Next to Me

      War. There has never been, and never will be, anything worse than war. War takes lives. It strips away what is most precious. It leaves people crippled. It irrevocably changes everyone involved. Inevitably and irreversibly.       Levi Ackerman knew war in all its forms. The war against the "great and little-known evil," the war against the government, the war against a foreign army, and the personal, internal war with himself—everything that could even remotely be tied to the concept of "war," he had lived through, processed, and let settle within him. Even the consequences of war affected him more than anyone else. He lost all his comrades, lost an eye, two fingers on his right hand, and gravely injured his left leg—so severely that he could no longer stand on it and was confined to a wheelchair. The worst fate, in his view. To die in war, to die giving your heart for a just cause, was far more appealing than surviving as a cripple with oceans of blood on your hands and a heart drenched in it. All his comrades were dead. The one person he loved was dead. Everyone who could have understood him, even a little, would never breathe again.       Just two months after the war ended, Levi felt its toll. During the war, he had no time to dwell on what had happened. He had to stay sharp, never show weakness. But now, it seemed he was good for nothing, that his disability left him unable even to care for himself or find something to distract his mind. Horrible, gnawing thoughts crept into his head, tearing at him from the inside, robbing him of peace and sleep. After just two months of this so-called "peaceful life," Levi was ready to climb the walls. Hallucinations tormented him, flickering in his vision or at the edges of his sight, and on Paradis, there was no one he could talk to. The surviving Eldians stuck together, but they couldn’t understand everything. And Levi didn’t like to talk. It was in his nature to feel others’ pain and compare it to his own, not to speak of it. Though sometimes the urge to speak surfaced, it went unanswered.       And then there was something else that made it all worse. Levi had failed to keep the promise he made five years ago to Erwin Smith, the commander of the Scout Regiment and the man he loved. Before his death, Levi had sworn to Erwin that he would kill Zeke Yeager, the Beast Titan, no matter what. But…       At the very last moment, he couldn’t do it.       Even now, two months after the war ended, after Eren Yeager’s death, Levi asked himself why—daily, relentlessly. Why, at the final moment, did he change his mind? Why, instead of beheading the enemy he’d dreamed of killing for the past four years, the enemy who called out to him, who was ready to offer his own death, did Levi hesitate and instead cut Zeke Yeager’s body from the Founding Titan’s form? And he did it so carefully that Zeke had time to regenerate before the power of the Titans vanished forever. Now Zeke was alive and perfectly healthy, locked in a cell in Trost on Paradis, the same one that once held Annie Leonhart.       On the day the battle finally ended, when the hellish nightmare that had haunted their entire lives was over, when the Titans vanished as they had always dreamed, Levi was certain he saw his fallen comrades again. They stood before his blurred vision, but he recognized them all: Hange, Petra, Oruo, Eld, Gunther, Mike, Moblit, and, of course, Erwin—all of them. All he remembered was excruciating pain coursing through his body, their smiling faces, a few words he managed to choke out, the salute he gave in return, his own faint smile, and a single tear that rolled down his cheek, burning his skin. Then darkness. Levi didn’t come to for a long time. Later, he was told that it was Zeke who carried his bleeding body to the Alliance. After that, Zeke was taken into custody, and Levi was sent for treatment. For days, they fought for his life, and according to the doctors, if not for his Ackerman blood and timely first aid, he likely wouldn’t have survived. But Levi didn’t feel indebted to Zeke for saving his life. If anything, he wasn’t particularly glad they’d saved it at all, especially with such effort. In the months that followed, Levi couldn’t bring himself to see Zeke—the man he’d spared, nullifying his own efforts and the promise he’d made to Erwin to kill him—or to speak with him. Though he had many questions for Zeke, he kept delaying the meeting, cursing himself for such weakness and, perhaps, fear.       And yet, now, not entirely sure what had driven him to this, Levi was heading to Trost in a carriage with two Military Police soldiers, intending to meet Zeke and talk. To talk about everything that had happened. For some reason… For some reason, he thought it might ease his burden. That it might help him, a man who had lost his purpose after the war’s end. Or, if the urge struck, to kill Zeke now and fulfill his old promise—after all, no one would stop him. For now, he didn’t know if he’d feel that urge. Levi didn’t even know the exact reason for his desire to come here. But speaking with Zeke face-to-face had become necessary. One way or another, he had to try to help himself come to terms with it all and quiet the chaos in his mind.       Throughout the journey, Levi wrung the fingers of his good hand with the palm of his mangled one. He wanted to go, yet he didn’t. He anticipated it, yet hoped to delay it. His emotions tangled, hard to unravel. He wasn’t afraid of Zeke. He’d never been afraid of him—not when Zeke wielded the power of a Titan, and certainly not now. What he feared were the memories tied to him. Painful, unhealed, like his wounds. But he had to be strong. After all, he was once considered humanity’s strongest soldier, a cold-blooded killing machine. Now, he needed to summon those old qualities, useless as they were, with barely a trace of them left. After an hour’s ride from the house given to Levi after the war as a form of social aid—located in what used to be the lands within Wall Sina—they reached the prison. Two soldiers lifted Levi from the carriage and placed him in his wheelchair, then carried him and the chair down the stairs into the dungeon. One soldier settled him back into the chair and pushed him along the corridor while the other returned upstairs, promising to wait.       Both soldiers followed their orders, not fully understanding why Levi needed this but asking no questions. Questions were dangerous. One soldier unlocked the grate leading to the deepest catacombs, where Zeke Yeager was held. They kept him as the most dangerous war criminal, a fact Levi knew. But he hadn’t realized just how far from sunlight Zeke was confined. It was hard to wish even a week in such a place on anyone, but Levi was convinced Zeke deserved it.       Still, the deeper they went into the catacombs, the faster and harder his heart pounded. The soldier’s footsteps and the creak of the rickety wooden wheelchair’s wheels echoed through the dungeon. Zeke was the only one held this deep, meaning their conversation would truly be private. As they neared the end of the corridor, Levi grew more nervous, even considering abandoning his plan and ordering the soldier to turn the chair around and take him back. But he held himself together. He needed to see Zeke. To ask him questions. To find out what happened that day, hoping it might quiet the buzzing in his head.       For Zeke Yeager, the past two months had been an endless Groundhog Day. From the moment he was thrown into this filthy, desolate cell, everything was too monotonous. Every time he tried to piece together the recent events in his mind, hoping to recall something new, it ended in failure.       He remembered little, and what he did recall was too hazy. When the war ended, when Eren betrayed him in the Paths, when he spent what felt like a couple hundred years there—though in reality, it was only a few days—Zeke, through a conversation with Eren’s friend, had managed to open his eyes to a reality he hadn’t seen before. He realized how much suffering he’d caused, how much blood stained his hands. How little he’d valued life’s small joys, letting his past dictate his actions. In an attempt to atone for even a fraction of his sins, he found the strength to break free from the Paths, if only partially, and called out to Levi Ackerman, urging him to fulfill his long-held desire—a desire Zeke couldn’t comprehend—and kill him. Zeke felt the cool breeze on his skin, saw the bright blue, pristine sky. After his imprisonment in the Paths, everything felt sharper, more alive. In that moment, he felt more alive than ever. And the small figure of the captain was rushing toward him at incredible speed, silhouetted against the sun that bathed everything in brilliant light. Zeke was ready for that beautiful scene to be the last thing he saw, but…       For some reason, the captain changed his mind.              Some time later, Zeke came to. He woke in a place resembling a desert, naked but fully healed, next to Levi, who was propped against a rock, bleeding out. Acting more on instinct than conscious thought, Zeke lifted the surprisingly light body of the captain, saving him for reasons he couldn’t fully grasp, carrying him to the Alliance. There, amid explanations that their comrade needed saving, he lost consciousness again.       The second time he awoke, he was in this cramped cell. Dark, buried so deep underground that not a single ray of sunlight reached it, he’d been sitting here for who-knows-how-long. It seemed Zeke had lost all sense of time after his seemingly endless confinement in the Paths, which had, in reality, been just a few days. Probably. That’s what he assumed upon returning to reality. How much time had passed since then, and what had even happened, he couldn’t figure out. Nor could he transform into a Titan. Biting his hand until it bled, Zeke achieved nothing. His hand, instead of steaming and healing, continued to bleed and throb painfully with no sign of regeneration. The guards who saw his bleeding hand only laughed but refused to answer his questions. But what happened could mean only one thing: somehow, he’d lost the power of the Titans while remaining alive.       Almost none of the guards would engage with him. In all the time he’d spent here, Zeke managed to learn only a few facts. First, he was on Paradis. Second, he was held as a war criminal, a dangerous prisoner. Third, walks and contact with anyone other than the guards were forbidden. The only place he was allowed to go was the shower every three days. By counting those trips to the cold, miserable shower that made him long for a proper, warm one, Zeke estimated he’d been here for about two months. Beyond that, he was permitted nothing. Only a few low-quality books tossed to him and food delivered roughly once a day. His questions yielded almost nothing. Of course, the time spent in the cell couldn’t compare to the time he’d endured in the Paths, but here, knowing life was bustling somewhere above, it often felt like everyone had simply forgotten him, and he was doomed to rot in this cell forever.       But, just like in the Paths, Zeke had plenty of time to think. Back then, he spent countless hours trying to understand Ymir’s purpose. Why had she remained loyal to King Fritz for two thousand years? Why was she so driven to preserve life and reproduction that she created a place where death didn’t exist? And, most importantly, why could Eren understand her when Zeke couldn’t? If he’d found answers to those questions—or rather, realized he was wrong about life’s sole purpose being reproduction, as Eren’s friend had told him—perhaps many deaths could have been avoided. But now, the Paths concerned Zeke far less. New questions tormented him: How had the war ended? Who survived? Did Levi survive, the last person he saw and even tried to save? But the question that plagued him most was how he had survived. And why he had survived. A cursed question with no answer. Perhaps there was no answer at all. And if there was, there was no one to give it. A couple of times, he considered bashing his head against the wall, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, though the hope that someone would come and free him faded after the first couple of weeks. Now, with nothing else to do in the cell, Zeke mostly slept or continued to ponder, scratching at his overgrown beard and hair.       In this unbearably long solitude, Zeke was beginning to think he was slowly losing his mind. His senses dulled, voices occasionally flickered through his head, and his reactions slowed. He felt drained of energy and had no desire to do anything. He forced himself to stick to a routine to avoid completely losing it. Sleep, eat, read, shower, sleep, eat, read… Truly an endless, maddening Groundhog Day, a cycle he lacked the strength, emotions, desire, or means to break. So when footsteps echoed from the long corridor, Zeke initially paid them no mind, assuming it was yet another delivery of tasteless slop meant only to keep him from starving. But then… a creak. The creak was new. Like someone was pushing a cart toward him. Interesting. Why? Had they brought something new? No, he couldn’t even believe that anymore. With nothing to hope for, Zeke didn’t bother turning to face the bars, where he currently sat with his back turned, preferring to stare at the cracks in the wall. But on the other side of the bars, a single gray eye—Levi Ackerman’s—was already studying his back. Even seeing Zeke from behind, Levi felt a noticeable discomfort. His heart pounded as if trying to break free from his chest, his body stiffened, and his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. Even breathing was difficult.       Zeke Yeager. Levi was certain it was him, despite the plain, beige prison clothes concealing a clearly thinned frame. His light hair fell nearly to his shoulders—longer than usual—meaning no one had given him scissors. It seemed all these trivial thoughts swirled in Levi’s head for one reason: to avoid thinking about the immediate reality, about the fact that he was about to speak with Zeke Yeager.       Just as Levi was about to change his mind and signal the soldier behind him to take him back, Zeke had taken notice, that the silence that followed the creaking sound, was lasting for a good couple of minutes. That was unusual—guards always barked at him if he ignored them. Curious, Zeke finally turned around.       Behind the bars wasn’t a cart but… a wheelchair. The figure sitting in it was small. Dark hair parted evenly, with bangs slightly covering the eyes, but… one gray eye stared at Zeke, while the other was hidden behind bandages wrapped around the entire head. A harsh scar stretched from the forehead to the chin, clearly crossing the right eye and both lips, with another smaller scar on the right cheek. The gray eye gazed at him with clear astonishment, but Zeke’s blue eyes mirrored that shock almost perfectly.       Levi. Levi Ackerman. Even in this state, Zeke recognized him instantly. If he’d seen Levi before, Zeke might have been somewhat afraid—after all, the captain had nearly killed him several times, managing to torture and mutilate him, and the wheelchair likely wouldn’t stop him from trying again. But now… Now Zeke wasn’t afraid. Levi was the last person he expected to see here, yet the thought couldn’t help but cross Zeke’s mind that he’d come to finish him off. If that was the case, Zeke wouldn’t even resist. Just as he hadn’t resisted during their last encounter. So he wasn’t scared, but he was… curious. What had brought the captain here now, and in a wheelchair no less? It was a mystery. And in that astonishment, Zeke remained silent.       The captain stayed silent too. For a while, he studied Zeke—overgrown hair and beard, skinny, in dull clothes, with sunken blue eyes that looked different without the lenses of his glasses—but then he mustered the strength to break the silence, speaking coldly and with disdain:       “You look even worse than usual.”