10: Suspicions Arise

Levi's in front of your apartment complex the following morning, establishing a consistent and surprising routine.

In his passenger seat and watching the traffic go by, you ponder on why he's extending this courtesy at all. It's odd.

"Did you have a good evening?"

His low voice pulls you out of your own thoughts, and his testy question incurs a small panic.

"Hm?" you utter.

"Your plans. Were they fun?"

Kenny wasn't quite fun, but he was intriguing. He holds that same peculiar villainy that seeps in Levi, and you're already planning to return to him soon.

But Levi can't know about that.

"Yeah. Just hung out with an old friend." It's a vague story, but you hope it's enough to satiate his curiosity.

"Who?"

Nope, it's not. But he's pushing it now, tearing into your life without permission.

"Since when are you so interested in my personal life?" You glance at him, hoping a bomb isn't about to explode in this sedan.

"Since you became so interested in mine." He returns your look, detaching himself from the road ahead momentarily.

"I'm not—"

"You're an open fucking book, intern. You were pouting like a damn toddler when I wouldn't tell you about my passion for literature."

"I was not."

He turns his gaze forward. "And you asked about it again yesterday and rudely dismissed me when you weren't given an answer. You want to know so bad, it's embarrassing."

Heat courses through your face, your heart stumbling in your chest. "That isn't true, Levi."

"Don't lie to me. You're walking a damn tightrope when you lie to me."

You've been maintaining a lie since yesterday and it feels like he's catching on to whatever you're keeping from him. He doesn't know where you went, though, and thus you're both stuck in a well of uncertainty when neither will confess to the other.

"So tell me what the fuck your deal is, intern. Unseal those little lips and speak."

He's stirring something foreign in you, some sickly mix of terror and...fuck, you don't even know what else is there. It's terrifying, but the way your system is feeling is far from any typical reaction to fear.

"I'm just doing my best to write the presentation," you say, your voice tiny as if it's trying to hide. "And knowing more about you will help me."

"I already said you don't need to talk about my personal life in it." He thumbs the steering wheel, rubbing his irritation onto it.

"Then what? 'Levi is a great professor that graduated quickly and with honors. The end.' I need more than that, Levi, and the audience will want more too. I don't need to know about your life as a criminal beforehand, but—"

"Who the hell said I was a criminal?"

"Nobody. I'm just making that up." But from his reaction, you might be closer to the truth than you thought.

"Tch." He shifts back in his seat, worn out. "I'm not happy to share my history with anyone. My intern is one thing, but an entire audience of strangers is something else. Learn some sympathy and look at it through my eyes."

Ironic, for him to be preaching about sympathy. Still, he makes a decent point. There're limits with what the world needs to know, and you can respect that much.

"I get it," you admit. "I just wish I had more to write about than your academic record. Statistics and accomplishments are impressive, but they don't make for a very entertaining speech."

"I really don't care."

"You have to." With Erwin's dialogue from yesterday in your head, you speak with Levi firmly. "Dr. Smith said a lot of people are going to look forward to what you have to say. Dr. Zoë, too, at the staff meeting. They said you hadn't given any sort of speech at commencement, so this convention is a huge introduction for you. I get you don't want to worry about it that much, but you have to care somewhat. It's a big deal."

He huffs, his fingers snapping down the turn signal lever irately. "Fuck, you really are my damn secretary. I didn't think I'd get a nagging alarm clock when I took you back from Nanaba."

His insults stem from frustration, and placing the blame on his emotions instead of yourself alleviates their effect.

"There's a huge spotlight on you. I just think you should care about your reputation a little more."

"Well, I don't."

"I do, Levi."

"Why?"

You're thinking as he pulls into the parking lot within Paradis. He has the fortune of natural talent and the determination to rise to the peak of his field. He's remarkable, by all accounts, but he's just such an asshole. Inexplicably, too. He'd be damn near perfect if he wasn't so bitter towards the world—or just towards you.

"Because I want to respect you. Genuinely. I want to respect you out of admiration, not out of obligation." Forced subservience isn't proper, but something earned would feel justified. At least you'd have a steadfast reason to remain his intern if his attitude was nonexistent.

It's his turn to be quiet, and he doesn't say anything until he's parked and shut off the car.

"It isn't worth it." He unlatches his seatbelt, retreating from the conversation. "Just stay my intern, and don't ask."

"I can't do that, Levi," you say, but he's already climbing out of the car.

You join him inside for his morning routine, and eventually follow him to class after he utters a remark about how your date with Erwin yesterday must've gone poorly if you aren't seeing him again today. You scoff and avoid the subject, but a small part of you does want to report back to Erwin about who you discovered last night.

"Intern," he calls partway through his literary analysis class, actually alerting your senses that tend to go dead when he teaches.

"Yeah?" You look at him from your seat, an intern connecting with her mentor who stands in front of his army of pupils.

"Collect the assignments from them," he commands as he nods towards the audience.  "Students, pass your papers to the end of the row. The intern will pick them up."

"I have a name," you grumble as you trudge past him, and he hisses out a scathing, "Shut it." 

You ascend the staggered aisles, waiting for the student closest to you to receive the stack and put their own paper atop it before handing it to you. They've finished a peer review assignment they were assigned on Monday, a simple testament of how they view each other's ability. You can't help but skim them as you move to the next row, catching glimpses of the students' completed work. 

On one particular row, you're stopped in your tracks when two written words catch your eye, scripted on the line requesting the student's name.

Mikasa Ackerman.

You look up at the owner, the last girl in the row that had used her paper to complete the stack. She's younger than you by about a few years, and she's meeting your eyes with the cold indifference you've grown accustomed to. There's less of a sting in her aura, but she doesn't come off as passive, either. She's close to resembling Levi, though not as much as Kenny does.

Ackerman, though. Your next source of information could be right in front of you. They could be related, perhaps sharing some history. It's a stretch, but it's an opportunity. 

"You," you start quietly. "Are you related to—"

"You're wasting your time," Levi snarls from the front of the room. 

You turn to face him a little too quickly, spotlighted like a guilty child. The room is silent, making way for the professor to chastise his subordinate.

Even from so far away, his glare is murderous. Swallowing thickly, you mentally fight to break free of your paralysis. 

"It's a coincidence." He knows who you're talking to, and he knows what you're asking her. "Not a damn connection. You're not going to get anywhere by pestering my students. Drop it."

"Alright," you fire back, humiliation morphing into annoyance.

"Attitude," is his scathing reply. "Don't push your boundaries, intern." 

"Yeah, yeah." You whip around and continue up the stairs, ignoring your peeved mentor.

Both of you have lost your temper when class ends; it turns out necessary teaching to an audience distracts anyone from a squabble. You end up avoiding eye contact with Mikasa as she leaves, and Levi mutters a quiet remark about how quick you are to interrogate anyone of interest. 

When the day comes to a close, you don't even reject Levi's offer of a ride. You just wait for the professor to finish his work, go with him to his car, and allow yourself to be taken to the base of your apartment complex. 

The taxi fees are going to start piling up if you start visiting the pawn shop frequently; you muse on this as you step out of the yellow cab several hours later. It's 6:21, the earliest you can manage to arrive in this dismal neighborhood. But you're back, as promised. 

Inside the pawn shop, you weave through the glittering treasure chest and arrive at the back counter. Kenny's not manning it this evening, instead replaced by a stern woman that looks about as drably disinterested with the world as Levi does. Her frame is thin, but muscular, and her pale blonde hair frames blue eyes that have lost their luster. She inspects the drawer of the cash register, only halted when she notices the new patron. 

"Need anything?"

"I'm looking for Kenny. He knows I'm here." You don't waste any time. If the shopkeeper is going to be stingy about vacating the shop early, then you need every minute you can get. 

She seems to believe you. Without a word she vanishes, disappearing into the back room. 

While you wait, you find a battered bar stool within the shop and bring it to the counter, making yourself quite comfortable. Your handbag is set on the countertop, your folded forearms beside it. 

Soon, Kenny emerges. He lumbers out of the back area and lights up with an unnerving smile when he sees you.

"Welcome back, missy. Glad you came by." 

You watch him set a small pouch on the counter, the noise of clinking metal within it. He takes out the same handkerchief from yesterday and smooths it out on the counter, then dumps the pouch's content onto it. Around two dozen rings spill out, varying in sizes and styles but all gleaming with a golden shine. Tiny price tags are strung to each one, detailing the estimated price and specifications. 

Kenny unlocks the sliding panel on the backside of the glass counter and retrieves several half-empty trays with grooves to wedge rings into, setting them beside the handkerchief. He's still got a job to do, you figure. 

"Of course." You watch the light bounce off the jewelry as he inspects each circle. "As it stands, you're about my only source of information. For better or worse, you're my best bet." 

"S'that so?" He pinches one of the small tags and squints at the text. 

"Yeah. So, picking up where we left off: I want to know how you two know each other." You've lost amiability, seeing this man as a mere merchant of information and nothing more. 

"Right, right. Well, we—aw, hell. I keep tellin' Caven to write these numbers a bit bigger." He tilts the tiny tag in the light, then extends the ring to you. "Mind readin' the little number beside the price? My eyesight ain't what it used to be." 

You take it without thinking, skimming the digits. The price—a rather hefty one—is written next to a thin 18K.

"Eighteen," you say, passing it back to him.

"Thank you." He finds the corresponding tray and fits the ring into a groove. "I'm gonna need to buy myself readers some day." 

"Your relation," you try again, even as he begins fruitlessly reading another ring. "With Levi." 

"Mmhmm—hmm...mm, nope. No good. Can't do it." He shakes his head and extends the ring to you. "Sorry, missy, but I need your eyes." 

You indignantly take the ring, irritated with his refusal to tackle the truth. To force it out of him, you close the circle in your fist and press it into your lap. 

"What's your relation, Kenny?" 

Kenny braces his hands on the countertop's edge, a pleased smile playing across his lips. "Clever little devil, ain't ya? I see why Levi likes you." 

"I don't think he does," you mutter. 

"Oh, sure. That runt don't like most folks." Kenny smooths a hand over his coal hair, lost in his own memories of Levi. "Do me a favor then, hm? You've got the eyes for it. I just need you to sort these rings by their karat—each tray is labelled. Can you do that for me?" 

The trays are pushed closer to you, along with the handkerchief littered with rings. 

What is this? He's giving you work? Work that he can't do, perhaps, but that doesn't make it your responsibility. 

"Tell me your relation to Levi, Kenny."

"I will," he assures, his voice matching your own in that testy temerity. "Let me get something to show you. I'll be right back; just get started for me."

He vanishes, isolating you and the rings. You twiddle with the ring from your fist and catch a glance of the 14K. Your eyes find the corresponding tray and, after a mental civil war that lasts several seconds, you shove the ring into one of the slots. 

There's nothing else to do, though, so you end up picking up and filing another. And another. It's a kind deed to a man with poor eyesight—well, really, it's a favor to leech information out of your merchant. Just a barter system, plain and simple. 

When Kenny returns, he carries a flat, tiny, nondescript box. He sits on the stool across from you and slides the box towards you. 

You catch it and and pick it up, running a thumb over the hinges on one edge and the embellished metallic face.

"Take a look inside," he encourages, like a parent giving a child a birthday present. 

Peeling the box open, you reveal two pictures on either side of the hinged photo frame. On the left is a younger Kenny, his depiction dyed in a sepia hue. He's absent of his beard and wrinkles, but his smile was the same back then as it is now. The photograph is old, older than your technology and still older than the technology of Kenny's younger years. 

Across from him is a similar picture of a beautiful woman, one that you nearly mistake for a long-haired Levi at first glance. She shares his exact facial features, and she gives a glimpse of what he would look like if he ever smiled: beautiful, and infectious with divine joy. 

"My parents were pretty old fashioned with these little photo frames," Kenny comments. He rests a wrinkled index on his sepia face. "That's me. I was quite the stud back then, huh?"

You harrumph.

"And that"—Kenny shifts his pointer to the woman's image—"is my sister. Ain't she the prettiest?"

"She is." She's almost dreamy, the epitome of an angel on earth. There's something comforting about her mere picture, something that fills in the void within those that are lacking. 

"Mmhmm. Definitely the better of the two siblin's." Kenny clasps his hands, slouching forward. "You're a smart cookie, right? How do you think I'm related to Levi?" 

You look back at the feminine doppelgänger of Levi. Her face alone is the telltale sign of her connection to Levi—to her son.

"That...must be Levi's mom, right?" You glance up at Kenny, searching for approval.

"Spot on," he congratulates. "Kuchel Ackerman. A treasure to this world, really." 

Your brow furrows as a discrepancy surfaces. "Why'd he take his mother's last name?" 

"'Cause we don't know his dad's. He could be a Stein, or a Tanaka, or a Wilson, or an Anderson—we really have no idea. See, you're not the only one that thought Kuchel's pretty." He slowly rolls his neck, his eyes wandering the ceiling. "But she used that for the wrong purpose, in my opinion."

"Oh."

"Levi's the product of that nasty world of extortion and sex work. He won't mention that to anyone, of course."

Of course. It's incredibly private, and certainly not ethical to share with an audience of strangers. Whatever you're learning about Levi right now will stay solely in your head—you sternly tell this to yourself. 

"Where's his mom now?" 

"Dead. Passed away when he was a young kid."

"Oh." You eye Kuchel's face, cursing the world for taking such a beauty away so soon. "I'm...sorry to hear that."

"Eh, the tears have already been shed." He takes the picture frame back and closes it up. "Just the way of life."

Your sympathy is blossoming, but with it comes more inquiry. "What did he do after she passed? Who did he go to?"

"Keep working," Kenny commands as he points at the rings. "And I'll tell ya." 

You do with little hesitancy this time, obligated to repay Kenny for the information he's been pouring out. Rings are read and organized while you listen.

"He came with me, of course. His dear old uncle." Kenny rests his chin on his palm as he watches your nimble fingers work. "Stayed under my care 'til high school. He went to a private high school before returning to the city for college." 

"And he worked here while he was in college?"

"Sure did."

"I guess that makes sense." You pick up a thin wedding band and read its tag. "He was just helping family, right?"

"Ha! Don't kid yourself, missy," Kenny guffaws. 

You look up, perplexed. 

"That runt couldn't give two damns about family, besides his mom. Nah, he wouldn't rescue me if I was drowning in quicksand, I promise ya." Kenny chuckles to himself as he describes Levi's utter apathy, even towards his uncle. "He's a momma's boy, and that's it. I don't think I've ever seen him appreciate anyone since he was a toddler." 

It fits him. You figured he might be a bit softer to blood relatives, but it appears not. Kenny doesn't seem to care, though. 

"So why'd he work here? He was already getting paid as an intern."

"He had to. He couldn't afford Paradis on his own—he still can't. I paid for his tuition—whatever scholarships didn't cover—and he worked here to pay off his debt. Hell, he should still be workin', but I couldn't stop him." 

"Has he not finished repaying you?" You slip the ring into a slot mindlessly. 

"Nah, not yet. Still a few thousand—hey, missy, that needs to go in the eighteen karat tray." He pinches your fingers that hold the ring and carries them over to the correct tray, gripping them with muted strength. "Don't get too spaced out."

The tag on that ring does indeed read 18K; you must've been preoccupied with his story. "Sorry," you utter as his fingers retreat. As the circle fits into a slit, you reread the tiny script and suddenly reach a puzzling realization. 

"Hold on, I thought you couldn't read—"

"Oh, and look at the time." Kenny snatches up the final ring and inserts it amongst its siblings. "You'd best be headin' out, now. These streets get pretty dark." 

"Wait, but—"

"Thanks fer your help," he drawls as he slides the trays back into the display case. "Get the signs again on your way out." 

"Ken—"

"G'night, missy. Come visit again anytime." He climbs off his stool and heads to the door, flinging it open and flicking off the light switch.

He's gone, and the shop is dark. Huffing out a curse, you squint at the exit through the dark forest and gingerly make your way to it without tripping over any merchandise. You leave after begrudgingly flicking off those wretched signs.