𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 𝟯𝟯𝟲

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...

The library is quiet.

It always is, and that's exactly why you chose it. Silence is predictable. Unlike people. Unlike relationships. Unlike the suffocating hands of control that have wrapped themselves around your life until you no longer know where you end and your choices begin.

You move through the aisles with muscle memory, fingers ghosting along the spines of books, none holding real significance anymore. The titles blur together, just as the days do. Routine is a dull kind of salvation — boring, but yours. At least here, between towering shelves and forgotten pages, you can exist without that extra shadow lingering over you.

Then he walks in.

You don't have to look up. You already know it's him.

Levi Ackermann is not the type of man who goes unnoticed. He isn't loud, isn't commanding in the traditional sense, but there's something about him — something controlled, something sharply disciplined. He enters the library at precise intervals — not often enough to feel familiar, but just enough for you to notice.

Just enough for you to expect him.

He never lingers. Never wastes movement. He is efficiency, wrapped in an unreadable expression and the kind of presence that commands attention without asking for it.

You should ignore him. You should keep to your work, focus on stamping books and sorting papers, and do what's expected of you. Instead, your pulse responds before your mind can catch up. A slow, crawling awareness — the kind you aren't supposed to feel.

The kind you've denied yourself for too long.

He doesn't look at you when he walks past. Not directly. But you still feel the weight of his presence — the controlled, restrained energy he carries, so different from the suffocating grip you've lived under for years.

You hate yourself for it.

Hate that you even care to notice him.

And yet, as he turns the corner, disappearing into the aisles, you find yourself waiting.

Waiting to hear his footsteps again.

Waiting for something that isn't supposed to matter.

Waiting for the inevitable unraveling slither of control you aren't ready to lose.