Chapter Text
There are a lot of things you hate in this world. Pickles in burgers? You despise them. People who can't wait for you to get off the train before they get on themselves? It makes your eye twitch. The "you won't believe what happened. I'll tell you later"? There's nothing your impatient ass hates more than that. Oh, also one of the easiest ways to rile you up is when people tell you to do something that you were already planning to do. Bananas having a lot of those motherfucking annoying threads, those who can't use the right "your" and "you're", the irritating voice of someone trying to talk to you when you're reading, and children who won't and can't stop crying in public. Blake Lively in general pisses you off. See, you could've made a much longer list with the stuff that makes you absolutely, completely, and extremely go berserk.
But the very first time you considered the word "hate" and truly meant it, was when you met Levi Ackerman.
Your mother strongly believed that socializing was an important part of life. That's why you were sent to preschool at the age of three, it was apparently important to learn early how to behave, to follow instructions, and of course to socialize. When you weren't in preschool, you were always at the playground near your house for "socializing" reasons. You obviously didn't mind, because that's how you met your best friend, Hange. You'd like to say you were a pretty outspoken kid, but you certainly couldn't compete with Hange.
You had just turned five, and your excitement for kindergarten was unmatched. Everything felt big and new and a little bit magical. And that day, everything was supposed to be perfect. Because that day, you wore your favorite white dress, the one your parents had gifted you for your birthday, the one that reminded you of Barbie, or maybe it was just your Barbie obsession that made it feel that way. Either way, it was beautiful, and it was yours.
You had convinced your mom to let you wear it to the playground, even though she made it painfully clear that it wasn’t meant for sitting in the sand. "White is not a sandbox color," she said. You disagreed.
When you arrived, the swing, or your swing, was already taken, and without Hange around to double the fun, swinging alone just wasn’t worth it. So you decided to head over to the sandbox instead, your tiny pink bag bouncing against your hip with every step, filled to the brim with dolls and your well-used plastic castle kit.
There was a boy already there. Small. Quiet. He sat on the edge of the wooden frame like he was glued there, his posture stiff, almost resentful. His dark gray jacket hung a little too loose around his elbows, and he was digging - if you could call it that - with a plastic shovel in the laziest way possible. He scooped sand up. Dropped it. Scooped it again. Dropped it again. All in the same spot, like he was stuck in a loop. It was… strange. Boring. Kind of sad, actually.
He hadn’t noticed you approaching, or maybe he had, and just didn’t care. Either way, you took a seat directly across from him, right in the sand, fully aware that your mom was now yelling something about the white dress. You just grinned over your shoulder, eyes squinted shut, all milk teeth and rebellion.
From the corner of your eye, you caught the boy glancing up at you. It was quick. So quick that when you turned your head back to face him, he had already looked away, back to his shovel and his loop.
You started pulling out your things, the rustling of your toys easily loud enough for him to hear. Still, not even a flinch. Not even a flicker of curiosity.
But you weren’t discouraged. You were five. You had been raised to be kind. Friendly. Inclusive.
"What’s your name?" you asked, sweet and clear, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
He paused. Just for a beat.
Then went right back to scooping.
Maybe he was shy, you thought. That could be it. Some kids were like that.
"May I ask what your name is?" you tried again, your voice a little more careful this time.
That’s when he looked at you. Really looked at you.
His face was… beautiful. Long lashes. Cold eyes. There was something sharp about him, even then. Something serious. Too serious for five.
But whatever softness you thought you saw vanished the moment he opened his mouth.
"I’m not telling you. "
You blinked. The words didn’t even sound mean. Just blunt. Flat. Like you didn’t matter enough to deserve a reply.
Still, you smiled, a little smaller this time. "Everyone calls me Ava. My mom says it suits me, because-
"I didn’t ask what your name was."
Your jaw clenched.
Why was he being like this? You were being polite. You were trying. Who just refuses to talk like that?
You puffed out your cheek and tried one last time. "But my real name is actua-"
"I don’t care."
And that was it.
That was the moment something inside you snapped. The second you realized: this boy? He didn’t want to be your friend. He didn’t care about your name, your kindness, your dolls. Nothing.
"Fine," you huffed. "I don’t want to know your name either."
You turned your attention to the bucket you had been filling and flipped it over, pressing it into the sand with just a little more force than usual. You slowly lifted it to reveal a perfect, beautiful little tower. You smiled.
He kept digging.
You didn’t speak after that. For several minutes, the only sounds were your scooping and shaping and his stupid repetitive shovel loop.
You were about to start your fourth tower when he spoke again.
"The color of your dress is ugly," he muttered. "It’s so bright it hurts my eyes."
You stopped moving.
Of all the things - That was your favorite dress. Your birthday dress. Barbie would’ve worn that dress. How dare he?
You didn’t even look at him when you snapped back, "Well, you hurt my eyes. So I guess we’re even."
He shrugged. "Go blind then. Doesn’t bother me."
That was it.
That was the exact second you pressed the sand too hard, lifted the bucket too fast, and watched your fourth tower collapse in a sad heap all over your lap. The sand spread up to your stomach, your thighs, everywhere. Your beautiful dress was ruined.
Your hands started to shake.
You didn’t know if you were more furious or heartbroken. Maybe both.
You weren’t sure whether you wanted to cry or scream or grab a handful of sand and throw it right in his stupid, too-serious face.
Instead, you did what any five-year-old pushed to their limit would do.
"Oh snap! You are an idiot! You’re so dumb! You’re a jerk, a loser, and a poop on a stick!" you shouted, your face turning red, your breath already quickening. "Just shut up! Shut up! I don’t want to talk to you ever again-!"
"Ava!"
Your mother’s voice. Sharp. Angry.
You turned, just for a second. Just long enough to see her stand up from the bench and start marching toward you. "What are those words coming out of your mouth?!"
You didn’t get the chance to answer.
Because at that exact moment, someone else called out:
"Levi!"
The boy stood up.
Of course that was his name.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked past you like you didn’t exist.
And he stepped casually, effortlessly, right through every tower you had built.
He didn’t look down. He didn’t even aim. But with every step, another part of your castle crumbled into nothing.
You sat frozen, staring at the scattered mess. The destroyed kingdom. Your Barbie dream.
Even more sand fell onto your dress. Onto your hands. Onto everything.
He walked off toward the man who had called him, tall, with a coat too long and an aura just as cold.
You swallowed hard. Your throat burned.
"Levi, you freaking idiot!" you shouted, even though he didn’t turn around.
And then your mother reached you.
And you broke.
You started crying. Loud, messy, angry tears. You cried for the towers. For the sand. For your stupid white dress. And most of all, for how mean Levi had been.
That was the very first time you felt it. The full weight of it.
You hated Levi.
✧✧✧✧
You remember how you felt that morning. Like something was about to begin. A new chapter, a big one, because you weren’t in pre-K anymore. That was done. That was baby stuff. No, this was kindergarten. Real school. Or at least it felt that way to your five-year-old self, and honestly? That was enough.
Hange was already waiting when you arrived. Sitting on the stairs, fidgeting like a squirrel on sugar, eyes scanning every single kid that walked past, and the moment they spotted you, it was like the whole world paused for them to leap up and yell, «Ava!» Like they’d been waiting forever.
You laughed. Couldn’t help it. Because of course Hange couldn’t stay still. Of course they couldn’t wait patiently. They were Hange. And you hadn’t seen them in a couple of weeks, which felt like years at that age. So you ran up to them, hugged them like you meant it, and walked into the building hand in hand. As it should be.
They talked nonstop. Something about ant colonies and echolocation and maybe jellyfish? You don’t even know. You were only half listening, more focused on the echoes of footsteps in the hallway, the nervous energy buzzing in your fingers, the sheer newness of everything. Bright walls. Noisy kids. Laughter. Tears. Your shoes squeaking against the floor.
You were lucky, back then, at least, it had felt like luck, to be in the same group as Hange. Out of all the kindergarten classes, you’d ended up together. That was supposed to mean something. That was supposed to mean safety.
The classroom was full already. You and Hange were the last to arrive, even though your mom had dropped you off earlier than necessary. You’d watched the clock tick while brushing your teeth. So yeah, great. Perfect.
The teacher looked young. Too cheerful. The kind of adult who clapped too loud and smiled like it was glued to her face. She was counting kids, murmuring under her breath and pointing at every single one, the paper in her hand looking way more important than it probably was. Then she tucked it under her arm and clapped, loud enough to make you flinch, before launching into her welcome speech.
"I want all of you to introduce yourselves! Let’s form a big circle so we can see each other properly. The person to my left will start. Is that alright?" all the kids, including you and Hange nodded and started to slowly form a circle, "when the introduction’s done, I want you to line up in groups of three in front of the door, so I can take a picture of you, which will help me to memorize your names faster."
It was fine. Easy. Everyone nodded, shuffled around, did the circle thing.
And then, just as the first girl, a blonde with a headband and way too much confidence, was about to speak, she twisted her neck and hissed at someone behind her.
"What are you doing? We have to stand in a circle!"
And that’s when you saw him.
Dark hair. Middle part. Same too-big jacket.
Of course.
Of course it was him.
Levi.
You didn’t need to hear his name to know it. You recognized the energy before you recognized the face. The same boy from the sandbox. The one who crushed your towers without blinking. The one who insulted your dress like it was his job. The one who refused, flat out refused, to speak to you like a human being.
And now he was in your kindergarten group.
You could feel the air leave your lungs. Just a little. Not enough for anyone to notice. But enough for you to feel it.
He walked forward, completely unbothered, like he wasn’t being stared at by an entire room of kids. Shrugged off the girl’s grip like she was a bug on his sleeve. Adjusted his jacket. Said nothing.
And Hange? Hange lit up.
You still remember the exact way they whispered it. Like it was some kind of revelation. "He’s so cool."
You didn’t say anything. Just slapped their hand off your arm when they grabbed you like they needed to anchor themselves. They didn’t even notice. They were too busy watching Levi like he was the protagonist of some mysterious action movie. Hands clasped under their chin. Eyes sparkling. You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt.
The teacher smiled again and gestured toward Levi. "Very nice of you to join us. Why don’t you start the introductions?"
He crossed his arms. Frowned. Didn’t say anything for a second. You could feel the tension settle in the room, like everyone was holding their breath.
And then he said it. Flat. No inflection. Like he was reading off a label on a soup can.
"My name is Levi."
That was it.
Silence.
Kids glanced at each other. The blonde girl looked mildly betrayed. Hange next to you made a soft «oooh» noise and mimicked his tone, whispering, "My name is Levi," like it was some secret password.
The teacher - bless her - tried to steer the ship back on course.
"Is there anything you like? Maybe a favorite food? A color? Something you really don’t like?"
He looked at her for a second. Then shifted his eyes to the rest of the circle. One kid. Another. Then you.
You stared back, face unreadable, at least you hoped so. Inside, though? Something was twisting in your stomach in the worst possible way. Like your body knew what your brain didn’t want to admit yet.
He didn’t answer the question.
Just shrugged.
Your stomach sank.
He was still that same boy.
And somehow he was even worse with words now.
"Ugh," you muttered under your breath. You weren’t even sure if it was directed at him, or at Hange, who was still visibly starstruck.
The rest of the introductions moved quickly. Hange had to be cut off mid-sentence by the teacher, no surprise there. You were able to keep your introduction short and informative by mentioning your real name, but that everybody calls you Ava as well as your hobbies which a typical 6-year-old girl would have - which had to be like a fresh air of breath after Hange’s long introduction.
You were about to turn to Hange and ask who you should take the trio photo with when it happened.
They bolted.
Just took off. Like a puppy who’d seen a squirrel. Straight toward Levi. Shouting his name as if they’d known him forever.
You didn’t move.
You didn’t even blink.
They grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door where the line had already started forming.
You watched them. Standing in the same spot since the circle. Frozen. Like time had folded in on itself, but only for you.
And then came the rambling. The Hange kind.
"You have to teach me your grumpy face! Like, you know, how do you make it look so cool? And where do you get your clothes from? I want to look like that too! Do you like squirrels? Because I know so much about squirrels. And wait! You have to meet Ava. You have to. The three of us? We could be a group. No, even better, best friends!"
You didn’t breathe.
You didn’t blink.
And when Hange finally realized you weren’t beside them, they turned, looked for a second, found your eyes, and called out:
"Ava! Come here!"
And then turned right back to Levi, like nothing had happened.
Like you weren’t standing alone. Still. Watching everything.
That was the day Hange forgot about you.
And maybe it wasn’t Levi’s fault. Not really. Not entirely.
But somehow, in your five-year-old brain, it all made sense.
He was the variable. He was the reason.
So that was the second time you truly, deeply understood what it meant.
You hated Levi.