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Levi leaves Mikasa’s apartment, telling her to go back to bed, to see a movie, to do anything except spend another day dancing, scrutinizing her movements in the mirror that takes up the long wall in their practice room. So Mikasa gets dressed, grabs her bike, and takes a leisurely ride to the studio, purposely dawdling for twenty minutes beforehand to ensure she does not cross paths with Levi on her way there. She is not sure whether he will be annoyed with her or not — once again, she has refused to take his direction, but it is in service of the perfection of their dance. Their performance is close to flawless with plenty of time to go until opening night, but Levi’s voice seems to have rooted itself in the back of her mind, telling her she could always improve. She is not sure whether he will rebuke her for defying him or give her one of his small sly smiles, secretly proud that she chooses to work even when she does not have to.
The difference now is that she agrees with him, that she pushes herself every day and spends evenings pirouetting around her apartment instead of smoking. It still feels foreign in her mind and in her mouth to admit that Levi is right, that the sharp words and the occasional adjustment of her limbs have made her hungry. She tries to blot out the times Levi has stood besides her, behind her, running his hands up her arms and molding them to his. He has never taken her hands in his own and pressed his lips to the back of her neck, but her mind likes to imagine he does once he has muttered to her about keeping her wrists and elbows more supple. She shakes her head, trying to bring herself back to reality. He would never do that, she thinks.
Mikasa pulls up to the dance studio and carries her bike in, frowning briefly as she wrestles with the door, wishing for someone — though in truth she has only one person in mind — to open the door for her. After she puts her bike away, she sees Levi walking up the main staircase and hangs back, ducking behind a pillar until she hears the stairwell door slam shut on the second floor. She follows him up, balancing on the balls of her feet to minimize the sound of her footsteps, until she sees him walking into a classroom. Even through the closed door and a ways down the hall, she can hear a gaggle of children squealing his name. She walks by the room, completely forgetting about her wish to stay hidden from him. Seeing Levi surrounded by small children is too good a sight to pass up. Worst case scenario, she thinks, it will be something with which she can tease him. There is a window-wall to the classroom, clear glass so proud parents can watch their children learn to point their toes. Mikasa stands before it, watching a ring of students in black leotards embracing Levi, throwing their arms around his waist and his chest and each other in order to hold him close. Levi stands in the middle of the group, his eyes wide but his mouth turned up slightly at the corners, a picture of intense embarrassment and reluctant happiness. He looks up to see Mikasa at the window, and gives her a tight-lipped smile. She grins back at him and waves, trying to suppress a gleeful giggle at the sight before her. Levi’s eyes widen for a moment before he squeezes them shut.
After a few moments, the children disperse and take their places at the barre at the back of the room. A few of them look out the window to see her standing there in her leggings and tank top, her hair gathered loosely atop her head, a red gym bag slung lazily over a pale shoulder. At the sight of her, one of the children turns and asks Levi something. From the way he pinches the bridge of his nose and the way his shoulders slump forward before he answers, Mikasa is convinced that the question just asked of Levi is, “Is she your girlfriend?”
"No, no, no," she can hear him saying. "We’re dancing together."
Within seconds there is a shrill cacophony of overlapping “Can we see?”s and then Levi is waving her in, exasperation writ large on his face. Mikasa has never seen him give in and knows he would not do so without a good reason. She wishes she could have seen him on the day he realized that this gaggle of little ones had more fortitude than any disapproval or threat he could communicate in the knife-glint of his eyes or the hard set of his jaw.
"Say hello to Mikasa," Levi says as she stands next to him at the front of the room.
"Hello, Mikasa," echoes a chorus of eighteen voices.
"Hi, guys!" she chirps, waving at them. She suppresses a grimace at how high-pitched her voice sounds. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Levi’s lips twist into a smirk. I should bite you at practice tomorrow, she thinks reflexively. The urge to do violence to him comes as an instant relief, although these days she cannot see herself digging sharply into his skin without at least soothing the wound with a kiss. She shakes the thought from her mind. She has been thinking of him too much, these days.
"So, the chase scene?" Levi asks her, snapping her out of her thoughts.
"What?"
He rolls his eyes, then leans in close to her so the students don’t hear. “You weren’t paying attention.” At this distance and volume, Levi’s voice is a low rumble in his throat, somewhere between the contentment of a purr and the ominousness of approaching thunder.
"Sorry. Got lost in thought for a second there. How far after the chase should we end? It’s not exactly appropriate for a bunch of eight-year-olds," she whispers.
"They’re six."
"Even better."
"We’ll do the second part of the chase. You get away three times, but when I grab you I’m just going to dip you down and we’ll hold that for a five count. Okay?"
"Sounds good. Music?"
"I’ll just ask for accompaniment on the piano. I don’t want to listen to that shitty song any more than is absolutely necessary."
Mikasa snorts. “Agreed.” She steps back from him and takes her place at his right hand side, as she has almost every day for weeks. Levi nods to the pianist that Mikasa has only just noticed sits in the corner of the room, who starts to play a sprightly tune. It’s too bright, too wholesome, considering what they’re pantomiming, but she knows that the real thing is too dark and too sensual for a group of kids barely out of diapers.
"Ready?" Levi asks, looking over at her.
"Are you?" she replies, an insouciant smile on her lips.
"Shut up," he grumbles, then counts them off. Mikasa runs away from him, then dodges away from his grasping hands as he tries to catch her. When he leans towards her, she bends backwards — but not too far out of his grasp. Her hair comes loose from its topknot and trails behind her as she spins away, grazing Levi’s outstretched hand. When they dance in tandem, side by side, Levi feels something brushing at his shoulder, tickling him through his white t-shirt. Her hair wraps itself around his fingers when he finally grabs her by the arm, spins her in close, and bends her back toward the floor.
Before they’ve held their pose for the specified five seconds, Mikasa can hear loud applause coming from eighteen pairs of little hands. She and Levi disengage from each other, join hands, and bow to the students in the way that they have practiced: Levi at the waist, stiff and formal, Mikasa artfully collapsing herself into something between a plié and a curtsey before bringing herself back up to her full height.
"Did you like it?" she asks the class.
"Yeah!" comes the shouted reply.
"I’m glad you guys liked it, but Mikasa has to go now," Levi says, clapping his hands a couple of times to signal the children’s attention.
"Aw," they whine in unison.
"I could help you out if you want," she offers softly. "While you’re in the front of the class I can correct their posture, or vice versa."
She tries not to read anything into his scowling face or the unexpectedly soft way he replies, “Yeah, okay.”
Mikasa is not sure what she expected when she imagined Levi teaching children: she knew he wouldn’t hurl abuse at them or roughly reposition their awkward little limbs, but his care and his tenderness is astounding to her. He is short with them, as he is with everyone, but the children seem to trust in him, to know that when Levi snaps at them, it is a mere reflection of his unwavering faith in them: he is annoyed because he knows they can do better. Even the children who do not seem to like to dance very much, frowning as they point their toes and move their arms, seem to want Levi’s approval, and he gives just a bit more to them than he does others. He has an encouraging word for each one as he watches them do the warm-ups that Hanji has taught them, pointing out where they have improved since he last saw them. Mikasa watches him as he goes from child to child: after he moves on to the next one, she can see the fire of determination being lit in each student’s eyes. By the time he has finished his appraisal of the class, all of the kids are visibly trying to impress him, thirty-six eyes trained on Levi’s every move.
He decides that today’s lesson is for the children to learn a short routine, combining all of their previously learned poses and moves into a coherent sequence. He starts by reviewing each step, allowing Mikasa to hold a position at the front of the class while he walks around and adjusts backs, pivots wrists. Within fifteen minutes they are all dancing in unison, bending and stretching and leaping and turning. Once the children have picked up on the routine — which seems incredibly complicated for six-year-olds, but even the clumsier children are hitting their marks more often than not. Mikasa smiles as she points her toes to the front, to the side, then dips into a plié. The stately piano piece that accompanies them slows as they do a slow pirouette. She and Levi applaud as the children stand still, arms stretched wide.
"All right, let’s try that again," he says. "Everyone, back in first position."
There is a sharp knock at the door. Levi scowls, annoyed at the interruption, but his face resumes its usual cool look when he sees the unmistakable tall form of Erwin in the hallway.
"What does he want?" Mikasa asks.
"No idea. Can you watch them while I deal with this? Just keep them quiet. Run through it again with them," Levi says.
"Yeah, sure."
At her words, Levi leaves her and slips out of the classroom, closing the door silently behind him before he approaches Erwin with his arms folded. Mikasa turns to the children, all of whom peer at her expectantly. It is at this moment that Mikasa realizes that, for the first time in her life, she is the adult in charge.
"All right, guys, let’s go through the routine one more time," she says, taking her place at the front and center of the room and nodding to the piano player. Once they complete the sequence of steps, Mikasa looks to the door to see Levi and Erwin still chatting outside. She waves a bit, tries to catch Levi’s eye, but he doesn’t seem to see her. Mikasa frowns, then starts to approach the window. Levi waves one hand at her, not breaking eye contact with Erwin while he shoos her away.
Mikasa pastes a hopeful smile to her face. “Okay, how about we go through it one more time?” A few of the children groan, which is a better reaction than she was expecting. “How much time do we have left?” she asks the piano player.
"Eight minutes," the musician replies with a sympathetic smile.
Mikasa sighs. “Once more, please.” The students behind her mimic her motions once more, standing straight and tall, waving their limbs and stepping in time. As the music comes to a close, she finds her eyes trained on the door, on Levi and Erwin still speaking. Levi, to his credit, refuses to hide the annoyance in his furrowed brow. Mikasa tries to think of something to fill the next five minutes, not wanting to let a class full of six-year-olds loose on the school.
"What does Hanji let you do when you finish early?" she asks the class.
"Free time," a small blond boy offers in a sheepish voice.
"Okay," Mikasa replies, shrugging. The kids don’t seem too unruly, so she hopes that she has made a sound decision. She does not want to know how Levi will react if he returns to a class full of screaming children. "Just hang out until your parents come to get you. Don’t get too loud."
As the children disperse, joining up to talk to one another, one of the boys in the class walks up to her and says, “You have really long hair” by way of a greeting. His eyes are wide as he stares up at her. “It’s pretty.”
"Thanks," Mikasa replies with a snicker.
"Can I braid it?" a girl interrupts as she stands next to the boy, her voice high-pitched with excitement.
Another girl cuts in, whining, “No, Krista, I want to braid it!” The second girl goes to push the first, but Mikasa catches her small hand with her own.
"Guys, guys," she says. "There’s enough hair to go around."
And that is how Levi finds the class when he finally returns: Mikasa sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a halo of black-clad children who are weaving strands of her hair into unevenly plaited ropes. Mikasa grins up at him, her cheeks suffused with a ghost of a blush. “I kept them quiet,” she says with an apologetic shrug.
Mikasa can’t place the look on Levi’s face, but it almost looks like he’s trying not to smile at her.