Day 2: Birds
Rating: G
Word Count: 1 579
Canon Divergence. Kind of angsty, post-rumbling oneshot where Hange and Levi are in different places. You're asking why Levi isn't in Marley but is back on Paradis Island? Well, it's more romantic to have an entire ocean between them. That's why haha. š¤
The rays of sun that had been streaming through the window traveled the entire time Hange sat at her desk. Ten minutes into her task, the sun began to spill into the room, and half an hour later, the light was reflecting uncomfortably off her lenses.
There was only a small patch of light on her deskās surface now, right next to her writing hand. She paused for a moment, running her finger over its uneven edges, making the circles smaller and smaller until she reached the centre.
Levi wouldnāt have liked this hot weather; she was certain of that. The temperatures always rose around noon and continued climbing in the afternoon sun, but she had already grown accustomed to everything feeling like a morgue. No one voluntarily set foot outside in the scorching heat, and having a siesta was a very common practice around here.
No, Levi definitely wouldnāt have liked this place.
Her current task of writing a letter to him wasnāt easy. It had been a long time since they'd last seen each other, and so much had happened. She longed to tell him everythingāwhat she had seen, what she had experienced, and how much she missed him. More than she allowed herself to admit.
It took her several attempts, but eventually, she finished the letter - being torn between pouring out her heart to him and reassuring him that she was doing fine - and then packed away her writing things.
Hange had already visited the excavation site in the morning, and in a few hours, she was going to meet the archaeologists overseeing the current project. She had so many questions for them and was very excitedāsomething she hadnāt hesitated to share with Levi, even though she knew he didnāt understand half of what she was saying.
āI donāt know what youāre talking about, four-eyes,ā was something he always used to say to her whenever she overwhelmed him with yet another gush of words. āBut if it makes you happy, Iām okay.ā
She knew what he meant. He had said it to her directly on the last day theyād spent together, about four months ago.
āIāll be fine, stop thinking that I wonāt be,ā Levi had said to her after she had repeatedly asked him if heād be alright. She had already shed a few silent tears, the prospect of not having him around for the unforeseen future already starting to feel heavy. But she also knew that she couldnāt stay; she had to see what was out there, had to absorb everything until her thirst for the world was exhausted.
When that would be, she didnāt know; she was going to take a trip back to Paradis Island in about eight months and see how things were then. What she did know was that her moment of going home hadnāt arrived yet. There were still things she needed to do.
āIf youāre happy, then Iām happy. You need to understand that, idiot.ā He always liked calling her that, but he brushed away a tear that had started to roll down her cheek with a tenderness that showed her what he truly meant. The following morning, she set out on her journey, always keeping those last exchanged words in mind.
A lot of things had happened since then.
In the evening, Hange stepped outside to the patio of the place she was staying and entered the makeshift loft she always set up at every new location. There was no postal service between Paradis Island and Marley, so sheād had to come up with another way to keep in touch with Levi.
Three grey birds sat on a bar in the wooden shelter, and as soon as they saw her, one flew onto her shoulder, cooing softly into her ear.
They were homing pigeons, already trained, which she had taken with her the day she left Paradis Island. Despite the ocean lying between them, they would always find their way back home, offering her a limited yet safe chance to reach out to Levi.
It was somewhat bittersweet, though, knowing he wouldnāt be able to send a letter in return. For the birds, home would always be the island, and that was the only place their instincts would lead them. There would be no way for her to learn how he was, or if he was doing alright. But in that moment, the thought that the letter would reach him was enough. For both of them.
āI donāt really write much anyway,ā Levi had reassured her when she first shared the idea with him. āIf I know what youāre up to, Iām good. So, you know⦠donāt hold yourself back. Iāll read everything.ā
Hange poured a mixture of seeds and grains into the small feeding trough, holding up a handful to the pigeon still perched on her shoulder. Its feathers were soft and smooth as she gently stroked its chest, waiting for it to finish. The bird pecked at her now-empty hand before flying back to join its two companions at the trough.
In the evening, when she returned from her outing with the archaeologists, she rolled up the letter she had written and stuck it into a small tube. She screwed the lid to close it, making sure it sat firm, and then attached a cord to the roll.
Her fingers shook slightly as she looked down at the securely packed letter in her hands. What would his reaction be? Would it be a sign of hope for him, or would it bring memories and heavy thoughts? She didnāt know, and she probably never would. She wouldnāt be there when it reached him.
Overwhelmed by her seething emotions, she quickly pressed the roll to her forehead, closing her eyes. Please, let this reach you in good health, she thought, as if willing those words to imprint themselves onto the letter. Then, she lowered the roll to her mouth. āI miss you,ā she whispered, pressing it softly against her lips.
When her hand hovered over her chest, she struggled to find the right words. Nothing seemed enough to express what she was feeling in that moment, so pressed the letter to her heart and took a deep breath, allowing herself to feel the weight of the emotions that flooded her.
The following morning, as soon as the sun rose, Hange went into the loft to feed the pigeons. She waited until Evangeline, the bird she had named and chosen as the first messenger, had finished her food before she eventually reached for her. Gently stroking its back and tickling its chest, the grey bird settled comfortably on her lap, twinkling its eyes.
āIām gonna miss you, you know?ā she said when the bird lifted its head and turned it around to her, its black eyes open again. āBut you can be happy, because youāre finally going home.ā
An hour later, Hange stood at the shore, clutching the pigeon close to her chest. It didnāt move, as if sensing the turmoil she was going through, waiting patiently. The breeze was fresh, ruffling both her hair and the birdās plumage, and in the distance, she could hear the cries of a few seagulls.
She had taken off her shoes and rolled up her pant legs, wading a few steps into the water, trying to close the distance between Levi and herself. If everything went well, the pigeon would reach the other side of the sea in five hours, and another two before it found him.
āTell him Iām okay, will you?ā she murmured to the pigeon, lifting it in front of her face. It cocked its head, blinking a few times before letting out a coo that, to her, sounded something like yes.
She took this as a sign, giving the bird one last encouraging pat and making sure the small roll was securely fastened to its back. Then, she finally released it into the air, her heart caught between hope and a bittersweet ache as she watched it spread its wings with a soft rustle.
āSafe travels, Evangeline.ā
āāā§āāāāāāā§āā
It was late afternoon by the time Levi made his way home. The wheels of his wheelchair ran smoothly over the levelled ground, making it easy for him to move forward. He was already looking forward to a good cup of tea and the newspaper he hadnāt been able to finish in the morning, and the ache in his muscles reminded him that he needed to take things a little slower now.
He had almost reached the front porch when a shadow suddenly fell over him. He looked up at the cloudless sky, squinting against the sun. A bird was flying back and forth above him, but it didnāt look like the eagle he had spotted a few days ago.
It flew closer, and to his surprise, it approached the loft next to their houseāthe one Hange had built a little over a year ago. His eyebrows shot up as the bird, which he could now identify as a pigeon, landed on the small platform at the top of the shelter before disappearing inside.
A small smile tugged at his lips as the realisation of what had just happened began to sink in. If he was being honest, heād had his doubtsānot about her skills, of course, but about the pigeonās reliability. But it seemed that, after all, it had worked out.
āLong time no see, Hange.ā
āāā§āāāāāāā§āā
Note: I am not a pigeon expert lol, but the internet told me its average flying speed is 80-95 kilometres/hour, and with the distance between Marley and Paradis Island apparently being 400 kilometres, and the assumption that Levi isn't living directly at the shore... that's where my numbers come from. I have no idea if it's realistic at all, but if it isn't... let's just call it creative freedom haha. I did learn a lot of homing pigeons today, we'll see if that knowledge might be useful some day š
Summary: they made eye contact once in the convenience store and now she can't stop thinking about him Rating: G
The pillows are ridiculously warm on both sides tonight, and even though the thermostat reads 21°C, the air swirling around the room feels nothing close to the temperature; if anything, it feels much closer to 35°C. She heaves out a sigh.
"This is ridiculous," she murmurs quietly as she tosses her blanket aside and swings her legs out of bed, marching downstairs to fetch herself a glass of water.
The scene from this afternoon replays in her mind, the ice cubes clinking merrily inside the glass every time she moves the glass in circular motion, the same array of thoughts haunting her nervesāthe blond haired man; the absence of smile on his face; the ridiculous amount of lobster flesh he hoarded in the basket; the air of indifference emitted from all over himself; his brown eyes.
She had never seen him before. Is he new? Maybe she could ask Connie or Jean tomorrow, if they know anything about the mysterious man.
She presses a hand on her temple. No. No. They probably don't know him. This is a terrible idea to ask them. A small sigh escapes her mouth. Why does she care so much about him?
Bringing the glass to her mouth, she closes her eyes in an attempt to discard the image of the handsome man from her mind. She swallows the water in one big gulp.
Back in bed, her mind still preoccupied with the ghost of the brown eyed man ā evidently unable to remove him from her mind ā coupled with the incessant nagging of her heart to make an effort to look for him when morning arrives, she picks up the pillow nearest to her reach and hauls it over to her face. She screams into it.
Just as the scream dies down, the bedside table trembles from the force of her vibrating phone. She flails her hand and pats down the surface, reaching for her phone. Once the phone makes its way to her her grasp, she shoves the pillow aside and scans the Notification Center. A text message from Jean.
"What does Jean want at 3AM?" she says with a grunt.
Upon reading the message, her eyes widen in exhilaration. Surprise mingled with disbelief. She reads it three more times, just to be sure.
Hey, Niccolo from Economics wants your number. Can I give it to him? Tall guy, no smile, blond. He saw you at Konbini earlier today.Ā
"Niccolo, huh."
more NiccoSasha fics on my ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64988437/chapters/167080744
L. V., i found this poem everywhere the moon touched
i love reading sad books bc when your own grief is stopped up inside you like a clogged drain you can grieve for a character on a page and understand that you're also grieving for yourself a little bit
Think about your earliest memory for a second. Now think about the fact that the you in this memory had their own rich bank of memories which (by definition) has zero overlap with that of the you that's reading these words. The thought has a certain pleasing shape to it, no? Okay, now stop. You can go back to thinking about whatever you want again.
commission by lacampanule on insta
I finally need to share the beautiful pokopiku commission I got from alora a while ago š„ŗ I'm still so much in love with it!
Jean and Marco sketches.
Visceral is EASILY top ten words that feel good as fuck to place precisely into your essay one glorious time