realization.

”Yeah, that was nice of him..” You trailed off. Hearing Reiner’s name again made your heart flutter for a second. The thought of him brought something unanticipated but much needed in that moment - a sense of comfort. The thought of being around him, someone as big and smart and strong and calculated as him made you feel safe.

You couldn’t talk to him about your situation. Absolutely not. But, you could at least hang around him. If you were never alone, if you were always with Reiner, there was no way the Janitor could touch you.

Right?

————-

You asked Sasha to sleep in your bed with you that evening because it would have been impossible for you to fall asleep alone, and she didn’t question why you wanted her too. But even with her comforting presence you couldn’t manage to fall asleep.

Despite your restless night, you somehow managed to make it to class the next morning. Had Sasha not yanked you out of bed you probably would have rotted at home all day, begging her to stay home with you.

Annie, Bertolt, and Reiner had all migrated away from their original spots in the lecture hall so they were sitting with your friend group during class sessions now. Because your circle was pretty large, the three sat behind you, Connie, Armin, Sasha, and Jean, with Mikasa, Eren, and Historia sitting in front of you. With where Reiner was positioned, he was directly behind your seat.

The weight of your weary head was being entirely supported by your propped up elbow with your cheek in your good hand. Your friends had asked you about what happened to your wrist, to which you responded with the same cheap lie you told Sasha. They didn't question you.

Armin eyed you as your head periodically bobbed down and shot back up as you nodded off. You had invited Sasha to watch 'the Godfather' with you in your bedroom, to which she fell asleep almost instantly. Despite her much needed company and infrequent, rattling snores you couldn’t sleep a wink last night as you tossed and turned, anxiously glancing at the door and the window and the darkened corners of your bedroom, almost hoping you’d find a looming silhouette or whisper of something to confirm your fears so at the very least it wasn’t all wasted mental energy.

But nothing ever happened. So you lied there, wide away, until the morning doves signaled that you had spent that last 8 hours awake.

”You alright?” Armin whispered as he leaned in, nudging your shoulder.

You shot awake for a moment before you floated back forward, hunching over your chair desk. You lazily looked to him with half-lidded eyes, a little drool dried to the corner of your mouth.

”Sure.”

Your worried friend glanced down to your empty notebook to see that you hadn’t written down a single thing from lecture except for the date. Even if you had been paying attention in lecture, your dominant hand was the one that was broken. It would have been near futile to write anything legible down anyway.

”(Y/N)!” He exclaimed urgently while managing to remain hushed as he scolded you, “the exam is this Friday! What could you possibly be doing at night that’s more important than getting enough sleep for school?”

The emotions that his words sparked within you roused you awake, your gaze hovering to his in annoyance. So badly did you want to scream, Oh, I’m sorry Armin, I haven’t been able to sleep because I was fucking abducted and nearly murdered and cannibalized!

But instead, you flared your nostrils as you huffed in defiance.

”I don’t know, ask your mom.” You shot back. Armin half-frowned, half-glared at you, and Connie, who was tuned into your conversation, overheard your quip and busted into a short laughter, which earned him a turning of half of the heads in the lecture - including Zeke’s. His cheeks grew hot and red as he ducked his head down, clearing his throat and pretending to jot something down.

“Rude. Rude and uncalled for.” Armin grumbled, and you playfully punched his arm.

”You’re right. Sorry. I’ve just had a rough couple of nights. I’ll lock in this week for sure.” You assured him.

But beyond reassuring him that you were up to the task, you were trying to affirm yourself that you could actually do it.

As lecture was beginning to wrap up the side door near the front of the hall swung open.

It was the Janitor. He was casually pushing his janitorial cart into the room as students started to pack up their belongings to take their leave. When you noticed him in his familiar boiler suit your body went still as stone, the color from your face draining to a ghostly white. Your friends around you were almost done putting their things away, but you remained frozen in your seat with your notebook and pencils still out.

While you vacuously watched the short man do his usual tasks he lazily peered up to the throng of students that started to funnel out of the lecture hall. His cool grey irises landed on you, still sitting, and you locked eyes. You couldn't see from the distance, but you could have sworn he smirked.

He turned back around, resuming his cleaning. 

Reiner noted your lack of movement first.

”Is everything alright (Y/N)?” He asked, following the direction of where your vision was trained. He observed the Janitor, who was paying no mind to you or anybody else as he took a windex bottle and sprayed down the white board, wiping it clean of the faint, ghosted marker streaks with a microfiber cloth.

You didn’t respond to him, watching Levi with a petrified gaze. Unaware that you were staring at him as intently as you were, Reiner pulled you out of your terrified trance with a poke on the shoulder. Your head shook side to side, your attention turning to him.

”Uh, yeah. I’m good.” You confirmed, hastily collecting your things and heedlessly shoving them into your backpack. You lurched up, pushing past your friends as you made your desperate escape out of the lecture hall. Reiner followed you closely, catching up to you and walking by your side.

”Are you actually good? You suddenly got really tense back there.” He queried you with concern, examining how you kept glancing over your shoulder like a scared animal that was being tracked by a predator. His attention then landed on your crippled hand that had been casted up. “And what happened to your hand?”

Your voice was stern. ”I’m fine. Now please quit asking questions.” Your demand was more harsh than you intended, and Reiner frowned.

”Alright.” He readjusted the weight of his backpack, following you as you marched out of the college into the outside air. Your group convened around the college garden like they usually did, trying to arrange the next study session and deliberating a group lunch. When they asked you if you wanted to join you waved them off.

”I don’t know. I don’t feel well. I think I might just go home.” Your refusal to their proposal earned you another quizzical look from Reiner, who could sense the rigidity in your shoulders. Everyone nodded, Eren leaving you off with a ‘suit yourself,’ as they walked off to their next classes before meeting up for lunch. Reiner, on the other hand, stayed by your side.

”You always want to grab lunch after class.” He pointed out your atypical behavior as he regarded you skeptically.

You shrugged. “I’m just not hungry today.”

His chest puffed up as he held his breath for a moment. ”Well, would you have more of an appetite if I invited you to eat at my place later tonight? I still need to make it up to you after missing our study plans the other day.” He offered sincerely and hopefully. You peered up to him, taking a second to process his offer before your lips tugged upwards into a half smile.

”I could be convinced.” You said playfully, rocking back and forth on your heels. For just an instant you were distracted from your crippling anxiety.

He smiled, his posture relaxing as though he was relieved.

”Awesome. Be at my place around 6?”

”Sure thing. Large bento box please.” Your finger pressed against his chest lightly as you teased, lifting onto your tip toes to hover near his face. The faintest blush that dusted his cheeks betrayed his cool, mysterious composure.

”Yes ma’am.” He swooned, glancing to the garden beds to temporarily avoid the intensity of your gaze before mustering the courage to meet your irises once more before waving goodbye, turning away and leaving. “Bye (Y/N). I’ll see you at 6.”

“Bye Reiner. See you at 6.”

You sighed to yourself satisfactorily. A thought crossed your mind; a vision of clarity and optimism. Perhaps the Janitor - Levi, if you recalled correctly from how the police addressed him - wouldn’t be able to hurt you again after all. Maybe if you made sure to always be in the company of someone you trusted, you couldn’t be touched. Or you could move away and complete your degree through remote learning. You had options - you just had to explore them. Perhaps you were going to be safe after all. Your new sanguine attitude brought a smile to your face and eased your tense posture.

But you had spoken too soon.

The sensation of a cold, malicious hand fell upon your shoulder.

After he speed-ran his cleaning he had been waiting behind the door to the college of biology, watching you through the glass panes until your friends had disassembled and left you by your lonesome.

You twisted around slowly, horrified to see that the Janitor had followed you outside.

Chapter Text

Your mouth fell open, to which he raised his pointer finger and pressed it against his lips in a vertical line as if he was silently telling you to keep quiet.

“Don’t scream,” he warned, his steely gaze holding yours captive, “I just want to talk.”

The comfortable familiarity of the university campus vanished in an instant. All within that second the same dreadful feeling came flooding back. One of helplessness; one of doom and damnation.

You stared at him, unmoving and unresponsive. Your jaw unhinged to speak until it snapped shut again when you failed to find the appropriate words. You were terrified that anything you said would somehow be the wrong answer.

Amidst your silence, he followed up. “I thought we could chat over some tea.”

You stared at him, confounded.

What the actual fuck?

When you didn’t make any remarks towards his offer his eyebrow quirked up. He waited for you to answer, leaving you both standing in an awkward silence.

Your tongue dried up each time you tried to think of something to say, but you felt like you were running out of time to give him a response.

Nervously, you finally managed to fumble some words together into a weak response. ”I… don’t understand.”

He slowly blinked at you. His grey-blue eyes were empty— everything about his demeanor was apathetic. Your answer, although warranted, fell upon deaf ears.

”I am not surprised,” he remarked flatly, “but let me clarify— I wasn’t asking."

You thought your heart was already beating as fast as it could, but you were disproven when it quickened pace until it was punching a hole into your sternum. You were certain he could hear its erratic thumping, each pump fueling his resolve in pursuing you. He was a poltergeist that was feeding off of your fear; just by standing in his proximity you were giving more power to him.

You were anxiously thumbing the strap of your backpack. “So you’re saying I don’t have a choice?”

He scoffed.

You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood. It had occurred to you that he couldn’t hurt you. At least, not in that exact moment. Not while you were on a highly trafficked campus in broad daylight. You deliberated for a brief moment if you should have screamed to draw the attention of everyone nearby, but if he was being truthful when he apprehended you just yesterday, then if anything happened to him, whatever power he had beyond himself would carry out his wishes and make sure you and your friends were punished.

You quickly riffled through your head, who could he possibly be working with? 

Although Paradis was big, it wasn’t that big. You were convinced you knew, or at the very least had seen, every person that lived in town.

You decided against crying for help and swallowed hard. “And what if I refuse?”

Levi shifted his weight from one foot to the other, cocking an eyebrow at you as if you were stupid. ”Do you really want to find out what will happen?”

Your chest was tight as you struggled to breath. So badly you wanted to flee, sprint away back to the police. Even if they wouldn’t help you, you’d be around people who would at the very least keep you from being abducted again— hopefully. It wasn’t until you acknowledged the possibility of compromising the safety of your friends that you vacillated in your decision. You recalled his previous threat.

I’ll start with Sasha first.

Levi’s voice severed your train of thought.

“What’s that thing they say? About curiosity and the cat?” He played dumb, fishing a response out of you.

You stared at him stupidly. “Curiosity killed the cat?”

“Yeah. You’re ‘the cat’ in this scenario if you keep gambling with your choices. Do as I say, or I’ll be ‘curious’.”

You sucked in a deep, shaky breath. You weren’t about to roll the dice.

”Fine. We can talk over some tea. I can meet you at Tutti’s later today.”

“No,” he contested curtly, “not in public. You are to come over to my house.”

You instantly scowled, revolted, and returned his demand with a blank and baffled stare. He wanted you to go back over to his house?

Your nails were digging crescents into your clammy palms as you clenched your fists. You were insulted. Did he think you were that stupid? That you’d mindlessly, naively, and willingly waltz right back into his trap?

”Absolutely fucking not.” You vehemently declined. He shrugged.

”Suit yourself.” He disregarded you, shifting in posture as if he was about to take his leave.

HIs lack of argument caught you off guard. He knew he didn’t need to physically force you to do anything. You were given the option of choosing whether or not you wanted to accept— he wasn’t going to strip away your autonomy of you making your own decisions. But he also wasn’t going to give you the luxury of cluing you in on the outcome of your decisions. Really, it was just the illusion of choice.

You looked askance at him with a twisting feeling in your gut setting off alarm bells in your head, your intuition suggesting to you that you made the wrong decision in declining and you’d experience the repercussions in the near future if you didn’t act fast.

”W-wait!—“ you stammered, biting back the threat of tears. He glanced to you, anticipating exactly what you’d to say.

”...I’ll… I’ll go.”

The words defeatedly fell out of your mouth and dropped like heavy weights to the ground. Levi shifted slightly in your direction again, measuring your face carefully. You couldn’t decipher what he was feeling.

”But can I at least know what it is that you want to talk about? Like the subject matter?” Your question was nothing short of a beg. He clicked his tongue.

”No.”

You shuddered, gulping before your gaze deflated to the ground. “7010 south scout avenue.” He delivered his address as he spun on his booted heel to depart. “I expect to see you at my place at 6 pm. Don’t be late. I hate tardiness.”

And with that, he walked off.

You observed him with vacuity as the distance between you two grew further and wider until he rounded a building to one of the many campus parking lots, disappearing from your line of sight.

Although the sun was warm, your skin was cold. You trembled as a frigid sweat broke out all across your body. You suddenly felt incredibly small and sick— you wanted to curl into a ball and scream at the top of your lungs for help. You desperately desired to be seen by someone, anyone, who could save you, but you maintained your unstable composure as you remained unmoving in the middle of campus.

You were motionless for a long, aching moment before finally deciding you needed to go home to collect yourself before traversing to what could very possibly be your death.

You stood his front door in trepidation for a very, very long time. You hadn’t knocked or done anything to indicate your arrival, but you were sure he was already aware that you were outside.

Anxiously, you glanced at the time on your phone. 5:55 pm.

You made it a point to get to his house early. You were unsure of how he’d react if you were late and you didn’t want to take any more risks than necessary— it was in your best interest to do exactly everything he told you to do, because you were at his mercy. Although you weren’t entirely sure the extent of his influence, you weren’t going to call his bluff. The police overtly disregarded you, so there had to have been some truth to his statement that he was, at the very least, pardoned by PPD.

Or some bullshit like that, you thought bitterly as you recalled Hannes and Pixis in resentment.

Despite every fiber of your being in ardent opposition to your decision, your shaky hand rose to knock on the door.

With an unnervingly quick response time, the door cracked open and revealed the short man on the other side. His eyes scanned you up and down before he peered at his wrist watch, noting your arrival time, before wordlessly opening the door wider to grant you access. You mirrored his silence, stepping in as though you were proceeding with some kind of casual, formal transaction.

”Take a seat.” He offered, gesturing to his living area.

When you made your desperate escape the first time you were in his home you hadn’t had a chance to examine his living space.

It represented a 70’s aesthetic. In the center of the room was a deep brown, velvet corduroy sectional. In front of it was a glass top kidney-shaped coffee table with lucite accents, and to the sectional's side was an outstretched, lanky bloomscape dracaena rikki cane plant that draped just above the chaise of the couch. Across from his large couch were two matching arm chairs with dainty side tables flanking either side of them. One of the tables carried a lamp with a vintage-patterned burnt orange lamp shade. The shag carpet was also burnt orange, matching the accented throw pillows and quilted blankets. He didn’t have a television, but instead a starburst clock hanging on the wall that was clad with maple-wood paneling. A faint aroma of sandalwood incense lingered in the room.

One conclusion could be drawn from your quick assessment of his home— the man had taste.

Without much confidence, you waltzed to one of the arm chairs and sat. He slid over to a bar cart that was underneath the starburst clock, switching off an electrical kettle that he had been boiling water in. With care, he poured the steaming liquid into two porcelain tea cups, retrieving a couple of tea bags and dipping them into the water. He carried them over to you, offering you one of the cups before taking his own seat in the armchair across from you. You peered into the cup warily, then glanced up to him.

“What is this?” You faltered.

He leaned back into his chair as he took a slow sip of his drink. ”Tea. It’s black.”

You studied the teacup, regarding the liquid like it was some kind of poison. ”What did you do to it?” You asked uneasily, and Levi stared at you with a blank expression.

“It’s just tea.” He assured, evidently annoyed, watching you as if you were crazy for thinking that something about your drink could be nefarious. Your eyes flickered from your beverage to him, and then back down to the cup again.

With extreme hesitation, you reluctantly lifted the rim to your lips and took a careful sip, minding its hot temperature. 

It tasted fine. Actually, it was quite pleasant. Not too strong, but still abundant in flavor. You indulged in your drink for a little longer, marinating in the crushing silence as you waited for him to say something.

He remained silent. After 5 painful minutes had passed, You awkwardly cleared your throat.

”So, what did you want to talk about?”

He ignored you for a moment as he took a drink from his teacup. He was holding it in a strange way, with his fingers curled around the rim of the porcelain instead of utilizing the cup’s handle.

”How are you today?” He asked casually.

Your eyes widened, taken aback by his unanticipated formalities.

”Um,” you paused, “I’m fine.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure if you should lean into his coyness. You decided to play along. “And how are you?”

“I’m alright.”

He seemed bored with your presence and response already. You nibbled on your cheek impatiently.

"That’s good.” You squeaked.

It didn’t take long to run out of small talk options. A full minute of quietness dragged by once again.

“Uh,” you piped up after ten metric tons of awkwardness forced you out of silence, “not to be impatient or anything, but could we please just get straight to the point of why you asked me to be here?”

There was a sense of urgency in your voice. Levi omitted your obvious anxiety, leaning further back into his chair. One of his legs was crossed over the other, his ankle propped up against his thigh.

”I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

You stared at him with expectant, dumbfounded eyes.

“A favor?”

He shallowly nodded.

“What kind of favor?”

The Janitor’s half-lidded irises tracked yours. He had a knack for maintaining tremendously intense eye contact.

“I need you to fetch something for me.”

You blinked slowly, your vision shifting out of focus for a moment as you struggled to comprehend what he was asking. Your brain felt like a computer that just lagged and then crashed completely. Is this a joke?

He followed up. ”As you could imagine, I go through a considerable amount of chemicals trying to keep things clean and orderly. I know you’re in the chemistry building for your forensics lab.” He paused as if he had explained himself sufficiently enough for you to catch on. You didn't, and you stared at him dumbly.

”Okay. And?”

You waited for him to further elaborate, unsure of what he was getting at. It wasn’t because you couldn’t understand what he was saying, you just simply couldn’t believe what he was asking of you, and that he was even asking you for anything at all in the first place. He hummed lowly.

”I need you to steal some specific chemicals for me. I’ve been able to take some myself, but there’s only so many times I can go in and out of the chemistry department before I start to look suspicious to the researchers and professors who are always bumbling around the storage facility halls. I’d only need you to do it once or twice.”

His explanation was straight-forward, but it translated in your head like a foreign language. You still couldn’t comprehend why he was asking you of all people.

You scowled, your face twisting in disgust. ”And you just expect me to help be an accomplice to your murders?”

He scoffed. “I’m not asking you to help me kill anyone. I’m asking you to get materials for me.“

”To dispose of bodies? That might as well be the same thing.”

His voice was deep as his grey eyes narrowed at you darkly. “You’re being awfully oppositional for someone who is in a position where I could easily kill you.”

Upon his threat, you deflated in your chair. For a fleeting moment, you had forgotten who you were talking back to.

The Janitor huffed, setting his tea down on the side table. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. But if you don’t, you will have become obsolete to me. I’d have to discard of you.”

You went rigid in your chair. A plethora of thoughts flooded your head as you weighed your options. From what you could tell, you could either do what he was asking of you, or you could die.

Your head started spinning. You didn’t want to die. But your moral qualms of aiding in his heinous crimes couldn’t be ignored, either.

The world felt so unfair. You recalled each time you criticized every victim in every movie you’ve seen where they prioritized their own well-being over following their moral compasses. The irony of it all was hot as you weighed your final decision.

”So, just to get this straight, if I don’t get your stupid chemicals you’re going to kill me?” You asked, your leg anxiously bouncing up and down. He rolled his eyes.

”If that’s how you want to phrase it, sure.”

Silence. That and the incense were the only things occupying the air between you as it grew thicker and heavier with each passing second. Goosebumps covered your arms as your skin went taut around your body. Your chest got tight, your breaths shallow, the hairs on your body standing on end like a provoked animal. You responded with great reluctance.

”Okay,” you breathed, your voice shaky, “I’ll do it.”

The corner of his lip barely twitched, as if he was resisting a wry smile. "Wonderful,” he rose to his feet, “I’m glad we could come to an agreement.”

He ventured to a staircase that ascended up, which was next to the door of the basement.

”I’m going to grab the keycard to the storage facility. Don’t go running off.” He announced as he traveled up the stairs, disappearing.

You sat awkwardly and stiffly in your chair, unsure of what to do with yourself now that you were left alone. As you waited in the eerie silence, you inspected his living space more closely. The wall behind you and to the right of the sectional was almost entirely glass, with sliding porch doors that revealed a luxurious terrace in his backyard. Upon further examination, you eyed a large, ornate bookcase. Cautiously, you rose to your feet. You stepped up to the bookshelf next to the armchairs, studying the spines of the hardcover and paperback books that he had collected over the years. You didn’t recognize any of the authors or titles. From some of the titles you skimmed, the vast majority of the book’s subjects appeared to be about various mental illnesses, old philosophical tropes, and war history. 

As you regarded his literature you caught a blurred silhouette in your periphery as it slinked by. Attached to the living area was a surprisingly small kitchen, and rounding the island counter you could see a fleecy, grey cat padding across the kitchen tile towards you.

Meow, it purred as it trotted towards your feet and began rubbing itself against your shin.

”Awe.” You cooed, crouching to its level to stroke its long fur. It vibrated, leaning into your loving touch.

You didn’t hear footsteps traversing down the stairs as Levi reentered the room, and he stared at you as he caught you in the act of petting his cat.

”I thought I told you to stay put.” He gibed as you quickly rose to your feet and replaced yourself in your seat like a trained animal that had been caught misbehaving.

”Sorry,” you squeaked, “I was just looking at your book collection.”

He eyed you skeptically as he approached you.

”Okay,” his voice was flat as he fished a small plastic card out of his pocket, “this is the keycard. It should get you into any room that isn’t an office inside of the college of chemistry.” He explained as you slowly reached out and accepted the card. You observed it, turning it over in your palm.

”How did you acquire this?”

”Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, “you’re free to leave now.” He permitted as his cat sauntered up to him, mewling at him for his attention. He bent over, scooping it up into his arms and cradling it lovingly.

You dazed at him sideways. You felt under prepared for the task. “Are you not going to give me any further instructions? What kind of chemicals am I getting? Where can I find them? When do you need them by? I feel kind of left in the dark here.”

”Use your head. I know you should know this, Miss. Forensic. What chemicals are used to break down organic matter? And do you not know where the storage floor is? I thought you had classes in that building.”

”I do know,” you defended, a blush threatening your cheeks as he doubted your knowledge, “I just, I wanted confirmation because I don’t want to fuck this up and piss you off. And I’m not exactly in the college of chemistry building just to memorize the layout. I’m only there for lab— in and out. I don’t spend much time in there outside of the classroom.”

He ignored you, too preoccupied with his pet to care about your concerns. You watched him as he showered the animal with affection.

“I like your cat.” You commented as you awkwardly loitered. It felt peculiar to just leave his home without being given more thorough directive. You were new to this, after all.

His eyes drifted up to yours, and then back down to the grey feline that hummed at his gentle touch. “Her name is Izzy.”

”She’s very pretty.” You smiled, feeling for just a moment a brief shift in the tense ambience of the room.

”I’m aware.” He remarked as he paid you little mind. You rose to your feet, watching them for a moment longer before your gaze flickered to the door that was beckoning your name.

You took a deep breath. “Alright. Well, I guess I’ll take my leave.” Your feet were heavy as you shuffled across the shag carpet towards the exit. When you reached the door, as your hand landed on the doorknob, Levi called out after you.

”Hydrofluoric acid. Not hydrochloric. It’ll be in storage room 417 on floor 4. I want as much of it as you can get by tomorrow evening. Be here by 6 pm.” He ordered, not looking at you as he spoke. You stood idly at the door, processing the information.

”6 pm?” Realization hit, and you contested meekly, “but I have work…”

He set the cat down, pivoting to you. “I don’t care. Make it happen.” His voice was stern. You did not protest further.

”Got it.”

With that, you egressed from his home. You closed the door behind you, letting out a deep breath that you didn’t know you were holding in. No time was wasted as you returned to your car, slipping into the driver's seat to speed away as fast as possible.

You drove home in complete silence, not bothering to turn on any music. Nothing you could have played would have felt right in that moment. There wasn’t a single comfort song that could deliver.

While sitting in the quietness you heard your phone chirp and the screen glowed alive. You retrieved it from its usual resting place in the center console cupholder, glancing at the notification. It was from Reiner.

Hey, did you still want to come over? It’s okay if not. Just please let me know.

Realization hit you like a truck when you remembered you had dinner plans with Reiner at his place the same time Levi had demanded you to come over and discuss what he wanted from you.

”Fuck!” You shouted, whipping your car to the side to pull over, frantically texting him. You weren’t at Levi’s place for very long; the whole transaction barely took half an hour, but you had completely neglected to let Reiner know you’d be late.

Reiner, I’m so so sorry, I got wrapped up in important work stuff, I’ll be right on my way now!

You sent the text, yanking down the car sun-visor and giving yourself a quick inspection in the vanity mirror. You were so focused on just going to the Janitor’s house, you hadn’t exactly gotten dolled up. Insecurity prodded at you as you noticed your eye bags, some pimples, and your general unkemptness. Your phone pinged again.

Are you sure you want to come over? Please don’t feel obligated to. You don’t have to be polite.

Your heart sank. Quickly, you shot a text back.

No! I want to! I just feel so gross and ugly, I wanted to head home first to make myself decent but I don’t want to keep you waiting.

You nibbled on the skin of your lip anxiously as you intensely stared at your phone screen, watching as the bubble icon popped up to indicate he was typing.

You couldn’t be gross or ugly if you tried. If you want to go home first to get more comfortable, that’s fine.
But it will be the same to me either way. Feel free to come as you are :)

Upon reading his affirming text, your chest grew warm, and your heart fluttered. When you peered back into the vanity mirror, the unflattering yellow visor light highlighting your imperfections, you suddenly didn’t mind them anymore. His text repeated itself in your head. Come as you are.

You decisively skipped your pit stop home and drove straight to Reiner’s house.

———

“I’m so grateful that we could finally link.” Reiner commented as he casually leaned back into his desk chair, his thick legs spread wide apart as he lounged comfortably across from you.

You were lying on your side, one hand propping up the weight of your head with your hips sunk into his bed and a large bento box next to you. With your casted hand, you used a plastic fork to stab at the food. Before you both chowed down you had conversed for nearly two hours. Not about anything specific, but it had exceeded small talk into a pleasant, organic conversation.

”And you really don’t mind me eating on your bed?” You asked with a mouth full of food.

He shook his head, chuckling lowly in between bites. “Not even a little. My parents are downstairs watching the Packers game right now, unless you want us to share our meal with them.”

”Ha, no, it’s a nice change of pace getting one-on-one time with you.” You giggled, raising your palm to cover your mouth and shield your chewed up chicken chow-mein from view as you laughed.

He returned your small laugh, his eyes floating down to the styrofoam to-go container in his lap. “Yeah. This is our first time being alone together, isn’t it?”

You paused. “It is.”

There was a beat of silence. The first one since you had come over almost two hours ago.

Reiner closed his container, setting it on his desk as he thought of something to say. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Should we start studying?”

“Yeah, probably.” You nodded in agreement.

He hoisted his backpack out from under his desk, tossing it onto an open space on the bed and sitting at the edge, throwing his legs over so he was fully on the mattress. He was leaning against the headboard.

”Are you feeling ready for our exam? It’s in 3 days.” He mindfully asked, slipping his laptop out from his backpack and turning it on.

Your head shot to him, dumbfounded. “3 days?!” 

His thin eyebrows knit inwards, his eyes tracking yours with concern. “Yeah, today’s Tuesday. Exam’s on Friday during lecture hours.”

The color drained from your face. You knew literally nothing about the exam. And tomorrow you were obligated to find a way to run the errand that Levi appointed you to, all while either still going to work or finding a cover. So, in essence, tomorrow could be chalked up to being a lost day, meaning you only had one actual full day to study for the exam before Friday morning. Your bento box wasn’t sitting well in your stomach anymore as it started to churn.

”Are you alright?” Reiner’s voice cut into your panic, and you forced a smile.

”Yeah,” you breathed through a clenched jaw, “I just hadn’t realized how quickly this semester seemed to be flying by already.”

“Crazy right? We’re already on week 3,” he concurred as a wry, pitied smile cracked on his lips in amusement, “(Y/N), I know you haven’t studied at all.”

Your jaw dropped open in immediate protest. “Hey, not true! Me and Armin have been-“

”Define Epistasis,” Reiner interrupted, “or tell me what the founder effect is.”

His questions left you clumsily stumbling over your words and dazed in a state of aporia as you scrambled to come up with a bullshit answer. He laughed, and his eyes squinted as his shoulders bounced up and down. The blonde repositioned, transitioning from his seat against the headboard to lying down on his side. He was across from you, and you were now face to face with him. He was propping his head on his hand, similarly to you. You were maybe a foot apart from each other.

”It’s okay (Y/N), I’m not criticizing you in the slightest. I could tell you’ve been stressed lately, so I prepared for this.”

Reiner rooted around in his backpack before he slipped out a thick packet of papers that he stapled together from a black folder, handing it off to you. “I made you a study guide. Armin approved and all.”

You blinked a few times before gingerly reaching out and accepting the packet from him, astounded and touched by his tremendous efforts.

You skimmed over its contents. It was a comprehensive guide to every lecture, including the ones you missed, date by date. On top of its completeness in content, it was concise and only highlighted the necessary information which was going to save you hours of busy work from rereading every lecture slide.

You gawked at it, too stunned to speak until your gaze switched from the packet back to Reiner, who was watching you in endearment as you fawned over his gesture.

”You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.” You started, at a loss for words.

He huffed a half chuckle. “I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to.”

You locked eyes. He was looking at you in a way that you weren’t familiar with. Most men just eyed you hungrily, lustfully, selfishly— but his bright, almost piercing yellow irises tracked yours like he was measuring what you wanted, to make sure that you were comfortable first. He observed you like he genuinely liked you. You felt a strong pull of emotions.

”Thank you, Reiner.” Your voice was hushed as the room seemed to go dark around you. All of your attention was completely focused on him.

”You’re welcome, (Y/N).”

You smirked. ”I like when you address me by my name.”

”Well, I like your name. So it’s easy to do.” He punctuated his sentence by lifting his hand to caress your face, rubbing his thumb across your warm cheek. He didn’t pull you forward— he wasn’t going to influence you to do anything you didn’t want to do or try to sway you in his favor if you were impartial. His intention was opening the door, so you could undoubtedly and wordlessly infer what he desired and make your choice based off of what he was giving you. He was leaving the ball in your court.

You took the bait. You started to lean in slowly, and he cautiously mimicked you. His face was magnetically pulled towards yours, until your lips met tenderly. It was your first time soberly kissing since his end-of-summer party. He was slow and methodical as his lips matched the rhythm of yours.

The shared kiss was slowly passionate until it wasn’t anymore. It morphed into something less contained. You fervently sucked his bottom lip, biting it with enough pressure to hold it but not hard enough to hurt, and you pulled, letting his plump bottom lip slide out from between your teeth as you withdrew. He dove back in, hungrier this time, and you did what he was silently praying for you to do. You slightly pushed him over to crawl on top of him, straddling him as he lied underneath. You continued to make out, your hips hard on his with his thick hands holding your head to his. He suddenly pulled your head back, separating your faces by a few inches.

He asked cautiously, seeking your overt confirmation. ”Are you okay with this?”

”Yes.” You responded instantly, lunging to dive back in and failing as his hold on your head and neck was firm enough to keep you suspended in place.

”Are you sure?” He asked again, “what are you distracting yourself from?”

This time you hesitated.

His last question was an electric shock. You were distracting yourself from something. Of course, you were enjoying yourself, and part of you did actually want Reiner, but part of what you were doing felt insincere. Did you truly want that man? Or were you using him to take your mind off of other things? Were you just doing it because it felt good? Regardless of the answer, now wasn’t the time. Pursuing anything now would be fair to him and to you.

”I wish I could tell you.”

In an instant, the events of the last 36 hours emerged from a state of repression and your eyes started to wet. You sat up, still heavy on Reiner’s lap, and you covered your reddening face in embarrassment as you lost your battle to your involuntary lacrimation. He sat up abruptly and wrapped his tree-trunk arms around your frame tightly with you still straddling his thighs. You began to tremble in his embrace, losing control of your tears. Everything pent up from the last two days was finally sinking in. You hadn’t broken down about it yet, but your tensions finally snapped in front of this man you still hardly knew, and it all came crashing down.

”I’m— hic— I-I’m sorry.” You choked up in between sobs, your head nestled deep into his wide, chiseled chest. His hand palmed the back of your head, lightly stroking your hair.

”Don’t apologize. I’m here for you. You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to, but know that I’ll listen.” Reiner cooed sweetly, his affirmations striking a cord in you. He didn’t know how much you needed that.

You knew you couldn’t tell him the truth. Not the full story at least. But, you couldn’t resist just one small confession.

”I’m terrified that I’m going to get hurt.”

His embrace grew tighter, sure to squeeze you enough to anchor you but not so much as to hurt you.

”I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re safe with me.”

At his affirmation, you melted into his touch, and sobbed even harder, the salty water trickling down your face in fat, glistening bubbles.

“I really, really want to tell you what’s going on. But I just can’t. Not right now.” You murmured as your tears started to flow into steady dribbles.

He hummed. “Don’t worry about it. Take your time. I’ll be here.”

After he let you cry yourself out, you crawled off of him, both agreeing to continue your study session like you had initially planned. For the rest of the evening he walked you through the study guide, quizzed you periodically, and you each took a practice test that Armin had made and printed out for the friend group. For the first time that entire semester, you actually felt confident about this class.

As things were beginning to wrap up you took your time packing your things away. You were stalling because you were terrified to go home and to be alone at any point in time. Sasha had driven up to her family’s farm in the countryside at least an hour away after class that afternoon, and she was going to be there overnight. You weren’t confident enough yet in your budding relationship with Reiner to ask him to spend the night at his place, and you certainly didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. Before you finished collecting your belongings you texted Mikasa to ask if you could crash at her place. You were very close with her after trauma bonding over your family circumstances. You weren’t as intimate with her as you were with Sasha, but close nonetheless.

Your farewell to Reiner was swift as you took your leave and started your journey to Mikasa’s apartment.

“Is everything alright? Every time we sleep over it’s always at yours.” Mikasa asked mindfully as you barged into her apartment. She was just finishing up fixing herself a simple stir-fry dinner. You flopped onto her couch, taking up all of the space on it.

”Just needed a change of scenery.” You stated plainly and casually. You were impressed with your own ability to feign being non-chalant.

Your attention was divided, split into multiple parts as you recalled the abduction, the police station, meeting up with Levi, and your now-situationship with Reiner. Your head was reeling at the information and emotion overload.

Mikasa nodded understandingly, meeting you in her living space by sitting in a papasan chair next to the couch you were sunken into. She offered you a plate.

”No thanks, I ate at Reiner’s.”

Your hand slapped over your mouth as you immediately regretted what you said. Mikasa grinned, a tease ghosting her lips.

“Reiner’s?”

You scowled at her, crossing your arms begrudgingly. ”Oh, shut it. I don’t have the energy to talk about this right now. I know you guys have been talking about me and him.”

She raised her hands in a fake self-defense. “Hey, I don’t blame you. He’s a hunk,” she took a moment to take a bite of noodles, chewing on them and swallowing before speaking again, “did you guys go all the way yet?”

You shot up from your laying down position, propping yourself on your arms.

”Oh my god, everyone in this friend group is so nosy,” you groaned loudly as your eyes sheepishly floated to the side at nothing in particular, “…and, no, by the way. We haven’t.”

She snickered innocently, covering her mouth that was full of broccoli with her hand.

Mikasa and you shared a couple glasses of wine, contemplating studying but deciding against it. As the alcohol steadily entered your system that familiar tipsy haze clouded your usual judgement.

Suddenly, a loud thud erupted from above, followed by an exasperated COME ON! that projected through the floor boards. Mikasa sighed.

”Eren’s playing Valorant right now. He’s on a losing streak.”

You giggled and rolled your eyes. ”That kid is in desperate need of some anger management classes. One of these days he’s actually going to seriously hurt someone.”

”Yeah. Should we invite him down here? He could probably use some time away from his PC.”

You hummed as you thought, tracing your finger around the rim of your wine glass. “Maybe. But there’s something I wanted to ask you before we bring anyone else into this conversation.”

She quirked a curious brow at you. “About? If it’s about your situationship, I can’t help you. I’m not exactly doing great in that department myself.”

You grimaced and shook your head. “No, no it’s not about that. It’s just…” You trailed off, carefully considering each word that you wanted to say next. You sucked in a deep breath. Your composure was waning.

“If you were in a situation where you had to do something for someone that you didn’t want to do, but there was a chance that not doing it could bring harm to yourself and slash or to your friends, would you do it?”

Mikasa’s eyebrows knit in. Concern was written all over her face.

”That sounds oddly specific (Y/N). Are you alright? Is someone forcing you to do something?”

You panicked. You had said too much already.

”I’m fine!” You blurted, “I’m perfectly fine. Nobody is making me do anything, I’m just asking because I’m reading a book and this is a predicament the main character is in. I just thought it was an interesting question. I’m into those philosophical-ly moral questions.”

Mikasa set her wine glass down on the coffee table. She appeared less concerned, but still wasn’t completely bought into your lie.

”I mean, if it were me personally, I am not someone who is particularly motivated by self-preservation but I am when it comes to the safety of my friends and I am not taking the chance of compromising my friend’s lives. I’ll do the thing I don’t want to do, as long as it doesn’t involve hurting somebody else.”

”What if it does?”

She paused.

”I am still prioritizing my friends.”

You ruminated on her answer. She responded with what you were planning on doing anyway, but she had unknowingly sealed your decision. You swallowed, and then nodded.

”Yeah. I would do the same thing.”

You both decided you had stayed up for long enough. You didn’t bother inviting Eren down because all he’d want to do is smoke weed and keep you both awake for longer to watch war history documentaries on YouTube. 

Mikasa woke you up the next morning for class. She was one of those friends that was good at holding her other friends accountable, which is exactly what you needed at that point in time. It didn’t take long for you and her to perform your typical morning rituals, such as breakfast and makeup, that prepared you for the outside world. After completing your morning you and Mikasa set off for your first lecture of the day.

Classes wrapped up quickly, and before you knew it you were sitting in the campus library, shaking with anxiety as you tried to figure out how to juggle work and your blackmail responsibility simultaneously.

You were just dismissed from your last class 30 minutes ago, and you were about a 5 minute walk away from the college of chemistry. As you crudely crunched numbers, your thumb nervously rubbed the flat of the plastic key card, rotating it in your palm as you blankly stared out the window to the large and sterile white building that you needed to infiltrate.

I just need to slip in, grab the stuff, and slip out. My shift is at 5 pm and I need to be at Levi’s by 6 pm. I can't leave in the middle of my shift, so I’ll call and ask if I can be like, what, 1 and a half hours late? No, no, 2 hours late. Yeah, 2 hours should be enough time. You connived to yourself, your eyes glued to your destination.

How hard can it be?

You ventured out of the library and inside the college of chemistry, trying to act casual as you perused the building.

I literally have a class here, there’s no need to act like a foreigner who’s out of place. You tried to self-soothe as you shuffled on the freshly polished floors. You wondered if Levi was the one who cleaned the tiles of the room you were in.

Instead of using the stairs like you typically did you decided to take the elevator to floor 4. Your usual lab class was on floor 3.

As you punched the appropriate button you could hear your heart thumping in your ears. You had never actually stolen anything before. At least, not anything significant or that wasn’t from a big box store.

Right before the elevator doors closed, an older gentleman in casual business attire appeared with an outstretched hand, stopping the elevator doors from shutting in the nick of time.

”Sorry.” He apologized, gently forcing the doors back open so he could pop in next to you. You forced a smile.

”No worries.” You murmured, your gaze sinking to the floor.

You didn’t know the man’s name, but you recognized him. He was a professor for a physical chemistry class.

He leaned over to press his destination button, pausing for a brief moment as he noticed that the ‘4’ button was illuminated. He peered over to you with minor skepticism.

”Why are you going to the storage facility floor? You need special permission to go there.”

You gulped, thinking fast.

“I’m a TA for one of the organic chemistry labs. We ran out of buffer solution for the titration lab.”

You bit down on the tip of your tongue as you held your breath. If fear wasn't evident on your face now, it would be shortly if he continued to interrogate you.

But your lie landed perfectly. He nodded shallowly to you without further questioning. You swallowed a relieved sigh, counting the seconds that dragged by as the elevator pulled you up to your floor.

You stepped out, giving the man a short ‘have a good day’ before rushing away and rounding the corner.

With darting eyes you glanced in all directions as you approached room 417 like Levi instructed. You figured it was unelectable that you’d run into someone, but for once the universe was in your favor, and there was nobody around.

Okay, off to a good start, you thought.

Standing at the door, your shaky hand rooted around your pocket for the key card, lifting it to the black box. A little green light lit up, then there was a soft buzz and click as the door unlocked. You pulled it open, stepping inside.

The storage room was massive, full of iron and glass cabinetry that stretched across the entire perimeter of the walls. In the center of the space were rows of large, high grade fume hoods. Flanking empty gaps between cabinets on the wall were sizeable steel cylindrical tubes full of nitrogen gas and fresh white lab coats that hung by hangers on a wheel rack.

It was at that moment you realized that he hadn’t told you where exactly in the room you would find the hydrofluoric acid. You cursed to yourself, frantically opening random cabinets. Your search lasted for about 10 minutes until you opened a door that revealed giant teflon gallons with a sticker labeled 'HF'.

You hadn’t realized they were going to be in such larger containers. You groaned, mindfully removing one of the jugs. With care, you checked that the cap was on tight before forcing it into your backpack. It was pretty large, and it was a tight fit, but with great effort you were able to zip it shut.

As you finished closing your backpack, you heard a faint click from behind you. Someone was coming in.

You gasped silently, scanning the room in panic for a place to hide. When your eyes locked on a particularly large cabinet, you ducked inside and closed the door. You prayed to yourself that whoever was there, they wouldn’t need any of the supplies that were in the place you were seeking refuge.

In the darkness of your space, you examined the containers on the shelves. You were hiding in a closet full of bottles of NaOH.

Fuck.

You deflated, knowing that sodium hydroxide was a very common chemical used in labs, and in your experience was one that was always running out during class time.

With bated breath, you anxiously waited as the footsteps approached your vicinity until they faded as the mystery person sauntered past. After 5 minutes, you could hear the storage door click open, then shut.

You exhaled deeply, wiping the sweat that clung to your forehead.

For assurance, you were sure to wait a few minutes before slinking out of the cabinet, through the storage room doors, and out of the college of chemistry.

You bee-lined straight to Levi’s, knocking on his door with less reluctance than your previous visit. With surprising quickness, he opened the door as if he was waiting behind it after all this time.

“5:50 pm. Good time.” He commended condescendingly as you stepped inside.

You didn’t respond to his remark, eager to get the transaction over with. ”I got the stuff.”

You set your backpack on the ground, unzipping it and pulling out the teflon container with a little effort. You handed it off to him, to which he scowled.

”That’s it?” He jeered, examining the jug distastefully.

Your eyebrows knit together and you glared at him. "What do you mean ‘that’s it’? Do you know how suspect I looked with a giant lump in my backpack walking out of there?”

He shook his head. ”This won’t do. This isn’t enough. You’ll need to get more.”

”More?” You groaned, the inflection in your voice displaying your shock and irritation, “there were fucking cameras that watched me in there! I’m risking expulsion for you!”

“Don’t worry about the cameras. They never check them,” he started, disregarding your worries, “and besides. I have access to the live feed and stored footage. I can control what can and cannot be seen.”

Your eyes expanded slightly. How do you—?

“So do whatever you want in there. I can’t go because I can’t be seen by the same people in person every time I go there myself.” His voice severed your thoughts. You glowered at him.

”Okay. Fucking fine. I’ll get more by Friday afternoon.”

”No. I need it by tomorrow.” He demanded, waltzing to his kitchen counter and setting the gallon down. 

”But tomorrow is Thursday. I have an exam Friday morning.” You protested weakly, feeling small again. His expression towards you didn’t waver, not a shred of empathy or patience evident anywhere.

”Does it look like I give a shit?”

You glared at him. ”My school work is important to me!” 

”More important than your life?”

You froze up, not anticipating such a dark response. Your shoulders rose and fell in a dejected sigh.

”Fine. I’ll get it tomorrow. I can bring it by around 3 pm.”

”3 won’t work. Tomorrow I work on campus until 4 and then I’ll be at the clinic immediately after for a big procedure. Be here by 8 pm.”

You clenched your jaw, your fingers curling into a tight fist. You were overwhelmed with a strange mix of fear and anger. He wasn’t even trying to work with you what-so-ever. Not that you anticipated a literal serial killer to be willing to compromise with your schedule, but you couldn’t help feeling the way you did. You blinked back the threat of tears, feeling helpless and at the mercy of his conditions.

”Please. Please just let me deliver it Friday. Do you want me to beg?”

Your pleas didn’t fall on deaf ears, but apathetic ones.

”No. I want you to do what I tell you to do. Tomorrow at 8 pm.”

Sucking on your teeth, you obliged. ”Okay. Tomorrow at 8 pm. How much more do you need?”

”At least 3 more gallons.” His statement made your eyebrows dip in.

”And how do you possibly expect me to sneak away with 3 more of those fucking jugs? I could barely fit one in my backpack.”

”I don’t know. Figure it out.” 

You grumbled, your eyes narrowed at him. “Alright, Einstein. How did you do it when you were stealing shit out of there?”

”Stashed them in my janitor’s cart. Now get out of my house.” He ordered rudely.

He didn’t have to tell you twice.

When your conversation came to a close you slung your empty backpack over one shoulder and swiftly took your leave without another word.

On your despondent drive back home you racked your brain for ideas. It was in your best interest to get all of the chemicals in one trip to mitigate the chances of getting caught, and you concluded that the only way you could get away with taking as much as he requested was to have some helping hands.

Who could I possibly ask to do something nefarious without them asking questions? You pondered to yourself. As you rifled through the people you knew, two boys in particular popped right into mind.

Eren and Connie.

Eren was always game for iniquitous shit, and Connie was careless; he enjoyed risky side quests.

So you went home and studied while you had the energy to before having the harrowing realization that you had completely forgotten to call into work to tell them that you were going to come in a few hours late. By the time your mistake came to fruition, your shift was more than half over. You contacted them immediately, apologizing profusely for the no-call-no-show, to which you were returned with a curt ‘it’s fine’ from the secretary. After she hung up, you got a call back shortly after, informing you that you were suspended from work for two weeks. You were disappointed that money was only going to get even tighter, but the silver-lining was that you were going to at least have more time to focus on school work.

The next morning, you texted both of the boys to meet you at the library after class at 2 pm and to bring empty backpacks with them.

”You want us to what?” Connie asked confoundedly as he leaned against the study room wall.

You sucked in a deep breath as you repeated yourself, trying to keep your unavowed intentions a secret. “I want you to help me borrow some things from the chemistry department.”

”Fuck yeah, that sounds fun.” Eren agreed without a second thought, having zero foresight of the potential consequences.

Connie’s nose scrunched up. “Borrow? You mean steal. I know you’re not putting that shit back.”

With a sigh, you rolled your eyes. "Well it sounds a lot worse when you put it like that. But yeah, I guess. But I think we’ll be fine. The cameras on the chemistry storage floor don’t work. Don’t ask me how I know how.” You elaborated the conditions of your heist, trying to make it seem like it was low risk. Eren, not seeming to care about the semantics, nodded his head.

”I’m down. I’ve never been in the chemistry building before. I took my science credits in the biology building.” He had his usual, untamed look in his eyes as he confirmed that he was on board.

”I appreciate your enthusiasm Eren. But I want to emphasize to you both that there could be dire consequences. I’m talking about getting expelled at the worst.”

Connie shrugged, inattentive to your warnings.

”I don’t think we’ll get caught. Even if we do, my mom works for the dean’s office, we could get let off easy, so I say fuck it. I’ll steal some laughing gas while I’m there. ”

Not having known that information, you smiled.

“Alright, awesome. Let’s do this now and quickly, then we can study for the exam after.”

Egressing from the study room, you and the boys moseyed your way to the library exit. As you approached the door, to your surprise, you caught Levi in your periphery by the trash can nearest to the double doors that led out of the library. He wasn’t aware of your presence while he yanked out a swollen trash bag.

As he hoisted it up something sharp inside the bag caught, tearing the plastic wide open. All of the contents of the bag spilled out, littering garbage all over the freshly polished floors. Empty plastic coffee cups, crumpled up papers, and energy drink cans were strewn everywhere. You, Connie, and Eren watched as the mess unfolded.

”Damn. That sucks.” Connie muttered as he proceeded to walk towards the door with Eren.

You, on the other hand, stopped in your tracks. As the familiar janitor pulled out a new trash bag and knelt down, muttering curses to himself, you approached him, joining him in kneeling to collect the rubbish. As you picked up empty cups his eyes lifted to see you. He stopped what he was doing and stared at you as he processed who you were and what you were doing. You caught him in a state of bewilderment with your sudden appearance, but more so than your presence, he was caught off guard by the fact that you were helping him.

Without exchanging any words, you made eye contact, and he held open the bag as you scooped up trash and threw it inside. In the process of you tossing discarded items into the trash, Levi’s attention shifted to your casted wrist, but he didn’t make any commentary about it. When you were finished you both rose to your feet.

”Thanks.” He mumbled.

“Don’t mention it.” You replied casually, giving him a small half smile before returning to your friends.

Eren side-eyed you as you all emerged outside. ”You didn’t have to do that. It’s his job to clean.”

”I dunno. It felt like the nice thing to do.” You shrugged as you walked off with them towards the college of chemistry. You were honestly unsure why you felt compelled to help him.

It was far less nerve-racking to steal the acid the second time around. It took longer, because you had to round up the boys each time they got distracted, which was often, but you got it done without a single person noticing your presence— the hallways were empty due to everyone being in class. You were grateful that your friends were ignorant to chemistry and its terms, so when they saw the ‘HF’ labels they didn’t have a clue that what you were stealing was acid. Even those reckless boys probably would have raised an eyebrow if they knew you were stealing something so potent.

You even decided to steal a fourth galloon, zipping it up in your jacket and holding it to your chest. Had anyone seen you, it would have been extremely obvious, but knowing the hallways were empty and that Connie lended credence about his mom providing bail increased your confidence. You also thought that, maybe, if you brought extra that Levi would be at the very least appreciative. Any chance to earn brownie points with the murder could only help you in your situation, you figured.

While waiting for Levi to get off of work you passed the time by studying with Connie and Eren back at your home. Despite studying for a few hours, you couldn’t retain any information. Your attention was fractured by knowing you were going to have to go back to that terrible house again. Worst-case scenarios kept robbing you of your concentration. Now that you completed the task he gave you, what was he going to do with you? Was he going to kill you, now that you had expended your usefulness towards him? Or would he let you off Scott-free as a reward for adhering to his wishes? You found the latter possibility highly unlikely. The different scenarios had cortisol coursing through your veins. Connie and Eren, being the unobservant people they were, hadn’t noticed your clear removal from the study session.

You were in the car by 7:20 pm and arrived at Levi’s at 7:40 pm. You anxiously waited in your car until you saw the janitor’s sleek black vehicle smoothly glide into the driveway. He stepped out of the car, and you did the same, avoiding his eye contact as you lifted two gallons out of your backseat. He examined you as you approached him, and then you followed as he went to his front door to unlock it to continue your transaction inside.

”Did you get three gallons like I asked?” He questioned you expectantly as you heaved the containers onto the kitchen counter.

”I got four, actually.” You nearly boasted, feeling proud of yourself.

“Oh?”

You nodded, moving past him and going back outside to retrieve the rest of your stolen goods. For your second trip, you didn’t enter his home, but instead stood at the door. You tried to hand the jugs to him, to which he stared as you held them out without him reciprocating.

”Come back inside.”

You set the acid on the ground of his porch.

”No, I can’t. I need to study.” It was true, but you doubled your reason as an excuse to avoid getting trapped in his home. Now that you finished the transaction, whatever would happened next was unknown territory. You weren’t going to take any chance of treading that uncertainty within the confines of his lair.

But, to your surprise, Levi conceded. “Alright.”

You shifted awkwardly where you stood, puzzled by his lack of resistance to you leaving. It was suspicious.

”You’re not going to, like, kill me now that I’ve completed your task for you, are you?” You asked, feeling a little ridiculous for having to ask that out loud. His lack of response and intense stare unnerved you as you anxiously waited.

”I seriously considered it,” he admitted after his long, drawn out pause. Your heart skipped a beat, but before you instinctively dashed away, he followed up, “but I’m going to take advantage of having someone to do grunt work for me. If you continue to comply, I may or may not re-evaluate what I’ll do with you.”

Although his answer wasn’t necessarily comforting, it was something you could work with. You regarded him apprehensively and skeptically. ”How do I know you’re not lying?”

”You don’t.”

You swallowed hard and didn’t respond. He changed the subject.

”Why did you help me clean up that trash spill earlier today?” He queried, his voice monotone.

What?

Your nostrils flared, the abrupt change in conversation topic catching you off guard. When you finally came to, you shrugged.

”It was the nice thing to do.” You replied simply.

His response came out as a low, dull hum, his lips pressed into a thin and unreadable line. “Being kind won’t get you anywhere.” Your eyes narrowed at him.

”I didn’t do it anticipating a reward. Or clemency from you.” You grunted.

He blinked a few times. You could tell by his still, glassy eyes that he was calculating something, and whatever it was wasn’t computing.

”Okay.”

”Okay.” You copied, subconsciously waiting for an excusal from him so you could leave.

He was quiet for another moment, his attention diverting to your casted wrist. “What happened to your wrist?”

You flipped your attention to it, holding it up. You periodically forgot about the condition of your hand. “I broke it. That’s how I escaped out of your basement.”

”Ah, I wondered how you managed to get out.” He hummed, then paused. “I’m going to need you to help me again tomorrow.”

“With what?”

 ”I’ll tell you later. You can leave now.”

You regarded him dubiously, but didn’t give into the urge to ask more questions.

And so, you left. By the time you got home you had been depleted of all of your energy to study anymore for the night. The emotional labor of the day had exhausted you to your limit. You retired very early, falling into a deep sleep, where you had a strange dream that you couldn’t recall when you woke up the next morning.