41: Nobody Is Home

 You're alone for the weekend, besides a single phone call from Levi. You waste time staring out the window until your eyes glaze over, and when that proves sufficiently worthless you try to restart progress on your thesis. The laptop screen is no more enjoyable than the window—you find yourself resting fingers on the keyboard and not a single keycap is pressed.

On Monday, you end up getting into Levi's car to go to Paradis. You have to do something besides shut your brain off for hours, and returning to your academic holy ground might quell lingering anxiety.

You don't go to his office with him, instead heading straight for your classroom excessively early. There's an old lesson plan on your laptop, a document with assigned readings and intended messages to be found in the authors' styles and pacing. You haven't refreshed yourself on the readings; this lesson is going to be undoubtedly rocky.

But when students come in, and several greet you with pleasure upon seeing their professor, you feel safe about where you are. It makes no difference if you were attacked and threatened in this room several days ago; you're still a teacher at Paradis, and you're going to enjoy this lifestyle to dispel thoughts of the hell you survived.

Erwin comes to talk to you after class, but you have little to say to him. A pathetic lie about being sick is given, one that he doesn't believe for a moment.

He can't question you further, though, and without any sort of police involvement there's nothing anyone can do. You did consider alerting the authorities over the weekend—after all, it would be rather satisfying to see Kenny's pawn shop ransacked and demolished by the law—but sympathy for Levi's way of doing things stopped you. If there is a chance Levi could be indicted alongside his uncle, you do not want to be the one to send him to court. Perfect or not, you cannot bring yourself to persecute him the way his uncle deserves.

Then, you come to Levi's office. He's not in at the moment.

Strangely, there's a collection of enormous cardboard boxes crammed into the rear corner of the space. You bypass his desk and examine them, finding absolutely no indication of where they came from or what they hold.

A smaller box has a loose flap. Peeling it back, you see a line of picture frames and books squeezed in alongside a classy alarm clock. Furrowing your brow, you try to theorize why this assortment of items is gathered in Levi's office.

"Excuse me," Levi grunts as he slips inside. "I know we're awfully cozy, but Professor Levi's things are still Professor Levi's things. You don't need to go snooping through them."

"Back to the same-old." You step away from the boxes, respecting his privacy. "What is all this stuff?"

"Junk for a lounge that's getting remodeled. Dhalis asked to store a few things in my office in the meantime."

"Hm." You're not exactly sure why a lounge needs as many literary books as seen in that box, nor why a professor's office is used when there's plenty of on-campus storage space, but you say nothing. If he's lying, the truth will come later. "Alright. How was class?"

"Fine." He sits at his desk, gripping a CV he's been given by a student begging for a letter of recommendation. "Nothing new. Your first day back, though—how are you doing?"

"Well enough." You drop into your own chair, rubbing the fading bruises on your wrist. They've been expertly hidden under a clean, professional sweater. "The kids were lovely."

"Good. They seemed pretty pissed when I was their substitute teacher."

You have to smile, a small but pleasing smile that seemed like it would never come back after the pawn shop. "I don't doubt that."

He's forgotten to keep reading, beguiled by your content expression. He doesn't want it to go away. "They did their readings, too, and they had a lot to contribute to the discussion. I'm amazed you've gotten those little brats so hooked on reading."

"I work magic," you boast lightly. "That'll be one of the bullet points on my resume. Magician."

"Oh, sure. Put it right below Pain In The Ass and Levi's Intern."

Your smile widens, spurred by a small chuckle. "You mean: Levi's Reason For Life."

"That's excessive."

"You said it, not me."

He surrenders with a huff. "Okay, I did. I don't regret it."

"Sap," you tease, losing yourself in the whimsy of this conversation. "I don't know if I can compete with that."

"I don't expect you to." He leaves the sentence at that and gently steers the conversation another way. "Did Erwin pester you?"

"He tried to. I didn't really talk to him about it."

"Alright. You let me know if he gives you trouble, okay?"

"Okay, Levi."

The week passes without issue. You catch up on your teaching duties swiftly, finally snapping the seal on your traumatized daze. The memories still nag at you, but it's hard to find someone to talk to. With your schedule as busy as it is—and your social web as limited as it is—you're left with just yourself and your mentor as conversation partners.

And he caused a portion of that trauma, so he's not exactly ideal. Still, it doesn't hurt you to sit in his office and work in silence. It's made marginally better when he shyly brings you a cup of coffee or routinely asks if you'd like him to take you home.

On Friday, your evening is clear but your mind is crowded. As Levi shuts down his computer, you lift your head off the desk and drag your eyes over to him.

He looks different. This whole week, he's seemed a little off. He's not wearing a blazer—it left his outfit partway through the week—and the white shirt he wears is crumpled on his frame. Not as neat as usual, like he hasn't bothered to iron his clothes. It's not like him at all.

Interested in learning why, you push yourself up from the desk and meander closer.

"Levi, are you doing alright?"

"Stupid question. Why are you asking?"

Perching yourself against his desk, and thus looming above his frame, you see the slight gloss in his inky hair. It's a bit greasy, deprived of a shower for longer than usual.

"You seem tired." There's more to it than that, but you can't ignore the heavier bags under his eyes too.

"I'm always tired." Standing up, he meets your gaze like he's daring you to press further. "Don't worry about it."

"Your shirt, too." Feeling bizarrely empowered, you pinch the fabric of his breast pocket. "There's creases in it."

He rolls his eyes, but he doesn't back away or fend you off. He won't lift a finger to stop you. "Who cares? Are you my mother?"

"No, but I'm your lovely intern, and I've known you long enough to find things like this weird. You'd never wear a dress shirt without ironing it."

He folds his arms in a vain attempt to hide the issue. Like a stubborn criminal, he admits nothing while showing no fear. "Nothing's been typical these days. Don't fucking worry about it."

"Is that the best story you can come up with?" You glance at the pile of boxes, the other mystery he's holding, and you feel obligated to figure out his issue. "Something's going on. After what you and I just went through, I think transparency is best for us."

He feels the sincerity in your voice and hesitates to negate it. With a sigh, he layers his hand on yours. "Then transparently, I will tell you that I hate pity, and that I am fine. Let's get out of here—I've had enough of this academy for one week."

He drives you home, but rejects your request to spend dinner at his place. Some other time, he insists, and then he drops you at your shabby apartment like you're an abandoned animal.

Left forlorn, and more notably bewildered, you lack the resignation to go to your room and spend the evening alone. He shouldn't be hiding anything anymore, since the last time he did ended in a vicious gash in your relationship. He wouldn't risk that again, would he?

You admit to yourself that you're being a little stubborn as you dial a taxi service, but you believe you've earned that right. Even if he's not hiding something nefarious, the most likely alternative is he's hiding something that is hurting him. If he's hurting himself, of course he wouldn't want a soul to know.

But you have a purpose in his life, and that is to offer him salvation when he needs it most. Even angels have to be stubborn and nosy sometimes.

The taxi you summon brings you to the Mitras Luxury Apartments, the domain of your mighty mentor. Inside, you sigh at the familiar opulence and cross to the elevators. Once receiving a metal carriage, you insert the guest key card into the machine and select the twelfth floor.

The button doesn't register, and the elevator does not move. You're being denied access.

Frowning, you try once more, then once again. The same result occurs.

With a huff and a twinge of embarrassment, you leave the elevator and head to the receptionist's desk.

"Excuse me," you start, timid before the prim employee. "I have a guest key card that isn't functioning properly. Am I able to get a replacement?"

She accepts the card you hand her and looks it over. "Room number and tenant?"

"Um." It takes several moments to dredge the insignificant room number out of your memories. "One two...zero, zero, six. Levi Ackerman."

She types that information into her computer, reviews what the screen displays, and shakes her head. "Mr. Ackerman no longer lives in unit 12006. His guest cards are invalid."

Your stomach drops. "What? He was there no more than a few weeks ago. Did he move out recently?"

"That's correct. He transferred his lease nine days ago."

"Transferred?" Taking in this information, you feel various threads from the past few days begin to weave together. "Um, okay. You...you wouldn't happen to know where he relocated to?"

"No, ma'am."

"And the current resident. Who lives there now?"

"That is private information."

"Right. Of course. Sorry." Desperate for answers, you think madly of what else to ask this unwitting interrogee. "Did he give any reason for his lease termination?"

"No."

She's seriously disinterested in your wild panic. Harassing a receptionist isn't going to get you anywhere.

"Okay. Thank you for your help." Swallowing, you step back from the desk. "You can keep the card. Thank you."

Thrown to the streets, you wriggle your phone out while walking down a few blocks, getting away from the complex. The first contact you go to is Dr. Smith.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Dr. Smith. I'm sorry it's so late at night."

"It's only mid-evening. Do you need something?"

"Yes. I'm wondering—do you know where Levi is? Has he been staying with you?"

"He hasn't. Why? Is he not at home?"

"He—" You stop yourself before telling him what you've discovered, reluctant to share secrets with the puppetmaster. Levi's business is still his, and a tiny part of you wants the right to know it before anyone else does. "I was just wondering. He hasn't told you anything this week?"

"Nothing of note."

"Right. Okay. Well—"

"You two are worrying me. Between your secrets and frequent panic, I'm inclined to think something unsafe is going on."

"Nothing unsafe," you lie. Stationing yourself at a street corner, you check your surroundings while finding the right words to say. "We're okay now, really."

"But there was an issue. Something more besides a seasonal bug that kept you away from Paradis for several days."

"It—" Biting your lip, you feel your temper crack. You have enough to worry about, and Erwin's unbeatable power and wit is painful to face on top of it all. "I can't explain it, Dr. Smith."

"Why not?"

Because confessing to Erwin about Kenny puts a spotlight on Kenny. If Kenny should ever be threatened, he'll drag Levi into the legal system right alongside him. Legal repercussions or not, they'll still have to endure another battle in which they'll go for each other's throats. You don't need those two forces to clash again.

"I'm...I'm just trying to keep Levi safe. Honestly. He's...he's—god, he doesn't deserve it, but I'm going to do it anyway. I really cannot tell you anything, Dr. Smith, for Levi's sake. Please...please respect that for me."

There's silence for some time. Erwin then sighs. "You impress me. To speak with someone that loves Levi the way you do is truly fascinating."

Love. That's bold of him to say and hard for you to think about. You quickly open your mouth to refute that, but nothing comes out. Your mind holds you back from denying what he said.

"I have to go, Dr. Smith. Thank you for your help and your understanding."

"Take care of yourself. Good night."

"Good night."

No sooner has he hung up than you're already calling Levi, your restlessness unstoppable.

"Hey." He picks up before the first ring even registers.

"Levi, sorry to bother you. Can you come meet me?"

"Of course. What's wrong?" Footsteps are heard, keys jangling. He's alert and moving fast.

"Nothing wrong, really. Look—I'm at...uh, the Dauper Bar and Grill. The one on—"

"I know where it is. What the hell are you doing at a bar?"

"Nothing! I mean, I'm not drunk or anything. I just need to meet you."

" I hear people—are you outside? Are you safe?"

"Yes." You check your surroundings again just to verify. "I'm completely fine."

"Okay. Don't look down once. I'll be there in a few minutes. Stay on the phone."

You obey, though you don't have much to say while you wait for his sedan to arrive. It takes some time, suggesting that he didn't come from the parking lot of the Mitras Apartments. He's traveling far, coming from some unknown location.

When his black car stops quickly by the curb, you throw yourself inside and thoroughly look over your mentor.

He's worse. His hair is drooping and unstyled, limp and pathetic even in the low light of the evening. He wears a baggy sweater and loose joggers, perhaps loungewear but awfully unkempt clothes for him, and he smells too artificially fresh like he doused himself in laundry detergent.

"Did you come here with anyone?" he asks, careless about how he looks.

"No, it's just me." You know now is the time to confront him. All the evidence is there.

"Then what are you doing—"

"Levi." You say his name firmly enough, like a scolding parent. He bites his tongue and waits for your lead. "Levi, I just came from Mitras. They said you moved out of your apartment about a week ago."

You hear the click of his swallow as his teeth visibly clench. Dodging the conversation, he throws the car into drive and squeezes his way back into traffic.

"Your clothes, and those boxes in your office—you haven't been at your apartment for a while. Am I right?" Pinning your eyes on him, you vow right then and there to stay with him until you get an answer. "Where have you been staying, Levi? Don't say Dr. Smith—I just checked with him. And why did you move out?"

"Quiet. I have to focus on driving—"

"Don't give me that," you snap. "I'm worried about you—when I have every right not to bother—and you're going to deflect like that? Tell me what's going on!"

"I can handle myself."

"For pity's sake, Levi." You throw your arms up in anger. "I'm trying to help you! For once in your damn life, somebody is actually here for you, and you're the idiot that's pushing them away!"

A split second after the sentence leaves your mouth, you regret it. Reeling your temper back, you fold your arms tightly and shoot out a nasal huff. "I didn't mean that—fuck, I'm sorry. But—"

"Don't apologize. You're absolutely right." With his frame timidly pushed against the car door, he stares straight ahead. "Someone does care about me. I shouldn't be throwing away your grace."

The car turns to escape the thick thoroughfare, finding a lone street to trail down until the buildings dwindle out. In a sparser part of the city, Levi turns into a wide parking lot that precedes one of the city's sprawling parks. He parks and shuts off the engine with his mind made up.

"Let's get some air. I'll tell you what you want to know: I'll be honest with you."