Chapter Text
One week. They have one week.
Eren stares up at the ceiling. It’s different than the ceiling of the dorms, well, back then he hadn’t even seen the ceiling waking up, only the underside of a bunk bed. Now Armin’s in another room, down the hall instead of breathing steadily above him. It’s just Eren, alone with the sounds of the city.
It’s strange to think that it hasn’t even been four months since he was laying on his back, keeping his eyes closed and insisting to himself that he’d gotten enough sleep to make the auditions his best. If he’d known then he’d be dancing lead in the spring production, well, he probably would have started looking for the magic lamp he must have found to bring about such a scenario.
He’d told himself back then he wasn’t going to fail. He shuts his eyes and tries to do it again. It’s not quite as simple this time. After all, back then he’d only had himself to disappoint.
He opens his eyes again. It’s silly, really. There’s a week left of rehearsals. The only thing left to do is make them count. So, he takes a deep breath, and swings his legs over the side of the bed.
Out in the kitchen Armin’s already made breakfast. There’s pancakes, juice, and fruit ready and waiting on their second hand table. Mikasa’s flipping through a paper where she’s seated, one leg up on the opposite chair, stretching already.
“How’s your foot?” Eren asks, eyeing it critically. Most of the toes still look like they’ve been painted unique and gruesome colors.
“It’s fine,” Mikasa says. “Like I said yesterday. And the day before.”
Eren frowns as he pulls out his seat. “Doesn’t look fine.”
“It was just bruises, you know that. I’ve been on it for over a week already, it’s not giving me trouble. She didn’t break anything.”
“Not that she didn’t mean to,” Eren grumbles.
“I don’t think she did,” Mikasa says. “I don’t think she seriously wanted to hurt me.”
“You keep saying that,” Armin sighs, turning around with a plate of bacon and sitting down beside them. “I don’t know why. They obviously had some malicious intentions.”
“It’s still so insane,” Eren says, pushing some pancakes onto his plate. “I can’t believe they would do something like that, like this.”
“We don’t really know if it was ‘them’,” Armin says. “Reiner and Bertholdt beat Annie to the director to admit their actions, but who knows if they were just covering for her or not.”
“They’re all gone now anyways. Contracts destroyed. I think Erwin even got a restraining order,” Mikasa says. “It’s so weird. I keep expecting to see them in the halls or sitting in the back at practice.”
“Did Hanji tell you anything else about what they said?” Eren asks Armin.
Armin pours himself another glass of juice. “Well, I don’t think it’s anything new. Annie’s father was the head choreographer out in Moscow, came there from France with her when she was pretty young, after some negative press in Paris. They stayed there until he died, stress, heart attack, something along those lines. Seems like she came here with the other two right when we all did to get inside the theatre for some kind of revenge. It’s all very operatic.”
“I don’t think that was it…” Mikasa trails.
“That’s what she said,” Armin says simply. “What else would it be.”
“I don’t know,” Mikasa shrugs. “She just doesn’t seem that… I don’t know. She didn’t seem happy about ruining anything. She didn’t feel vengeful. She just seemed tired.”
Eren stares down at his place, watching the syrup press against the butter with slow persistence.
“Let’s eat,” he says. “We should get over there. We don’t have much time left.”
The theatre’s buzzing with energy. Well, energy or fear, Eren’s not totally sure which, and he’s definitely not sure the two are mutually exclusive. Up on the stage the set is going through it’s final touches. It’s simple, as it’s always been advertised, but there’s large looming pieces making it up now, men and women on ladders making sure everything is secured and safe. Techs are hanging lights, adjusting gels, running electrics and wires. There’s even an orchestra warming up along with the dancers for this final week. Everything’s coming together. But it still feels like a mad scramble.
The anxiety in the room is palpable. Over to one side Eren can see Jean being sewn into Reiner’s old costume. They’d adjusted it a bit last week but apparently it wasn’t enough. They were pretty different in size after all. Jean meets his eyes for a minute before looking away. He’s still looking fairly raw, small cut on his lip sealed but apparent without makeup to cover it. The skin around one of his eyes a bit swollen, more yellow and green than normal. He’s glancing around nervously, seemingly unable to fix on anything in particular. One of his feet is tapping quickly on the floor under him. He looks exhausted. They re-blocked Reiner’s scenes as soon as they knew he wasn’t an option any longer and Jean, as the only understudy who needed to step in, had been pulling double hours ever since.
Weirdly enough it actually made Eren feel a little better. It was probably sadistic to take comfort in the fact that there was at least one person who seemed as nervous as he was about all of this, but hell, he was going to take solace wherever he could find it. Jean hasn’t been doing bad all considering. He’s better than he gives himself credit for, and he’s always loved dancing with Mikasa. He’d paid attention during rehearsals, and he knew the steps well enough. They are still sinking into him, trying to become known rather than memorized, but they still have a week. The look on Jean’s face seems to say that isn’t exactly enough time to be comforting. And he isn’t the only one.
Everywhere Eren looks he seems to see anxious faces. The revelation that Annie and the others were not only gone, but fired after contributing severely to all the shit the theatre had been wading through lately, had come as as shock to them all. Expressions seem dazed and clouded even now, and there’s fear there, a fear that Eren feels firmly situated in his own stomach. He hasn’t been staying up late practicing any more, not after his talk with the director, but he still isn’t sleeping. He would get home, lie down in bed, and suddenly the weight in his stomach would grow fingers, squeezing and pressing at him until he could barely stand it.
Petra is standing by the stage, looking around at the theatre. Her toes are tapping against the floor under her, fingers knitted anxiously together. Eren wonders what she’s thinking about. It isn’t hard to imagine. She’s probably wondering how many more days she will get to lean against that stage, stand in this theatre. The fear that this season will be their last has suddenly become very real to all of them. If they don’t make this show count in all the ways it has to, the future seems unavoidable.
“Alright,” a strong voice calls. The director strides to the front of the room, clapping a few times to silence the crowd. “Settle in please, we’ll go over notes before starting today.”
He looks impossibly more exhausted every single day. Eren wonders if Erwin’s sleeping even less than he is. He wonders when the last time he left the theater was. When Eren’s up late, tossing against the fear roiling inside him, he at least has other things to distract himself with. He can listen just hard enough and hear Armin’s soft breathing in the room across the hall, both their doors a few inches ajar. He can imagine Mikasa in her room past the kitchen, sleeping secure and safe and comfortable. And that helps sometimes when nothing else does. But the director doesn’t have that. It’s just him, and the fear that everything he’s built will crumble around him, leaving nothing but dust. Eren’s just a first year dancer, someone thrown in an insane situation with quite a bit to prove but not a whole lot to loose. Erwin has everything to lose, and none of them have any illusions that if this does fail, if all this chaos builds into something they can’t overcome, Erwin Smith be the one feeling the fullest force of the fall.
Erwin runs his hand through his hair as he fishes his clean black notebook out his bag, flipping through the pages to get to yesterday’s notes.
Jean’s suddenly sitting down next to Eren with a sigh.
“Hey,” Eren manages.
Jean nods as he sips his water.
“How’s it going?” Eren asks, eyeing the costume.
“Oh, you know,” Jean shrugs, “everything I eat makes me feel like I’m going to vomit, my knees won’t stop shaking whenever I sit down, and I feel like someone’s sewn about ten horseshoes behind my chest. You?”
“About the same.”
Jean manages half a smile, looking around. “Hey, where’s Levi?”
“Didn’t see him,” Eren says. “Is it just me, or has he been a little… off, lately?”
“What, you mean the fact that he hasn’t spoken to anyone since that article came out, leaves the second rehearsal ends, and always looks like he’s trying to solve quantum theorems in thin air when he is here?” Jean rolls his eyes. “Nah, totally normal.”
Eren frowns, focusing back on the director as Erwin finds the right page.
“Alright,” Erwin begins again. Hanji sits up straighter in her seat, ready to compare notes with Armin on the yellow pads resting on their laps. “Now, I know we’ve been keeping the wedding dancers further up stage, but I’d like you all to try and press down whenever possible, that way we keep the ‘human’ elements close and tight, and we’ll light them warm in the front, whereas the sylphs etc. we can keep upstage, with the whites and blues—“
The door at the back of the theatre shoves open, and Levi hurries through.
“There, see, totally normal,” Jean says sarcastically.
Eren focuses. Something’s different. Levi doesn’t settle into one of the back rows like he usually does, he keeps moving, deliberate and quick towards the stage.
Erwin’s apparently noticed something’s up too for he’s let his notes trail off, frowning as the little dancer gets closer and closer.
Levi doesn’t stop at the front row, he keeps moving, directly towards Erwin. Erwin takes one step back, but it’s not enough. Levi’s arms snap around his neck, pull him down, and he kisses him. Hard.
Eren gapes. Jean’s snorts on a mouthful of his water. The fearful energy of the theatre all around them is suddenly snapped into something stunned out of any anxiety.
Levi doesn’t stop kissing him. Erwin’s still got his notebook in one hand, holding it clumsily, his neck bent the wrong way to reach Levi, but somewhere through all that one of his hands finds Levi’s hip and holds on.
Two rows behind them Ymir whistles.
Finally, Levi lets him go. The director stares back at him, apparently as shocked as the rest of them, eyes foggy and wide, hair ruffled. “Um.”
Levi turns back to them. His cheeks are a little flushed, but otherwise he looked exactly as nonplussed as he always does.
“And what the fuck’s wrong with all of you? Someone die?”
The cast stares back at him, too shocked to say anything.
“Look,” Levi says, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t really give two shits what a bunch of old farts have to say about the theatre. Or me. Or anyone. Honestly, I’ve always had a bit of a hard time giving more than one shit about the theatre. Really, I just like to dance. And this is a pretty damn good one we have here. So fuck them. Fuck all of it. Let’s just do what we came here to do.”
Something shifts around them. Eren’s not sure what, but he feels it, like a sigh, unheard but present from everyone in the room.
He feels himself smile, and it’s easier than it has been for months. Someone lets out a heavy breath, but he’s not sure if it’s himself, or Jean, but it feels good, no matter who it was.
At the front of the room, Erwin’s smiling too, and Eren’s not sure if he even realizes it.
“Anyways, sorry to interrupt,” Levi says. He steps away, heading for a seat in the front row.
Hanji grabs him on the way and drags him down low enough to kiss one of his cheeks loudly. Someone laughs, a few people even. Eren can’t remember the last time any of them laughed like that. The grin on Eren’s face isn’t fading. Something behind his chest feels stronger than it has since that article.
The director watches as Levi settles in, eyes bright where they hadn’t been before. He pulls his notebook back in front of his eyes, and clears his throat, trying to focus. He can’t seem to push the small smile away. “As I was saying: downstage…”
Eren’s breathless, even half an hour after rehearsal. It felt good. Better than it has in week, no, better than it has felt ever. They’re getting there. They’re actually getting there. Suddenly, like some kind of fucking magic, they all felt united. Wether it was under Erwin’s sudden energy or Levi’s inspiring indifference he wasn’t sure. Probably a combination of both. And for the first time in weeks people were leaving the theatre smiling, joking, laughing as they pushed out into the cold of the city air.
Eren finds himself looking for Jean outside the dressing rooms as Armin and Mikasa leave ahead of him. Jean’s doing well, better, especially after today and he wants to make sure he knows that. They’ve never exactly “gotten along”, but some sudden surge of camaraderie makes him want to tell him he’s doing better. Maybe, it’s because he knows how much he’s needed it himself over the past few months.
He catches him with Marco, heading down the halls towards the door. They look a bit ridiculous walking together, faces yellow and green in places with a bit of purple thrown into the mix. Marco’s nose still has a bandaid pasted over it, one lip split near the edge. He’s got a cut over his eyebrow as well, held together with two neat stitches.
“Eren!” Marco beams, holding up his hand as he sees him. “Great practice!”
Eren slaps the offered hand, gripping it after and smiling back. “Thanks man, you too.”
“Seriously though,” Marco says, all of them continuing together towards the doors, “it’s so much better, better than ever. I think you’re really getting it.”
Jean grumbles next to him, but his scowl seems far less genuine than it has all week.
“You were good Jean,” Eren forces out. “Today I mean. Seriously. I think you’ll nail it.”
Jean glances at him, something hopeful smothered in his eyes before he looks back at the tiled floor. “You’re gonna have to work on that sarcasm, Jaeger.”
“Yeah,” Eren snaps, “because I’m just that much of an asshole.”
“It’s no use, Eren,” Marco sighs. “I’ve been telling him the same thing for the past hour. He doesn’t want to believe it.”
They get to the door, pushing it open easily. It’s not as cold as it has been with the spring season approaching in more ways than one. There’s a thickness to the air again that there never is when it’s freezing, a weight to it that speaks of melting snow and approaching warmth. Eren takes a deep breath and when he releases it hardly shakes at all.
“How’s Kira? She was nice,” Eren asks Marco, glancing over at them. “She coming to the show?”
“Oh um, nah,” Marco says, eyes on the wet stones under their feet. “We decided to break it off.”
“Shit, sorry,” Eren tries. “I hope the fight didn’t freak her out.”
“No, it wasn’t that,” Marco shrugs. “It just… wasn’t quite right. She saw that. She might come anyways though. She was excited about the show.”
Eren makes a small noise of acknowledgment. Their steps carry them across the square and onto the sidewalks. It’s not a long walk, Jean and Marco’s place is right on the way to his own apartment. He wonders if Armin’s making pasta again. He’s gotten freakishly into making food for them all ever since they started living under their own roof.
Jean suddenly slows next to them. Eren looks up. “What’s up?”
Jean’s frowning at the street just ahead. Eren looks. Jean and Marco’s building is just a few meters ahead. There’s two people leaning against the stoop. One’s blond, the other’s tall.
“Shit,” Marco swears.
Jean’s still glaring.
Eren frowns and instantly starts walking.
“Eren!” Marco yells. “Wait up, jesus!”
They both end up following him, close and fast. Eren stops in front of the stoop, glaring back at the two figures.
“Leave. Now,” he says, eyes narrowed.
“Look,” Reiner says, stepping back respectfully. “We just came to apologize.”
“It’s a bit late for that,” Jean says, finally reaching them with Marco.
Reiner looks at them both, frowning at the damage on their faces. “I hope it isn’t.”
“But we can go,” Bertholdt says, voice calm and quiet. “If that’s what you want.”
Eren glances at Jean and Marco. He probably shouldn’t be here. They were waiting for them.
Jean’s shoulders are tight, eyes firm and glaring. He looks like he might move for them, but Marco has a hand on his arm.
“Say what you have to say,” Marco answers.
They look exhausted, wrecked. They’re standing close together on the stairs, shoulders hunched against the cold, just touching.
“I didn’t mean to,” Reiner starts, “—I didn’t mean for it to go like that. I just… I saw you pushing Annie and something just snapped, man. I’m sorry. To both of you.”
“That’s it?” Eren says sharply. “What about the theatre? The article? That was you too, wasn’t it? That’s what you told the director.”
“We didn’t want her to take all of it,” Bertholdt says. “It’s always been the three of us. Since we were little. It’s not fair for her to take the blame all alone.”
“So it was just her?” Jean asks.
Reiner sighs. “No, we knew: what she wanted, what she did. We didn’t say anything. We would have helped her if she had asked. We were there to help her. Always have been. She’s our friend.”
Eren snorts. “Some friend.”
“You can’t say that,” Bertholdt says. “What if it had been Armin, Mikasa? You wouldn’t have been there for them?”
Eren frowns. “They wouldn’t do anything so crazy.”
Bertholdt smiles, tired, weak. “Crazy’s relative.”
“It was illegal,” Marco says firmly, “pulling the fire alarm, breaking confidentiality agreements in the contracts you signed, assaulting us, all of it.”
“We know,” Reiner says, “and we’re sorry, honestly. We were with you all for so long that it just… things slipped away. For us at least. But never really for her.”
“What things?” Eren asks before he can stop himself.
Bertholdt digs his fingers deeper into the pockets of his coat. “Annie’s mom was a great patron of ballet. She organized a program that ran dancing workshops in orphanages around Europe. Reiner and I were in one, a small town outside of Munich. Annie came with her when she ran them. We saw them twice a year, for two years, and then they stopped coming. We didn’t know then, but Annie’s mother had died, cancer I think, we never really knew. It was years ago, and a lot of the money that used to go into Annie’s mother’s theatre, money used to run those programs, started going to more popular theaters. Especially when Levi Laurent began to shine on American stages. Annie came back with her father three years later, and they took us to Moscow with them to dance full time. I don’t know what would have happened to us otherwise. Ballet’s an expensive hobby for two kids without anything in the world.”
Jean’s still frowning, but his shoulders aren’t as tight as they have been.
“Annie’s dad was never totally there,” Reiner picks up. “He put a lot of pressure on her. He didn’t handle it well when his wife died. He was kicked out of the Paris theaters, when their sponsors weren’t happy with the quality of his work stacked up against American institutions. He went to Moscow. We all went with him. But, he never really got over the wrongs he thought had been done to him. He drank, and he hated the theaters that stole focus. And eventually he sent Annie here, to try and do something about it, to try and restore balance. And we went with her. We always do.”
“It all sort of faded away,” Bertholdt says. “Without her father there anymore, there was just the dancing. And all of you. And years went by. But then he died, last fall. She wasn’t there with him. And I think she just wanted to punish something.”
Reiner frowns at the stairs under his feet. “We couldn’t leave her alone. Not when she never left us behind.”
Eren’s not sure what to say. He can still feel anger pumping inside of his chest, but it’s hard to give words to. They still look like their friends, but suddenly it seems like there are new bones inside them, and everything’s hard to see clearly.
They are all quiet for a long time.
“What are you going to do now?” Marco asks finally.
Reiner laughs. “Don’t really fucking know.”
“Are you going to keep dancing?” Jean asks.
“Not professionally,” Bertholdt says. “We can’t. Not after this. Who would want to hire us now?”
Eren tries to imagine never dancing again. He can’t.
“That doesn’t matter though,” Reiner says. “This, all of this, it’s really brought some things into perspective. There’s a lot to life, a lot I don’t think we’ve ever really thought about. And there’s always dancing, even if it’s not on a stage.”
“We’re going to drive around,” Bertholdt says. “See the country. See what happens.”
Marco swallows. “What about Annie?”
Reiner’s face darkens. “She won’t talk to us. Not since we stopped her from taking all the blame.”
They’re quiet for another moment.
“How’s the show?” Bertholdt asks.
“Good,” Eren says, to his own surprise.
“How’s the costume fitting?” Reiner manages to grin at Jean.
Jean laughs despite himself. “Big.” He glances up at Reiner, softening slightly. “How’s the face?”
Reiner smiles crookedly, running a hand over the purple spot on his jaw. “Not bad. You’ve got a pretty good hook for a Connecticut kid.”
Jean laughs. They fall quiet again, just the sound of the traffic pushing past them on the wet streets.
“Anyway,” Reiner starts finally, “don’t want to take up your whole night. Just wanted to say sorry. Really. Sorry.”
Marco nods quietly. “Thanks.”
Jean sniffs. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Eren holds his look, giving a stiff nod himself.
Together the two step off the stairs, heading back onto the street.
“Good luck, yeah?” Bertholdt calls back.
“Yeah,” Marco waves slightly.
“Oh, and Jean,” Reiner says. Jean looks up. “You’ll kick it’s ass. You were always better than me. Just a little too scared to realize it.”
Jean stares back at him, unable to say anything. Reiner winks, waves, and together the two of them move off down the street, joining with the rest of the huddled bodies on the sidewalk, and out of sight.
The three of them stand on the stoop, staring dumbly down the street after them.
“You know,” Marco starts, “he’s totally right.”
Jean glares at him, but there’s something softer under his expression. “Shut up.”
The rest of the week flies by in a flurry of anxious excitement and spinning steps. The edges were finally pulling together, all the pieces lining up and snapping into place. And it’s actually good. Very good. Eren finds himself forgetting altogether where they are when he watches the dances unfold across the stage. It’s so sharp, so stark, and so beautiful, everything else seems to fade away and he forgets he’s a tired dancer with nerves still twisting in his stomach, there’s nothing left but the steps, and the lights, and the grace of it all. He’s almost sorry he can’t see it himself, that he can’t sit out in the dark comfort of the audience and really take it in. But it’s a bit late for that now.
“Alright,” Hanji says firmly from the front of the stage. “We’ve finally reached our last rehearsal.”
A chorus of cheers and claps spring up from the seats in front of her, she smiles back and checks her watch.
“I’m not sure where our danseur and director are but I’m sure—“
The door at the back shoves open and Erwin hurries towards the front. Levi is ten steps behind him in significantly less of a rush.
“Thank you Hanji,” Erwin smiles, rushing quickly up onto the stage.
She grins at him, clearing her throat and glancing down. Erwin follows her look, swearing under his breath before tucking his shirt in properly and muttering a short thanks.
Levi settles into the row in front of Eren and Mikasa, collapsing in the seat next to Petra.
Petra grins. “You smell… masculine.”
“Shut up,” Levi mutters.
“Isn’t that shirt a little big for you?”
“Shut. Up.” He grits.
“Thank you Hanji,” Erwin calls at the front of the theatre. He runs his eyes over all of them. “Tonight, our show opens.”
Eren feels his heartbeat double in speed. He’s been avoiding the thought all day, and suddenly there it is, laid out and undeniable.
“There will be press. There will be sponsors. There will be those waiting for us to fail, and those praying for us to succeed. But I want you to forget about that,” Erwin says. “In the end, none of it really matters. We all are here because of a shared passion, a love for what we do, and the art that we all share. That’s all that matters. We happen to have a stage to dance on, and an audience to watch us, but in the end, it’s just a dance. It would be the same in the practice hall, or out on the street. So, forget the audience, forget the context. Just dance, and enjoy. You’ve earned it.”
Hanji’s bursts into applause, Armin right along with her. The rest of the cast joins in, whooping and smiling, wrapping arms around each other and looking towards the stage with anticipation. Eren focuses on the stage, and tries to keep his breathing even.
He didn’t eat dinner. He knows he should have but it just wasn’t happening and he didn’t want to force it and risk vomiting his brains out before the curtain goes up. Armin had shoved a bag of pretzels into his hands on the way in. He pops a few of them in his mouth now, mostly just to keep the promise that he’d do just that.
The dressing room is tight, warm, and golden, all pushing bodies and close voices. The speakers are on in the corners of the room, and the sound of the crowd up above filtering through them, reminding all of them down below of the approaching reality.
At least he’s not to only one who looks nervous. Jean’s focusing intently on his makeup, glaring at himself in the mirror like he’s preparing to murder his own family. Krista is nervously pacing up and down the floor, walking through her steps in quick constrained motions as she mouthes the choreography. Connie and Sasha are distracting each other by playing slaps in one corner until the makeup supervisor scolds them.
Eren swallows, looking down at his feet. His shoes are simple. Familiar. He wishes everything else was.
“How yah holding up, there?” Ymir asks, sliding into the seat next to him and stealing his mascara.
Eren tries to speak without croaking. “Fine.”
“Oof, that bad, huh?” Ymir grins.
“Leave him alone,” Petra says, suddenly sliding in from behind. Her makeup is more dramatic than any of theirs, lines painted on her face to give her a haggard expression. She looks almost comical this close up, pretty freckles peering through her crone makeup, short hair hidden under her wild grey wig, all tangled with sticks and twigs.
She wraps her arms around Eren’s shoulders and gives him a squeeze. “He’ll do great. We all know he will.” She mock-kisses his cheek, just barely touching him for fear of leaving lipstick on his makeup. She squeezes his shoulders tightly, smiling at his reflection.
“Where’s Levi?” Eren asks.
“In his dressing room. He’s always alone before the show,” Petra answers.
Eren can’t imagine being alone right now. He probably has his own dressing room somewhere, but the voices of his friends close by might be the only thing keeping him sane.
“Fifteen minutes to curtain!” Mike calls from the back of the room. “Let’s start finding our places.”
Eren takes a deep breath and stands, heading for the door on surprisingly sturdy feet.
“Break a leg kid.” Mike grins as he passes. He smiles weakly back at him.
As soon as he’s in the hall Armin’s in front of him. He looks at him for just a moment and then pulls him into a rib-crushing hug. Eren stares for a minute and then lets his eyes close, holding him back, tight and close. He lets his forehead rest on his shoulder, smelling their apartment, and his shampoo, and all the things that were always home.
“You’ll be great,” Armin whispers. “I’ve always known that.”
Eren lets him go. He smiles and it’s almost easy.
“I’ll see you after. It’s going to go by so fast, I promise,” Armin beams back.
Eren nods. Armin squeezes his hand once and scurries off down the hall. Eren turns back to the stairs. Another hand slips into his, he looks over, and Mikasa’s walking with him.
He doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t either. They just walk together, heading quietly to the back of the stage. He realizes he’s holding her hand very tight. He hopes he’s not hurting her. She doesn’t seem to notice.
“I talked to Annie,” she says suddenly.
Eren looks at her. “What?”
“I went to her apartment. We talked.”
Eren stares at the steps in front of them. “What about?”
“I told her she should come to the show.”
Eren comes to a stop. “Seriously! She’s banned. They have a restraining order on her.”
Mikasa shrugs. “I’m sure she could find a way in.”
Eren frowns. “Why would you do that?”
Mikasa stares off towards the top of the stairs, to the large heavy door separating the stage from them. “She lost something, somewhere along the way. Maybe it was taken from her. Maybe she let it go. I’m not sure. I just know that she loves to dance. You can see it easily enough. She’s always loved it, wether she wants to or not. It’s a shame to lose something you love. There’s so little in this world to keep it bright in the dark places.”
Eren watches her. She looks beautiful, hair folded neatly around her face, makeup simple but lovely, and under all of that the quiet grace that has always been her.
“I think she’ll like it,” Mikasa says. “It’s a good ballet.”
Eren nods, hand tight in hers. “Yeah. It really is.”
Mikasa looks down at him. “She said she’d like to see you. She said that you would make it extraordinary.”
Eren swallows. “What did you tell her?”
Mikasa smiles back at him. “I said I knew you would.”
“TEN MINUTES!” Mike yells behind them.
Eren takes a deep breath. His chest is suddenly light, all that weight, all that pressure transforming, shifting into anticipation, excitement. He swallows, and together they hurry up the stairs.
As soon as they push open the door and it shuts behind them everything quiets. Backstage is still, dark, heavy. There’s a fluttering energy bouncing along the walls with the voices of the crowd just past the curtains before them. Mikasa squeezes his hand one more time before crossing the stage, hurrying off to her entrance point. Eren moves up stage right, muttering thanks to every tech and dancer that passes with well wishes and supportive smiles.
His starting position is on stage, resting in the chair aligned just right of center, in front of one further back for Jean. He could go out there now, settle in and wait. But he doesn’t. He stands, just off the stage, looking at the chair waiting in the center.
“Is it comfy?”
Eren turns. Levi’s leaning against the wall beside him. He’s dressed, white costume and simple but pale makeup, hair pushed back from his face.
“Um,” Eren looks back at the chair. “No really.”
“Too bad,” Levi snorts.
Eren stares at the stage. “Are you nervous?”
Levi shrugs. “Not really. What about you?”
Eren focuses on the chair. The light above it is casting a strong shadow.
“Yes.”
Levi follows his look. “You shouldn’t be.”
Eren laughs. “Why not?”
Levi looks at him, sharp and unwavering. “You’re a good dancer.”
Eren stares back. “… Seriously?”
Levi doesn’t flinch. “Why else do you think I told them to pick you?”
Eren gapes, a little flare of anger suddenly lighting in his chest. “You said it was because you didn’t think I would drop you!”
Levi smirks. “Eren. I know you won’t drop me. But you have something I never have.”
“What?” Eren asks.
“You love this. Really fucking love it. Weirdly love it. More so than anyone I’ve met. That’s why I asked them to pick you and that’s why they did. You have nothing to be nervous about.”
Behind them someone snorts. “Yeah, lucky you.”
Eren turns. Jean’s standing a few feet back. He’s not in his chair either. His arms are crossed tight over his chest, feet tapping anxiously on the floor.
“Don’t be a baby Kirschtein,” Levi grumbles. “I’m not pepping you up to. I left my pompoms at home.”
Jean’s makeup mostly covers the bruises still lingering on his cheeks. He rolls his eyes in Levi’s direction. “Great, thanks.”
“Jean!” someone whispers suddenly.
Eren leans back, peering into the darkness. Marco scurries up to them, breathing hard. “I thought I was going to miss you!”
“Marco, jesus, it’s almost curtain!” Jean swears, glancing nervously over his shoulder at the looming red mass separating them from the audience.
“I know, I know, just…” Marco’s breathless. “I just, I wanted to say...”
Jean stares, whispering hard, “Jesus christ, what?”
Marco looks back at him, takes one breath, and kisses him.
Jean let’s out a shocked rough sound. The surprise lasts about half a second. His eyes shut tightly, hands suddenly finding their way into Marco’s hair and pulling him closer. Eren instantly looks away, cheeks flushing up.
Levi snorts next to him. “Told you. Haircut’s a dead give away.”
Someone takes a breathe behind them and Marco whispers something that Eren thinks is “sorry” or “good luck” or both, and then he’s dashing away again.
Eren glances over his shoulder. Jean’s standing there with a stunned expression and a stupid smile on his face.
“Your lipstick’s fucked up,” Eren says.
“Shut up Jaeger,” Jean grins, hurriedly wiping a hand across to fix it.
Levi glances over at Eren. “I’m not kissing you.”
Eren laughs. “Good. I bet the director punches like a freight-train.”
Levi smiles. “Damn right.” He nods his head in the direction of the empty chair. “So, what are you two waiting for?”
Eren looks out, at the stage. The surface is dark, but he can see the scuffs and marks from thousands of feet before him: Levi’s feet, Erwin’s, Mikasa’s, even his own. He wonders if he left one of those marks months ago, during the auditions, when he’d stood just there and done something he feared was impossible.
He takes one deep breathe and walks out into the stage. Jean follows. They both take their positions.
It feels like he’s hardly there a minute when the lights behind the curtain dim and a heavy hush falls over the audience. Eren closes his eyes and waits for his cue.
The orchestra’s music unfolds on the other side of the curtain, filling the theatre with perfect harmony. He hears the whisper of the curtain lifting exactly when he knows it should, and then the stage lights warm his face.
He keeps his eyes shut, listening to the music, playing out the dance in his head. He can sense Levi entering, moving across the stage and all around him, hitting the ground with such weightlessness Eren hardly hears the steps. The crowd is hushed, still beyond the edges of the stage.
Levi’s hand ghosts against his hair, his lips push against his cheek, and Eren opens his eyes.
It’s bright, so bright he can see nothing of the dark masses he knows must be in front of him. He turns, Levi smiles, and Eren rises to his feet.
It feels good to be standing, to have the stage under him, right, perfect, and suddenly the steps have never been so easy.
They move through him, as though they know him as well as he knows them. He chases Levi across, pushing him to his exit, holding his arabesque as he leaves before rushing over to Jean. He pulls Jean to his feet, pressing through the story.
It’s strange to think that Jean wasn’t cast as Gurn from the start. His distain reads so well through his movments, his disbelief of the story that Eren is telling him through his steps of the magical Sylph that woke him and then vanished.
They push back and forth, pleading, and dismissing, when suddenly Mikasa enters. She flows across the stage, filling it with ease, body strong and present, so assured nothing seems impossible.
They move together, all of them. She grins at Eren as they slide through their steps, and then the stage is filling, all of them, their friends, the company, entering, exiting, pushing on and moving together as the dance, their dance unfolds.
Armin’s right. It goes by quicker than he could have imagined. The moments he’s on stage are a rush of light and energy. He’d always thought the crowd would be the worse part, waiting there, watching for any fault, but it’s just the opposite. He can feel their love, their attention, rapt, transfixed, and at the end of each number, their applause soars louder than he ever imagined it could.
He’s hardly off stage at all, and when he is it feels like just a flash of darkness before he’s moving on again, into the warmth of the lights, the flow of the dance pulling him into it again with a will of it’s own.
He moves back and forth with Petra against the stark lines of the forest, the shroud a thin light fabric pulled between them. The sylphs flood the stage, moving as one, perfect, rhythmic, white against the black of the stage. He holds the shroud tight as Levi floats on once more, impossibly light, and for a moment Eren thinks he must actually be floating.
The shroud falls around Levi and he twirls through it, wrapping it to his body, and the lightness falls away. All that ease crumbles as he lets himself go limp in Eren’s arms. Eren lowers him to the ground, and it’s all too easy to feel James’ grief in the face of all that grace, all the lightness suddenly grounded and gone. The sylphs drift back once more, mournful, mysterious, lifting Levi, carrying him away. Eren rises, trying to follow them, but Petra is suddenly before him, holding him back, gesturing wide and grand to the wedding party moving through the silhouettes of the forest. Jean and Mikasa - no - Effie and Gurn spin their pas deus, fluid and mirrored, arm in arm. The sylphs vanish into the woods. Eren lets himself fall. He collapsing limp on the stage as as he does, the lights finally fall with him.
It’s only then he realizes how hard he’s breathing. It’s all he hears for a second, his own breathes, in and out, and then the crowd explodes into applause, obliterating all other sound.
Someone’s grabbing his arm, pulling him to his feet. He thinks it’s Jean, it sounds like his voice. They’re shoving together, all of them in the dark behind the curtain. He can hear the whole company: Sasha, Connie, Krista, Ymir, Mikasa, Marco, Levi, Petra, everyone, all pushing, lining up, organizing themselves for the bows, and then the lights are flooding the stage again.
Eren laughs out in surprise all at once. The crowd is there. And they’re standing, applauding, cheering. He’s standing in the line with the rest of them, Levi on his right, Mikasa on his left. The audience is screaming, whistling. His eyes scramble to the front row, he can see Armin clapping hard, beaming at him. Hanji and Erwin are next to him, standing tall and proud, clapping as fiercely as the rest. Eren scans the audience, eyes feeling hot, a beaming smile firm and fast on his cheeks.
In the far back he sees a blonde girl. She’s standing with the rest of them. He can’t see her face, but it feels as if she’s looking right back at him, applauding their performance with a quiet grace.
Eren takes a deep breathe, bowing with the rest of them. The hand in his right shifts and suddenly he realizes something. He looks down. There’s a ring on Levi’s finger. It’s simple, small, but it’s most definitely a ring, on his left hand, on his second finger. Eren stares at him. Levi shrugs back.
Eren laughs. “Congrats!” He can hardly hear his voice over the noise of the crowd.
Levi smiles back. “Same to you.” One of his small hands finds Eren’s back and he shoves him forward. The crowd’s applause doubles instantly.
He stands with the stage under his feet, the voices of his friends cheering behind him. Eren smiles, breathing sunshine. He takes a bow.