❖ Small Details… When Feelings Speak
⬖ Room Assignments
Night had spread its shadows over the palace, its dim lights trembling against the walls as if whispering something left unsaid.
Luca stood at the entrance of the main hall, servants in classic uniforms beside him, every movement calculated—like a silent dance.
"Jean, Connie… you'll be staying in the room overlooking the eastern garden," Luca said calmly.
"As for Eren and Armin, your room faces the old palace fountain."
Jean blinked in surprise, then grinned as he nudged Connie.
"I told you—Marley isn't that bad."
Connie laughed.
"As long as the bed is soft and the food is plenty, I'm in heaven."
Eren, however, remained silent. His eyes were still, yet something behind that stillness was boiling—as if his mind had already left the rooms and feasts behind, racing toward the unknown.
⬖ Thoughtful Details… in Levi's Room
Sarah stood slightly aside, watching the room assignments in silence. When a servant stepped forward to ask about the captain, she turned calmly and said:
"I want him somewhere quiet—no loud colors, no excessive decorations. Just simplicity… and peace."
After a brief pause, she added softly:
"Place a warm teapot there… and a cup similar to the one he used at the old headquarters. And if there's a wooden chair by the window, that would be perfect."
She didn't explain why.
She didn't need to.
Her look said everything.
⬖ The Girls' Room
In the southern wing, the doors opened to an elegant room scented with something like safety.
Silk curtains drifted gently, the floor covered with a warm rug.
The walls were adorned with soft paintings—birds from a world they had never seen.
Sasha entered first, spinning around as if discovering treasure.
"Am I dreaming?! A soft bed, a silent carpet… and a window overlooking the garden!"
Hange laughed as she threw herself onto the sofa.
"Enjoy it while you can. Missions like this don't happen often."
Mikasa stood by the window, gazing into the distance. Then she slowly turned and smiled faintly.
For the first time in a long while, she felt that someone cared about their comfort—not just their strategies.
⬖ Levi… and the Unspoken Details
When Levi entered his room, he didn't move right away.
He stood by the door, eyes scanning the space the way a soldier surveys unfamiliar ground.
The room was simple—but painfully neat.
The bed was set low, the furniture clean without excess.
On the table sat a teapot, and beside it, a white ceramic cup traced with a thin gray line.
He stepped closer, as though approaching a memory.
His hand reached out and touched the cup…
Something warm seemed to pass from the porcelain into his palm—and then into his heart.
He exhaled softly, as if his soul had remembered something it never knew it had lost.
"Sarah…" he murmured, without meaning to speak.
Her name slipped from him the way memories slip from sleep—silent, gentle, and unsettling.
He sat on the wooden chair by the window, staring into the dim light, a question echoing wordlessly in his mind:
How can someone think about a teacup… in the middle of all this noise?
❖ A Moment on the Edge of Confession
He sat on the wooden chair beside the small table, his shoulders slightly slumped, as if an invisible weight pressed down on him.
Before him rested the teacup—still, like his heart. Neither cooling nor warming… simply waiting.
He lifted his fingers and brushed the porcelain rim with care.
Why this cup?
The question was followed by another:
How do you know me like this? How do you read my silence and prepare details meant only for it?
What unsettled him wasn't the hospitality.
It was the quiet terror of being truly seen—
of realizing that this woman understood him in ways no one ever had.
And worse…
that she did it not out of courtesy, but because she loved him.
That was what frightened him most.
❖ In the Long Corridor
Outside the room, Sarah walked slowly along the silent carpeted hall.
Candlelight flickered, casting her shadow against the walls—each step carrying a wish she had never dared to speak aloud.
Did he notice?
Did he understand that I chose a cup that resembled him… not just any cup?
A quiet battle raged within him.
Within her… a hidden tremor.
As she neared his door, she realized it was slightly ajar.
Her breath stilled.
She looked through the narrow opening.
He was there—seated, head tilted slightly, as if listening to something unspoken.
His back curved in silence, one hand resting on the table… his heart somewhere far away.
This isn't my place. Not anymore, she thought, turning to leave.
But—
❖ A Love That Refuses to Name Itself
A hand suddenly caught her wrist.
The grip was unexpected—not violent, but firm.
A refusal to let her pass.
To let her disappear.
A pull.
A door closing behind them.
And suddenly—she was inside his world.
No escape.
No excess air.
No excuses.
❖ Inside Levi's Room
When Silence Becomes Louder Than Words
She didn't know how it happened.
One tug.
One step.
A door shut.
Her back pressed against the wall as moonlight slipped through the window, casting their shadows across the floor—
two figures standing dangerously close, yet stubbornly distant.
Levi stood before her—not as a captain.
But as a man worn down by countless battles… and defeated most by this one.
His gray eyes were different now.
Not cold.
They held something that nearly revealed itself—then retreated, like a soldier stepping toward life only to remember death first.
In a low voice, stretched tight like a wire before it snaps, he said:
"Was it you?
The room… the cup… the quiet."
The words escaped him—
a confession trying not to be one.
Sarah didn't answer immediately.
She struggled to breathe, to gather the fragments of composure she had learned behind the walls.
But his closeness—his gaze, the tension in his shoulders—made everything inside her collapse.
He stepped closer.
Just one step.
It was enough to break something inside her.
His voice burned, restrained:
"Why?
Why do you do this to me?
You know… I can't afford to feel."
There it was.
He was accusing her—
because he couldn't accuse his heart.
She tried to speak, but a faint hitch caught in her throat.
"What am I doing, Levi?"
she whispered, afraid that raising her voice would tear down every last defense.
His response came sharp, restrained yet fierce:
"You walk into a world that barely has anything left for me…
and expect me not to feel?"
Silence ignited between them.
He stood there—a man who learned to trample his own dreams just to survive.
She stood there—a woman who fled a homeland, death, and walls…
yet found no shelter for her heart but him.
She lifted her face, her voice steady yet trembling with courage:
"I didn't choose this.
I know you're a man who lost everything…
and yet—your heart is still here."
His breathing quickened.
His eyes flickered—just for a moment, visible only to someone searching with their heart, not their eyes.
She continued, softly, as if saving a drowning soul:
"And I… despite all the ruin I've lived through…
couldn't help loving you more each day.
That is my only crime."
Something fragile inside him cracked.
He blinked slowly, as if the world weighed too heavily on his lashes.
He stepped back—not to flee, but because falling terrified him.
His voice came broken, softer than a whisper:
"Don't ask me for what I can't give."
She answered with a weary smile:
"I'm not asking.
I just… can't lie to my heart."
And the moment hung between them—
a thread stretched between war and peace,
between a man afraid to love and lose again,
and a woman who loved knowing she might lose everything.
❖ The First Kiss
When Stone Finally Surrenders to Water
Levi never intended to let his heart step beyond its borders.
But her words—
the way she said them—
brought down the final wall he had built around himself.
He stepped toward her.
Just one step.
Yet it carried the weight of every year he had fought alone.
He said nothing.
There were no words worthy of what had ignited inside him.
His fingers lifted slowly, as if afraid to touch a dream and watch it vanish.
He grasped the edge of her shirt—not to control her, but as a silent plea for her not to leave.
Their faces drew close.
His eyes locked onto hers, asking without words:
Do I have the right to feel?
She didn't answer.
But the trembling pulse at her throat was enough.
And then—
He leaned in.
The distance they had fought so hard to maintain dissolved.
The kiss was slow.
As if time itself paused in reverence.
As if the war inside them had fallen silent to listen.
It wasn't the kiss of hunger.
It was the kiss of a man who had denied himself belonging his entire life—
and now, against his will, stole a single moment of it.
His lips touched hers hesitantly,
then gently,
then—gradually—with a painful sincerity.
One hand braced near her head against the wall, shutting the world out.
The other rested lightly on her shoulder—
the careful touch of someone afraid the miracle would shatter if he held her any tighter.
And Sarah?
She didn't breathe.
She didn't think.
She received the kiss the way the earth receives its first drop of rain after a long drought.
Her eyes were closed,
but her soul was wide open—
standing somewhere between tears and a smile at the same time.
And then—
like everything beautiful in this world—
fear arrived.
She opened her eyes suddenly.
She saw the war inside her… and the war inside him.
And she saw the truth she had been running from all along:
This man was not a promise.
This man was a battle.
She stepped back, as if fate itself had stung her.
One step… then another.
Her face was that of someone realizing that love can be more dangerous than death.
Her breath came uneven,
her lips trembling, her chest rising and falling as if she had survived a battle without a weapon.
She whispered—barely audible:
"It shouldn't have…"
But the words died before they could be finished.
She fled.
Opened the door and left.
As if life had suddenly become too heavy on her shoulders.
And Levi remained where he was,
his hand still suspended in the air she had occupied moments ago,
his eyes holding the same question he dared not speak:
When did fear start to feel so much like attachment?
After the Kiss
Levi stood motionless, staring at the door she had closed behind her.
He raised his hand to his face, as if trying to erase the trace of a moment he was never ready for.
His heartbeat was louder than his silence.
"What have I done?" he whispered to himself,
like a man who realized he had crossed a line he never even dared approach.
In the opposite wing,
Sarah entered her room with trembling steps.
She leaned her back against the door and closed her eyes,
as if trying to contain the storm that had erupted inside her.
She touched her lips gently with her fingers and whispered, still in disbelief:
"He kissed me…"
Despite the confusion,
a small smile bloomed on her lips—
one that didn't belong to imagination.
That kiss…
was the only truth.
That night was not the end of anything.
It was the beginning of a silent chaos—
between a mind that doesn't trust love,
and a heart that doesn't know how to live without it.
The Morning After
On the eastern balcony overlooking the garden,
the sky still held faint shades of violet
when Luca Friedman sat at the small table,
sipping his coffee in quiet restraint,
as if trying to grasp a moment of calm
before chaos awakened.
The scent of Arabic coffee rose from the cup,
blending with jasmine in the air,
while shy birdsong broke the silence.
Hange approached, adjusting her glasses,
her own cup in hand.
"Good morning, Mr. Friedman…
I didn't expect to find you here,
at an hour that feels borrowed from old stories."
He replied without looking at her:
"Everything in this place resembles a story…
except its endings."
She sat down, studying his expression with curiosity.
An aristocrat—born into a family of glory and blood—
yet he did not speak like his kind.
"So tell me," she asked with a playful smile,
"are you truly a son of this system,
or merely an outsider wearing noble clothes?"
He gazed at the rim of his cup.
"I was born a Friedman, yes.
But I chose to be human."
Then he added, thoughtfully:
"Marley doesn't fear Titans, Hange.
It fears those who cannot be bought."
Silence lingered for a moment.
Then she asked softly:
"When did that equation break inside you?"
He lifted his head, sorrow flickering in his eyes.
"When I saw a child forced to bow,
not because he had done wrong,
but because he was born of the 'wrong' blood."
Hange smiled—but it was not a joyful smile.
"Strange, isn't it?
We didn't come from noble families,
yet we learned early on
that revolution doesn't require lineage—
only conscience."
He looked at her steadily.
"And who said nobility belongs to bloodlines?
Sometimes the noblest people
are those who own nothing…
except the courage to say no."
Hange fell silent, then whispered,
as if speaking to a ghost behind her:
"In my life, I've met many men
who thought they were leading change.
But once, I knew a man unlike any other.
He didn't shout, didn't revolt, didn't destroy—
he planted a seed… and walked away."
Luca asked quietly:
"Did it grow?"
She glanced toward the palace interior,
where Sarah's figure passed in an emerald dress.
"Perhaps it hasn't bloomed yet…
but now it walks among us.
No weapon. No banner.
Just something simpler—
a gaze that believes a human being
can begin again from nothing… without losing."
Luca looked out at the balcony,
where the breeze stirred the palace curtains gently.
"Sometimes," he said,
"one woman from this house
is enough to move the stone of history."
Sunlight crept in shyly,
casting golden threads across the marble floors of the palace,
as if cautiously stepping into a day
whose events were not yet written.
The servants moved with reverent quiet,
setting the grand breakfast table,
arranging plates, cups, and delicacies—
as though preparing a stage
rather than a meal.
Sarah was the first to enter.
She wore a classic Marleyan dress
in deep emerald green,
cinched at the waist by a golden belt
engraved with a delicate flower,
as if borrowing her elegance from another era.
But what gave her a different aura that morning
was her hair.
It wasn't tied back or carefully styled—
it fell freely around her face,
soft and unrestrained,
as though allowed to speak
what she could not.
She wore no makeup,
only faint shadows around her eyes—
just enough to reveal the fatigue she tried to hide.
She appeared calm on the surface…
yet something in her eyes refused to rest.
She sat in silence,
stealing a moment of balance for herself
before the others arrived.
Her gaze drifted between the polished silver dishes
and the doorway,
as if waiting for someone in particular—
only to deny it the very next instant.
Had her heart become too transparent?
Or had everything within her
begun to betray her at last?
❖ The Arrival of the Others
Morning unfolded slowly with the echo of footsteps crossing the long stone corridor.
Sasha was the first to enter—her eyes sparkling like a child who had just discovered heaven laid out upon a table. She practically leapt toward the feast, as if she were about to embrace life itself, exclaiming with delight:
"Sarah! This food looks like a work of art! Do people really eat like this every day?!"
Sarah laughed softly and replied in a warm tone:
"This is only what's served at beginnings… the essence comes later."
Connie took a seat beside her, his eyes spinning around the hall as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He leaned toward Sasha and whispered like he was sharing a secret:
"Is this a table… or a gateway to another world? I swear I'd sell my soul to stay here forever!"
Armin followed them with slower steps, his eyes scanning every detail with the curiosity of a scholar—like the walls themselves were whispering stories from another time.
Mikasa remained slightly apart, her gaze still, reflective—watching, but saying nothing.
Then came Eren.
In silence.
He sat without a word. His eyes didn't search for food, but for something else—something he was trying to understand, something without a name. His gaze drifted over the plates… then stopped on Sarah.
Just a moment—yet long enough for him to realize she had changed.
Or perhaps… he was the one who had begun to see her differently.
❖ Levi's Entrance
Levi entered last.
His delay was unusual—just as the night before had been.
His steps were slower than usual, as though exhaustion had carved an extra shadow into his frame, or as though the night itself had refused to let him rest.
He paused at the entrance to the hall without a word.
His dark eyes, rimmed with the faint trace of sleeplessness, swept the room… then stopped on her.
Sarah.
She sat there in a traditional emerald Marleyan dress, the kind worn by noblewomen at formal occasions—yet something about her made it seem as though it had been created for her alone.
The fabric didn't merely clothe her; it belonged to her.
The golden belt rested gently at her waist, and her loose hair—intentionally unstyled—softened the strength of her features.
She wore no adornments, yet her presence alone was enough to disrupt the rhythm of his day, as if beauty itself had chosen to appear without asking permission.
She looked at him.
Not a smile. Not a greeting.
Just a look.
A calm look—on the surface—but one that struck his heart harder than any bullet.
As if it said: I am here. I saw everything. And I will say nothing.
He lowered his gaze immediately and walked quietly to his seat.
He sat without a sound, as always—but this time, even his heart fell silent.
He tried to look at anything… anything but her.
Yet between every blink, his eyes betrayed him.
Everything about her, in that moment, felt more beautiful than it should.
And closer than he dared to allow.
❖ A Thread of Pain
Amid scattered conversations, the pouring of tea, and Sasha's laughter warming the corners of the hall—
silence fell.
A silence created by no one… except Mikasa.
She suddenly pressed a hand to her head, as if something invisible had pierced her skull without warning.
Her expression didn't cry out—but it fractured quietly.
Her right eye closed for a moment, her shoulder trembling as though a silent blade had reached deep inside.
Armin noticed first, as always—reading wounds before words.
He leaned toward her and whispered gently:
"Mikasa… is it the same pain?"
She nodded faintly, unwilling to alarm anyone, and replied in a low voice, as though the words themselves hurt:
"It's… the headache again. But this time… stronger."
Eren had been staring at a piece of bread he hadn't touched.
The moment he heard her, he turned sharply toward her—as if her voice had reignited something inside him.
"It happens often, doesn't it?" he said, his eyes fixed on her with an uneasy concern, charged with things unspoken.
"Mikasa, don't ignore it… this isn't just a normal headache."
His face remained rigid, but his voice carried a tremor—fear without a name.
Leila, who had been observing quietly, stepped closer with the calm of a physician who knew the moment required reassurance, not panic:
"If you want, I can arrange a quick appointment with a neurologist here. There's a well-known doctor in the area—they say his hands don't just treat the mind… but what lies behind it."
Mikasa looked at her, her eyes dim like an autumn sky that promised nothing—yet she thanked her with a small nod.
Eren's words, simple as they were, settled in her chest heavier than anything else.
When he said firmly, in an unusually resolute tone:
"Let's try, Mikasa. This time… don't ignore the pain."
He was saying something else entirely—but she dared not interpret it.
As if the pain wasn't only in her head…
but in her blood,
in her history,
in something older than pain itself.
She met his gaze for a moment—long enough for time to freeze.
Then she looked back at Leila and said quietly, but with resolve:
"I'll think about it… and I promise I won't ignore it this time."
❖ The Tension Between Sarah and Levi
As laughter gradually returned after Mikasa's heavy moment, something faint lingered in the corners of the room—
something that did not laugh.
Sarah sat slightly rigid, her cup between her fingers, untouched.
She was watching him—no, watching his absence while he sat right there.
Levi, across the table, looked like a man hiding a battle in his chest, one he did not wish to reveal.
He avoided looking at her, yet stole glances—only to snap his gaze back to his plate the moment their eyes met.
In that glance lived something like the stillness before a storm—
not love, not anger… but something deeper.
A silence that felt like confession.
Leila, seated beside her sister, caught the tension with the instinct of someone who knows when to speak—and when not to.
She leaned toward Sarah and whispered softly, barely audible beneath the clatter of dishes:
"Six months apart… doesn't look like they were empty. Is there something you want to say?"
Sarah froze for a moment, staring at her cup as though it concealed an answer.
Then she said calmly—yet colder than the frost on the windows:
"There is nothing to say."
But her voice did not fool Leila.
Nor did it fool Levi, to whom her words reached like a sharp blade dipped in the same scent he still remembered from that night.
Their eyes met again—just for an instant.
It wasn't accidental.
It was a crack in the wall they had built after that kiss…
a crack on the verge of collapse.
Still—nothing was said.
Only their hearts, those that do not speak, knew the truth:
the table was not filled with food alone…
but with questions that had not been allowed to be asked.
❖ End of Breakfast
When everyone finished eating, Leila stood with a bright smile:
"Now that we're full, how about a short walk in the garden? It's perfect for relaxing… and perhaps digesting some of the anxiety too."
A few light laughs followed as they rose one by one.
Sarah stood last, brushing the edge of her emerald dress with her fingertips, and followed them with quiet steps.
Levi lingered a moment longer, staring into his empty cup.
Inside him, the memory of his room—of how she had prepared it—glowed like a flicker that refused to fade.
He murmured softly, unheard by anyone:
"What are you doing to me, Sarah?"
Then he stood slowly—
like a man trying to catch up with something he had not yet admitted to losing.
❖ Sisterly Instinct
But Laila did not follow the others.
Before leaving the hall, she turned back, gently catching her sister's arm.
"Sarah… just a moment."
Sarah stopped. Her eyes tried to remain steady, but something fragile shimmered beneath the surface.
Laila drew her aside, away from curious eyes, and spoke softly—yet with unmistakable seriousness:
"I'm not foolish, Sarah. You don't have to say anything. I've known you since we shared the same pillow at night.
There's something between you and Levi, isn't there?"
Sarah lowered her gaze. She didn't answer. She didn't even nod.
Laila continued, her voice softer now, warmer:
"If you love him… then at least be honest with yourself.
Don't live half a feeling.
Don't bury your heart just because he doesn't speak."
Slowly, Sarah lifted her eyes. They were slightly reddened—but she did not cry.
"I don't know…" she whispered, "if he'll ever let me in."
Laila smiled with quiet tenderness and squeezed her hand:
"When a door doesn't open… sometimes all it needs is a gentle knock."
Then she walked away, leaving Sarah standing behind—
suspended between fear… and the longing to knock.
❖ Garden Secrets and the Road to the City
They stepped into the vast garden surrounding the palace.
Tall trees swayed gently in the morning breeze, flowers blooming in quiet defiance of the past, while sunlight filtered through the branches, dancing across their faces—as if nature itself were trying to console them in a language beyond words.
The group moved slowly, curiosity blending with a rare sense of peace, while Laila walked ahead with the lightness that had always defined her.
"This garden…" she said with a note of nostalgia,
"it was our kingdom. Sarah and I used to turn every corner into a world of our own. That tree over there?"
She pointed to a massive tree with thick, sheltering branches.
"We used to climb it whenever we wanted to escape our etiquette tutor. We'd hide up there, laughing quietly, rebelling against strict protocol with nothing but mischief."
A few soft chuckles followed.
Armin, absorbing every word, asked gently,
"An etiquette tutor? Why did you run from her?"
Sarah smiled faintly, her eyes lingering on the shadows behind them.
"Because everything we were taught… wasn't for us.
It was for the image they wanted us to embody."
Laila glanced at her sister, paused, then added warmly:
"And yet, I'm grateful.
Sarah wasn't just my sister back then—she was my compass.
When I ran from lessons, she wrote them for me.
When we were punished, she always stood in front of me… silently shielding me."
She stopped, gazing ahead into the trees, her voice lowering:
"Sarah taught me that silence doesn't mean weakness.
That kindness isn't surrender.
That femininity and courage can exist together.
And that sometimes, vulnerability is the most beautiful mask of strength."
Her words lingered, turning the air into a mirror.
Sarah looked down, tension quietly tightening her features—uncovered by love rather than accusation.
Behind them, Levi walked beneath the trees' shadows, his face half-hidden, yet his eyes never leaving Sarah.
Every word Laila spoke carved slowly into his memory.
She wasn't just a scientist from the other side.
She had survived.
Survived expectations.
Survived silence.
Survived golden walls that hid prisons of duty.
His thoughts drifted to the underground city of his past.
No gardens.
No sunlight filtering through leaves.
Only damp stone, walls, and a silence that tasted like regret.
He looked at Sarah again—standing there in the soft morning light, her emerald dress brushing against the grass, smiling shyly under her sister's words.
She seemed to belong to another world.
A world of light, gardens, and childhood laughter—
a world he feared he could never enter.
And yet… the truth whispered back at him:
She had survived too.
Just differently.
And every time he tried to move closer, he feared he might taint something meant to remain pure.
Still—he could not look away.
The distance between them was not measured in steps,
but in memories they had yet to share.
❖ Luca's Arrival and the Journey Begins
As soft laughter drifted through the garden like birds waking after winter, Luca interrupted the moment with his composed presence.
"Alright," he announced calmly, "the journey awaits. The cars are ready."
Conversation paused. Footsteps followed him toward the palace gates.
And what awaited them there stopped them all.
Not the wooden carriages they knew—
but two elegant vintage Marleyan cars, polished black, gleaming beneath the morning sky like relics from another era.
Sasha circled one in disbelief, eyes wide:
"Wait… this moves without horses?!"
Luca chuckled, hands clasped behind his back.
"It's called a car, my dear. A way of traveling the world—one your island hasn't yet imagined."
Armin ran his hand over the cool metal, fascinated.
"The structure… the engineering… Is it steam-powered? Or something else?"
❖ Taking Their Seats
Sarah stepped forward confidently, keys glinting in her hand.
"I'll drive this one."
The group exchanged startled looks—but no one dared question her.
As she reached for the door, Levi appeared beside her.
She glanced at him coolly, her tone edged with something unspoken:
"Getting in… or waiting for a cart pulled by your pride?"
He studied her, then replied dryly:
"I'll sit beside you. Just to make sure you don't kill us all."
She laughed briefly—no warmth, but her eyes betrayed something else.
Perhaps this was the only way to keep him close.
Even if only for the length of the road.
They took the front seats together.
Behind them sat Mikasa, Sasha, and Eren—each lost in their own thoughts.
In the second car, Laila took the wheel, her hair loosely tied, while Hange peppered her with endless questions about engines and brakes.
In the back, Connie, Jean, and Armin exchanged cautious laughter.
The cars rolled forward along the stone road,
two fragments of a strange era moving toward the city.
One driven by a woman trained in royal dances.
The other by a psychologist who turned her past into purpose.
Only the wind knew—
this journey was not merely a visit.
Poll:
How did the kiss feel to you?
🔘 Necessary
🔘 Too soon
🔘 Painful but real
🔘 I'm not ready for what comes next