Chapter Text
A whole week passed and the day of the gala finally arrived.
You stood in front of the vanity, gazing at your reflection in the mirror.
It felt like you were intruding.
Dina Fritz had been a petite woman, you thought. Zeke had offered you an entire wardrobe of fancy dresses along with a sewing kit he'd borrowed from his grandmother, true to his words. You had been working on tweaking it the whole day yesterday, and despite being a few years worn out, your adjustments managed to make it look brand new.
The top was a white chemise, its off-shoulder, puffed sleeves slipping just low enough to reveal a fair stretch of skin—neither too modest nor too bold. A brown corset, laced up along the front and back, cinched snugly around your waist. The beige skirt fell in soft, tiered layers to the floor, full and fluid with every step. You paired your outfit with the military standard-issue boots you'd brought from Paradis, couldn't care less if people called you a fashion terrorist; it got covered by the skirt anyway. Overall, nothing extravagant—but refined enough for a gala.
Except—you couldn't reach your back.
You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you stared at yourself. You still haven't tied the lace behind you, the angle too difficult to reach. You were just about to try a different angle when a knock rapped from your door.
From outside, you heard Erwin's muffled voice calling your name.
“Are you done?”
Muttering a curse, you fumbled with the strings behind you.
“Uh—yeah—no—just a sec.”
There was a moment of pause, then, “Do you need assistance?”
You looked at your reflection again, noting down the beads of sweat that had begun to collect on your brow. You've been fiddling with this thing for the last five minutes already. Briefly wishing Hange had been here, you resigned to your fate and sighed.
“Yeah.. if it's alright.”
Another pause—then the doorknob turned. From the reflection in the mirror, your eyes met Erwin’s just as he stepped inside. He halted by the doorway, gaze tracing the line of your back. You weren’t faring any better; the black suit and tie did wonders to emphasize his physique. You could already picture the line of elites who’d be staring the moment he walked into that gala.
Your eyes caught Erwin's once more just as he peered back into the mirror. When you realized you had both been staring, Erwin cleared his throat and gently shut the door close behind him. Your eyes fell on the bottle of unused perfumes on the vanity, feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks.
Erwin walked over, soft steps padding over the floor. Each step seemed to echo louder than the last, sending charges of what you could only describe as electricity down your spine.
Mind whirring, you tried to break the silence. “I can't reach my back.”
Erwin stopped right behind you, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat the moment his fingers reached for your lace. You tilted your head, pulled your hair to the side, allowing him better visibility.
“Zeke lent you this?” When you looked at him through the mirror, his eyes were focused on your back, jaw set and tight. You simply nodded.
As his fingers glided across your back, feeling the strings loop around in a tie, you tried your best to reel your thoughts from wandering toward anything unnecessary. For a man of his build and rough exterior on the battlefield, he was surprisingly gentle with his hands.
“Is it too tight?”
The low rumble of his voice had you swallowing a pit of saliva. He was staring at you through the mirror, eyes guarded yet intense. The air felt… suffocating.
When you didn't answer right away, you felt a finger hook beneath the string. He gave it a gentle tug, and you bit back a gasp, your hands finding its grip on the edge of the vanity. The table creaked.
“Is it too tight?” he repeated, never taking his eyes from you. You suddenly found it difficult to breathe, thoughts buzzing in a series of haze.
“No, sir.” You sounded breathless, as if you'd just ran a marathon. You couldn't describe the effect this man had on you. “It's.. fine. Thank you.”
You thought you saw something else flash in his eyes, but it disappeared as fast as it came.
Erwin looked away, and the charm of entrancement was dispelled. The air that had been withheld from you seemed to come rushing back like a tidal wave.
“We cannot be seen together,” he said. “I will be making my way there first. You and Zeke will follow later.”
The thought of acting as Zeke's plus one brought a weird tingle in your stomach. As if facing snobby elites weren't hard enough, you had to act as his escort for the night. Your displeasure was probably written all over you, since Erwin looked over and added, “You have enough experience in similar settings, I trust you'll act accordingly.”
You turned around and faced him, not convinced. “The difference is that Apeshit is annoying. I can handle the nobility. Stopping myself from snapping his neck is another issue.”
Erwin studied you closely. You swore you saw his lip twitch in… amusement?
“You've been spending a lot of time with Levi.”
“Yeah—well, Levi's much more tolerable. And I obviously trust him more.”
Erwin stared at you for a bit more. “Don't forget your task.”
The air turned more somber. “Yeah. Monitor the two suspects.” You paused. “And keep an eye on anyone Willy Tybur makes contact with.”
The other day, you and Erwin had a private discussion.
“You want to meet Willy Tybur? In person?”
Erwin had taken the opportunity to slip inside your room shortly after Zeke left. You were already aware he had his own reservations against sharing every detail with him, so it didn't come as a surprise.
“From what we've gathered,” Erwin began, “the Tybur family holds the reigning authority over Marley. I intend to exhaust every means of diplomacy possible before the war escalates and draws Paradis into it.”
You mulled over the idea. As much as how dismal the situation was, you understood Erwin completely—ideally, avoiding war altogether was the best thing you could hope for. The military heads back at Paradis had been clamoring for equipping the island with the necessary munitions and firepower for defense against hostile attacks. Of course, you understood the concept of contingency, but the council executives save for Commander Dot Pixis weren't receptive toward diplomacy.
“Despite being Eldians themselves, the Tybur family's the one pushing for a united front against Paradis,” you mused aloud, leaning against the windowsill. Outside, on the ledge, you eyed a gray sparrow hopping about. “Even the Allied Nations are backing them. Hypocritical bastards, if you ask me.”
Erwin fell into silence for a while.
“Precisely why I must speak with him,” he said. “Only after we identify the Warhammer. I'd rather move with all our cards definitive and ready beforehand.”
“Huh.” You stared at him, arms crossed. “What ever happened to your gambling addiction? Did the Colossal eat it away?”
You weren't used to him being so cautious. Commander Erwin Smith, although a decisive man, did not shy away from gambling risks whenever the situation called for him to.
“We are eminently lacking manpower,” Erwin said. “You and I cannot afford to move hastily.”
You pressed your lips together, nodding. “Right.”
“And,” he added after a brief pause, “on the night of the gala, monitor security closely. If anything occurs, be prepared to engage.”
“You sure you'll be fine?” you asked him. “You make it sound as if.. something's going to happen.”
Erwin remained impassive, unreadable.
“Merely words of caution. Of course, I hope this evening goes by smoothly. But as we've already discussed, we have enough grounds to presume Kresnovia is operating separately from the Allied Forces. Anything could happen.
You nodded. “Alright. I'll keep that in mind.”
He didn't make a sound of acknowledgement, merely stared at you, allowing you to glimpse the calculative gaze dancing across him. At that moment, his face shifted, a movement so minuscule you almost missed it. His brows furrowed.
“Erwin?” He seemed.. contemplative.
At your voice, he blinked and lightly shook his head, as if physically dismissing whatever thoughts you weren't privy to.
“It's nothing. I will see you at the gala.” He curtly nodded, rounding his heel. You watched as his large strides led him out, and with a soft clack, you were left alone in the silence.
::
Zeke glanced up just as Erwin stepped out of your room. After changing into his formal wear, he'd been leisurely lounging by the sofa, a book in hand, which he took from his shelf earlier as a means to pass time.
“Everything good?” he asked, noting the unexplainable demeanor painting the Commander. Smith looked at him and like the flip of a switch, schooled his face back into his trademark neutral stare.
“Yes. Then, I will leave matters here to you.”
Zeke observed, a casual arm draped over the back of the sofa and a pair of curious eyes trailing after Erwin as he made his way across the living room and toward the door.
Once he was gone, he directed his attention back to the door of your room. He'd be remiss if he didn't know you and Smith had your own plans, although he wasn't surprised at all; he was also moving independently according to his own goals—he already knew he neither had Paradis nor Marley's support.
He snapped the book shut and stalked toward the bookshelf on the wall. After depositing the book in its rightful place, he scanned for another read, eager to entertain himself for the next hour or so. With a finger absentmindedly tapping his lip and other hand resting languidly on his waist, he briefly weighed whether perusing a book he'd read a hundred times already or teasing you would be more productive of his time.
He heard the door creak open, and Zeke turned.
“Lieutenant, excellent timing. Why don't you joi—”
Whatever remark he'd wanted to utter was instantly wiped from his tongue. Zeke stared, almost uncharacteristically dumbfounded, as you stepped out of your room.
He knew it had been his idea. Yet nothing could have prepared him for the sight of you in his mother’s dress. You had altered it, yes, but kept its essence—the antique elegance preserved beneath your modern touch. Maybe it wasn't the most current fashion, but it met the gala’s military standard with quiet grace. And Zeke would be damned if anyone else could rival you tonight.
And—of course, you just had to choose that dress of all things.
Zeke shook away the memories.
“Excellent timing?” You raised a brow at him questioningly. He cleared his throat and put on a practiced smile.
“Nevermind that—my, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, Lieutenant?” He grinned and walked over, eyes scanning appreciatively. As he stopped a few steps before you, he dramatically offered his hand. “I must be the luckiest man tonight to have the honor of escorting you.”
You deadpanned at him. Perhaps you hadn't realized it yourself—but Zeke thought the intensity of your glares had toned down for the last few days.
“And you don't look like a walking piece of shit, for once. Maybe only fart-level this time,” you said right to his face as you side stepped around him and headed for the sofa, blatantly ignoring his outstretched hand. Zeke chuckled as he looked at you, before he eventually followed your lead and sat right across you.
“Just to set this clear, it was Smith's idea,” he said defensively, in a faux mocking tone. “So if you're frustrated with the arrangements, take it up to your Commander.”
He watched the way you parted your lips, probably about to curse at him again, but paused. You stared at him warily, before you scoffed and averted your gaze.
“When we're at the gala, do me a favor and don't piss me off. Marley wouldn't want their wonder boy's pig head rolling across their shit-mopped floor.”
“You certainly have a way with words, Lieutenant."
You mumbled something under your breath, but it was too low for Zeke to catch. He levelled a steady stare on your figure; the silence allowed him a moment to take in your outfit once more.
You weren't unpleasant to look at, at all. While Zeke had almost no interest in that department, he wasn't a blind man; he knew how to appreciate beauty, and seeing attractive female war soldiers wasn't new to him—he literally worked with Pieck, the Warrior unit's very own goddess of beauty even among Marleyan soldiers.
Yet, there was a unique charm about you he couldn't exactly pinpoint.
“I know it was your idea,” you suddenly spoke, breaking his train of thought, “but I hope you don't mind me wearing this.”
Zeke offered a disarming smile. “Your concern touches me so. But I thought I already told you I don't care about my past.”
“And,” he quickly added, gesturing to her outfit, “I gotta say—you have quite the talent in sewing. I gave you an entire wardrobe to choose from. Why pick that?”
You raised a brow at him, but answered nonetheless. “No particular reason. I just grabbed whatever from that pile.” You fell into silence. “Can I ask you something?”
That was a first. Zeke was internally taken aback at your sudden curiosity—it almost made him smile.
“Are you finally interested in me, Lieutenant?”
Undeterred, you shot your question, “Why didn't you throw these out?”
Your words seemingly bounced against the recesses of his brain. Zeke tried to maintain the weight of his unfazed smile, although he had to admit—he hadn't been expecting that kind of question from you.
“Couldn't be bothered,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, you never know when I'll need to dress up in fancy frills. But now that I look at you, it's a good thing I didn't; it looks like it was made for you. Although it kinda checks out.”
Your inquisitive look prompted him to clarify, so he did.
“My mom always said she'd wanted a daughter—although, well.. that didn't quite work well for her, now did it.” It came out more of a statement than anything. He didn't mean to make it awkward, but the way the air shifted and your face twisted into an expression as if you were unsure of what to say told Zeke maybe he talked too much.
Ever since he had betrayed his parents to Marley, Zeke had done his best to push their memory out of his thoughts. He deemed them unnecessary obstacles in his path toward his ultimate objective.
He already knew what had happened to his father, but the fate of his mother remained a locked vault.
“Do you miss her?”
Zeke broke free from his internal monologue and stared at you. “Huh?”
Your eyes had fallen, focused on a spot on the coffee table between you. “I mean your mother.”
Zeke could feel his heart pounding. “What makes you say that?”
“I.. saw your photo album,” you confessed. “It was in the drawer of my room.”
He swallowed a silent gulp. Oh. He wasn't sure what to make of that; that photo album held an entire childhood's worth of memories—all of which Zeke had buried long ago already.
“Hard to miss someone I've lived longer without than with.”
Besides, at this point, Zeke would rather much admit he had more affection for his grandparents and predecessor than his own parents. Not with the way they had treated him.
“Care to share what photos you saw?”
It took you a while to answer as you pinched the puff of your sleeve. “Only a few. One of them showed your mother wearing this thing.
“Thought you said you randomly picked the dress.”
“I did.” You crossed your arms and lifted your gaze towards his. “It.. just sort of happened.”
Zeke hummed, allowing a momentary pause in the conversation. He closed his eyes and he could still hear a string of laughter, a period of ephemeral happiness before it all came tumbling down.
“It was Parent-Child Day,” he began, as if some sort of invisible power had loosened his tongue. Zeke himself wasn't sure why, but he wasn't as opposed to telling you as he thought.
Eldians and Pureblood Marleyans attended the same school, but were segregated by class. Teachers were a mixed set of Eldian and Marleyan, simply because the government didn't want to risk possible Eldian extremists teaching children potentially mutinous doctrines. Nevertheless, they still celebrated the same school events.
“My parents said they couldn't come—something about work or stuff, I don't really even remember now. But I do remember my grandparents showing up instead.”
You listened attentively, probably the longest you'd ever given him your attention without throwing threats and insults, which was refreshing.
Although, Zeke enjoyed the rougher side of you as well.
“It was as normal as you can imagine—me looking at the other kids, jealous of having their parents by their side. Then boom—mom arrived, all sweating and panting. I was six, so I guess you could say I got a bit emotional on the side.”
A trickling silence fell. The stare you were giving him was unnerving, as if you were reading through his mind at that very moment. And Zeke didn't like to be read—he wanted to be the one reading others.
You said the three words that simultaneously shattered and made him whole, no louder than a whisper.
“She loved you.”
A flurry of anger spiked, but Zeke reigned it in. I've moved on from it.
“I was no more than a tool to her.”
You looked at him, and there was something swirling in your eyes. It wasn't pity. It wasn't disappointment. Nor was it the usual hatred you used to look at him with. It looked kinder.
“What you feel toward her doesn't have to change. But you can't look at me in the eye and tell me she never saw you as a son.”
Zeke's eyes fell on the table. Something was twisting itself inside his stomach. So deep, he wasn't sure where it came from. Maybe it had been there for a long time—so long, he had forgotten its name.
He scoffed.
“Please, Lieutenant, spare me the bull. You're not gonna preach to me about how parents can never hate their children, are you?”
“No,” you said, Zeke was mildly surprised you answered immediately. “I won't say something stupid like that. I know.. there are people out there who hate their children.”
When Zeke finally lifted his eyes, the somber in your gaze told him of a heavy thought you couldn't be bothered to unburden.
“But.. that wasn't the feel I got from those photos.” You paused, and looked at him. “Regardless of what she did, or failed to do, if she never truly loved you, she wouldn't have smiled like that.”
Zeke thought about his mother—how, even if things hadn’t turned out the way she’d hoped, she was always the first to encourage and defend him whenever he felt he’d failed his father.
He thought about the way her eyes never showed an ounce of anger when he'd sold them to Marley, dooming them to a perpetual nightmare, where the only peace left was death.
“And if you truly believed she didn't love you, you wouldn't have spent so much time, revisiting those pages,” you finished. “It was the only thing in that drawer that wasn't covered in dust. You kept on opening it. Zeke, deep down.. you already knew, didn't you?”
Zeke held your stare, a heavy pit of a mixture of different emotions balling and contorting in the back of his throat. He stayed as still as a rock, afraid that one movement would send him deeper into this mush of a water dam that had opened during the span of this conversation.
When he didn't answer, you spoke once more, “For what it's worth, your mom.. she's no longer wandering around the island in a nightmare. She's at peace now. I hope you find some, too.”
It shouldn't have hit him as hard as it did, but that was exactly what happened. It felt like some tangled ball of yarn somewhere in the back of his mind had unraveled before him, and all that tension collecting inside him had uncoiled, finally free from the shackles of his past.
He took a closer look at you, and you weren't looking at him in pity, nor disappointment, nor hatred. It looked kinder. Perhaps, something like understanding.
When his voice found him again, Zeke released a low chuckle. Not hollow, but something that sounded like defeat.
“Like I said, you have a way with words, Lieutenant.”
And then, you did something that made his heart flutter. You smiled at him.
“Yeah—shocking how calmer I can be when you're not pissing me off, huh?”
Zeke stared at you, which was beginning to feel quite repetitive; he'd been staring at you a lot these days, one would think he'd get used to it by now. But perhaps it was the pipeline from crass banter to heartfelt conversation, or the glow in your smile, or the dress, or something else entirely—maybe—it was just you.
Something warm bloomed in his chest. Oh.
Oh.
He fucked up bad.