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Cold

The Cracks in the Porcelain

The rhythmic ticking of the clock on the classroom wall was the only thing standing between Erwin Smith and a state of complete existential boredom. History class was usually his forte, but today’s lecture on the socio-economic impacts of the industrial revolution was something he had already mastered through his father’s extensive library years ago.

He leaned his chin on his hand, his icy blue eyes drifting away from the chalkboard. He began to scan the room, observing the varied states of his classmates. Hange was three rows down, scribbling so furiously that Erwin suspected they were either taking groundbreaking notes or drawing a very detailed diagram of a titan-sized amoeba. Miche was sitting near the window, his eyes half-closed, likely tracking the scent of the rain that was beginning to mist against the glass.

Then, Erwin’s gaze shifted to the back corner.

Levi Ackerman sat there, isolated by a three-desk radius of empty space that the other students maintained out of sheer self-preservation. Usually, Levi was the picture of stoic indifference, slumped slightly in his chair with a look of profound boredom that rivaled Erwin’s own. But today, something was off.

Levi’s right leg was bouncing—a frantic, staccato motion that was nearly silent but betrayed a high level of internal agitation. His usual death-glare was absent; instead, his eyes were unfocused, darting toward the classroom door every few seconds before snapping back to his empty notebook. He looked pale, even by his own porcelain standards, and his jaw was set so tight that Erwin could see the muscle leaping in his cheek.

Erwin felt that familiar tug of curiosity. It wasn't just the "puzzle" of Levi anymore; it was a genuine concern that felt like a weight in his chest.

Leaning back in his chair, Erwin waited for the teacher, Mr. Shadis, to turn his back to the class to scrawl a date on the board. In that brief window of opportunity, Erwin whispered over his shoulder.

"Levi."

The boy didn't react. He seemed locked in a private war with his own thoughts.

"Levi," Erwin tried again, a bit louder this time.

The dark-haired boy flinched, his head snapping toward Erwin. The dull gray eyes were wide, momentarily stripped of their icy armor. For a split second, Erwin didn't see a bully or a "natural disaster." He saw a boy who looked like he was drowning on dry land.

"Are you okay?" Erwin asked, his voice low and laced with sincerity.

Levi’s expression shifted instantly. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by a sharp, defensive snarl. He opened his mouth to deliver what was undoubtedly a scathing rebuttal, likely involving several colorful metaphors about Erwin’s anatomy.

"I'm fine, you—"

"Smith! Ackerman!"

The voice of Keith Shadis cut through the air like a whip. The tall, intimidating man turned around, his eyes burning with the legendary fury that had made him the most feared teacher at Trost Academy. He slammed a ruler against the palm of his hand.

"Since you two find your private conversation more enlightening than the birth of the steam engine, you can discuss it further in detention. After school. My room. Don't be late."

Levi’s face went from pale to a dangerous shade of red. He glared at the desk, his hands clenching into fists so tight his knuckles turned white. Erwin, for his part, simply sat up straight and gave a polite, albeit slightly regretful, nod.

"My apologies, Mr. Shadis," Erwin said calmly.

"Save it for the four walls of the detention hall, Smith," Shadis grumbled, turning back to the board.

The rest of the period was agonizing. Erwin could feel the heat of Levi’s rage radiating from the back of the room. When the bell finally rang, Levi was out of his seat and out the door before Erwin could even close his textbook.

Detention was held in a small, cramped room on the third floor that smelled of old paper and stale coffee. Shadis sat at the front, grading papers with a heavy red pen that sounded like a weapon every time it hit the page.

Levi sat in the far corner, as far away from Erwin as the room allowed. He was staring out the window at the grey, drizzly sky. He hadn't spoken a word since they entered. The silence was heavy, thick with the tension of two very different personalities forced into the same orbit.

Erwin watched him. Levi’s leg was still bouncing, though slower now. He looked exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes seemed to have deepened in the span of a few hours.

Erwin decided to break the silence. Shadis was absorbed in a particularly disastrous essay, his grumbles providing enough cover for a quiet conversation.

"I really am sorry, Levi," Erwin whispered. "I didn't mean to get you in trouble. I was genuinely concerned."

Levi didn't turn his head. "I don't need your concern, Smith. I don't need anything from you."

"Clearly," Erwin replied, his tone conversational. "But you looked like you were somewhere else today. Or perhaps, like you wanted to be somewhere else."

Levi’s shoulders hiked up toward his ears. "Shut up. You don't know anything."

"You’re right," Erwin conceded. "I don't. But I’d like to. You’re an interesting person, Levi. And despite what you tell everyone, I don't think you’re as much of a 'disaster' as you claim to be."

Levi finally turned his head. The look he gave Erwin was one of pure, unadulterated exhaustion. "What is wrong with you? Do you have some kind of hero complex? You think you can just talk to people and they'll suddenly open up to you like a book?"

"Not everyone," Erwin said, offering a small, tired smile. "But I think you and I have more in common than you’d like to admit. We both carry things we don't talk about."

Levi scoffed, turning back to the window. "You’re a golden boy, Smith. You’ve got the grades, the friends, the perfect hair. You don't know what it’s like to carry anything heavier than a backpack."

Erwin felt a pang of something sharp in his chest—a memory of his father’s hushed phone calls, the sudden moves, the weight of expectations that felt like a shroud. But he didn't push it. Not yet.

"Maybe," Erwin said softly. "But even golden boys need friends."

Levi let out a short, harsh laugh. "Friends? You’ve got the Four-Eyes and the guy who thinks he’s a bloodhound. Why the hell would you want to be friends with me?"

The question was blunt, stripped of any malice. It was a genuine inquiry, born from a place of deep-seated confusion. Levi truly couldn't fathom why someone would choose his company over the safety of the status quo.

Erwin leaned forward, his blue eyes locking onto Levi’s gray ones. "Because you’re honest, Levi. In a school full of people pretending to be something they’re not, you’re the only one who doesn't hide who he is. Even if who you are is a bit... prickly."

"Prickly," Levi repeated, his lip curling. "That’s a nice way of saying I’m an asshole."

"It’s a start," Erwin said.

Levi looked away again, but the bouncing of his leg finally stopped. The room fell back into silence, but the air felt different. The hostility had bled out, replaced by a tentative, fragile stillness.

"I’m not a good person to know, Smith," Levi said after a long silence. His voice was so low Erwin almost missed it. "Bad things happen to people who get too close to me. It’s better if you just stay in your lane."

"I’ve never been very good at staying in my lane," Erwin replied. "I tend to find the detours more interesting."

Levi didn't respond to that. He just stared at the rain, his reflection in the glass looking small and remarkably young.

When detention finally ended, Shadis dismissed them with a grunt. Levi was at the door in an instant, but he paused, his hand on the frame. He didn't look back, but he spoke clearly enough for Erwin to hear.

"Don't expect me to sit with you tomorrow. The bread wasn't even that good."

Erwin watched him walk down the hallway, his pace quick and purposeful. A small smile spread across Erwin’s face.

"He’s lying," Miche said, appearing seemingly out of nowhere as Erwin stepped into the main corridor. Hange was right behind him, bouncing on the balls of their feet.

"About what?" Erwin asked.

"The bread," Miche said, sniffing the air as Levi’s scent faded. "He liked it. I could tell by the way his heart rate slowed down when he ate it."

"He’s such a tsundere!" Hange chirped, throwing an arm around Erwin’s shoulder. "So, did you survive the dungeon of doom? Did he try to shank you with a pencil?"

"No," Erwin said, looking toward the exit where Levi had disappeared. "We just talked."

"Talked?" Hange asked, their eyes wide behind their glasses. "About what?"

"About why someone would want to be friends with a natural disaster," Erwin said.

As they walked toward the school gates, the rain began to let up, a sliver of pale gold light breaking through the clouds. Erwin knew that Levi wasn't going to make it easy. There would be more glares, more insults, and likely more detentions. But the crack in the porcelain had been made.

And Erwin Smith was nothing if not patient. He would wait for the storm to break, and when it did, he would be there with a slice of bread and a quiet place to sit. Because beneath the undercut and the cold gray eyes, there was a boy who was tired of being alone. And Erwin was tired of watching him be that way.