Silk curtains, flowing and dignified in their own way, swayed in the breeze and filtered golden sunlight through its soft material. A man lays in the hospital bed, looking like the type of fine China you keep on display and only use once a year during special occasions, fragile. The man has dark hair, pale skin, and a jawline that could cut diamond. Erwin thinks that if there ever were a contest for the best male version of Snow White, this man would win full points. Some would say this man is not as beautiful as the fabled princess, but Erwin would object and—being a lawyer—probably would argue with the speaker until they admitted they'd been wrong. He was just that sort of person, fiercely expressive and passionate.

Yet the man's insecurities and flaws stick out upon his face. His lips are naturally thin and they are chapped. His cheeks are pail and sunken. There are bags under his eyes. Yet despite all this, his lips are alluring, his cheeks just the right shade, and the bags become designer in all their glory. Perhaps this is what being blinded by love feels like, Erwin thinks, and then dismisses that thought; he's only just met him—wait, not even that. This is the first time Erwin's seen him and yet the attraction is strong.

He sits on the side of the man's bed, silently waiting for his consciousness. He doesn't know him and the man doesn't know him either, but it's his fault they're in this situation and thus he supposes it's the least he can do to wait and apologize in person. Leaving a Thank You note would not only be out of character but it would be cheap of him and over his dead body would Erwin allow someone to think him a cheap man.

Knock, knock. "Mr. Smith?" The doctor waltzes into the room, clipboard in hand, lips reminiscent of a smile or a grin. "I'm sorry to disturb you."

Erwin sits up in his chair, willing his butt to stop being numb and ultimately failing (How long had he been sitting in this chair?). A groan escapes him but he pays it no mind. Instead, he's more interested in the man lying before him and his welfare. Erwin blinks several times.

"I don't mind," Erwin says casually. "I've been sitting here by my lonesome for far too long, anyways. Some company is much appreciated."

The doctor gives a small, fake chuckle. "Aha, agreed. I don't think I could stand being here in this room with no one to talk to for too long. I've always wondered how my patients do it."

"I'm sure you'll get the answers you need if you ask the right questions. I can't imagine someone denying you information." Erwin's joking, but the doctor seems to take this seriously. Silence settles over the room.

Erwin watches the doctor fiddle with the IV among other things for a few moments until he gets bored and decides to stare at the floor again. He has the strong urge to ask what he's doing—curiosity runs in the family, it seems—but he doesn't want to bother the man; his mouth remains shut.

"I don't expect him to wake up for several more hours, perhaps even another day," the doctor explains. He'd scribbled a few things onto the clipboard before putting it back to its rightful place at the end of the bed.

"How's he doing?"

"He's doing—"

"Ah!"

A scream and then a gigantic breath of air precedes the incoherent babbling of the man who's not supposed to wake up for several more hours, perhaps even another day. What was he doing up so soon? Erwin wonders.

"Whoa, whoa!" the doctor shouts. He puts his arm on Levi's shoulder—perhaps a try at being comforting—but the man pushes his hand off and yet allows Erwin's to stay. That was the first time Erwin noticed that his hands had even reached for the man. He retracts them quickly, hoping the gesture had gone unnoticed.

"Sir, calm down," the doctor speaks languidly. "You're in a hospital."

"Erwin's okay. Erwin's okay." The man repeats this to himself several more times, each with a breath more calm than the previous. Erwin found this odd. Did he know this man? Perhaps an old college friend he'd forgotten about? But surely with this man's beauty he would've remembered. Then where had they met? "Erwin is . . . okay." The man's breathing has finally returned to normal. Steady and slow.

Erwin's in shock and cannot find it within himself to speak, so the doctor takes control.

"Sir, what's the last thing you remember?" the doctor asks.

"I got shot . . . in my stomach." Emotionless yet not monotone. There is no shake in this man's voice in regards to the gunshot wound he'd received. Was he used to this sort of thing? His tone is hard to figure out.

"What's your name? There was no ID on you and no one on scene could identify you. We'll contact your family—"

"No!" the man says a little too quickly. The doctor and Erwin give him pointed and questioning looks. "I mean, don't do that. I don't have any family."

That's a shame, Erwin notes inwardly. No family? He cannot imagine what it must be like;  he speaks to his parents every single day. Best not to mess with matters that he's unable to relate to, then.

"And your name?" The doctor bounces the pen against the clipboard, waiting, impatient, and Erwin thinks that the pen's constant rhythm is more intimidating than the medical man himself.

"I am Levi. Levi Smi—Ackerman."

"Levi Ackerman?"

"Yes," the man confirms.

Something clicks within Erwin. Something deep down. Something primal. The name. He knows that name, doesn't he. He knows it from somewhere. But he's never seen this man! This must be his mind playing tricks on him. Silly, Erwin.

Erwin's finally worked up the nerve to speak.

"Do I know you?" he asks. The more Erwin stares at Levi, the more something inside him starts to feel right, as if something had aligned within him and a puzzle piece was just put in its correct place. Content.

"Doc, can I have a word with Mr. Smith, please?"

"How do you know my—?"

"Oh, yes," the doctor says hurriedly before walking out of the room, looking at his shoes, like he knows he's been intruding on something personal this entire time.

Now that the doctor has left, there's an uncomfortable tension in the air. Everything is sitting on the edge of its seat in preparation—but for what?

"Um,"—Erwin clears his throat—"as I was saying, how do you know my name?"

Levi's face falls and Erwin can't help but lament the way his features droop unhappily. For some reason, he imagines this man must look even more beautiful when he smiles. He wants to make him smile.

"Do you really not remember me?" Levi asks, sadly.

"Unfortunately, no," Erwin answers uncertainly. He feels as if he should know, as if it were a crime he didn't.

"Oh, God, not again!" Levi cries out, face scrunching up, breathing in anguished breaths. Erwin knows what he's doing—has seen it several times—and feels sympathetic when he tries to hold back boiling, stinging tears.

"Have I done something wrong?" Erwin asks.

"Yes! You keep dying!"

"I—I haven't died—"

"And then you keep forgetting about it! Keep forgetting about me!"

Levi's legs are two, small lumps under the white covers of the hospital blankets and now he hunches over to wrap his arms around them, face nuzzled between two mountains as if it were the sun.

And yet Levi looks like death in human form, the opposite of the sun.

That doesn't sound too nice, Erwin thinks, and decides against speaking his observation aloud.

"Now, I stopped a bullet for you," Levi says, words sharp and edged, "and the least you can do is remember me. Remember me, goddammit!"

Erwin looks at him sadly, unable to fill his request but wishing he could. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. You're not sorry, because if you were, you would remember. You promised me . . ." Levi trails off into the past, leaving behind Erwin and everything else in the future.

"Should I go?"

Levi straightens his back, takes a deep breath and allows a calm to settle over his face before saying, "Yes. Yes, please! Just get out of this room. I don't want to see you ever again."

There's a weight in Erwin's stomach as he rises from the plush armchair of the hospital room. By the time he reaches the door, he's almost one hundred percent sure the weight is composed of sadness and regret. There's nothing he can do to help this man.

"I apologize."

Two simple words. They count for nothing yet that's all he can think of. Levi never wants to see him again but he can't resist looking back just one more time at the man before he leaves him forever. Levi is lying on the bed, an arm stretched over his eyes, as he wills this horrible reality away.

"It's fine," Levi says with no sincerity. "I already knew . . . love hurts."

Erwin shuts the door behind him and solemnly walks on, ignoring the onlookers' stares, past the doctor's pesky questions, through the hospital doors, and into the sun's direct rays. Warm sunlight and a nice, cool breeze. This is his life. His wonderful, wonderful life.

Why does it feel so empty?

-=-=-=-=-=-

I was thinking about turning this into a full-length novel. Would anybody be interested in reading it? Call this the "PILOT" chapter.

Stay fabulous.

-Rose B