Chapter Text
Did he sleep?
He doesn’t think so. He’s pretty sure people that have slept don’t keep their eyes shut even though they’re definitely awake.
He really has to sleep. He has to. If he doesn’t that will be the thing he blames when today crumbles around him, when he’s sitting back on this bed, twelve hours from now, swearing and bitter, still drunk off whatever he swallowed to try and sweeten his failure.
Then he’ll probably sleep. Ironic.
He hasn’t failed, he has to remind himself. He isn’t going to fail. He won’t let himself. And there’s not much he can do about not sleeping now. It’s not his fault that his steps kept playing endlessly through his brain, and when he managed to shut his eyes various scenarios of the day ahead flitted behind his eyelids. That always happened to him. When he was younger it used to happen on Christmas: the waiting presents, all the different ways the morning could go, all playing around his anxious brain in short fretful sequences between light bouts of sleep. It happened before his first recital. Before the competition. Now…
“Eren?”
He shuts his eyes a little tighter. God, he really should have slept.
“Hey, Eren,” he feels the familiar little hand reach out, lightly folding around his shoulder and giving him a push. “Wake up!”
He lets his eyes slip open, the underside of the dorm bed on top of his flitting into view, dimly lit by the slanting light that’s just coming in through their small windows. It’s covered in posters of Carmen, Don Quixote, Nutcracker, the gaps filled in with the same photos he’s seen every morning since they got here: mom smiling over her shoulder that summer in South Carolina, dad holding him up as a giddy toddler out in some park, him and Mikasa in matching Halloween costumes (swans), Armin jumping high in the air in front of the MET, and finally, all three of them, trophies in hand, smiling so hard their faces look like they might break, sweat of the competition still dotting their foreheads.
“Eren,” Armin’s voice continues.
Eren turns, lifting himself up on an elbow to look at him. Armin’s hair is still a wreck from the top bunk, pushed all over the place, pajamas rumpled, but his eyes are dancing.
“Today’s the day.” Armin grins.
Eren feels the excitement starting to light up his stomach, as if all this anxiety has just been the fuse burning the way towards it.
“You ready?” Armin asks.
“Hell yeah.” Eren grins.
They’re hardly even dressed before Mikasa shoves her way in. But that’s pretty normal. She almost started a campaign when they’d learned the dorms had co-ed house policies and the girls had to stay five floors down from the boys (which from their experience really didn’t do much to prevent “kanoodling” as their RA liked to call it).
She’s dressed already. She’s probably been up for hours.
“You didn’t run this morning did you?” Eren sighs.
She says nothing, propping her leg up on the barre they keep in the room and letting her forehead go to her knee.
“Mikasa!” Armin starts, “You really shouldn’t do that before days like this! What if you fell? What if you tore something or pulled something?”
“I didn’t.” She says simply, switching legs.
“Yeah, she’s not the one with the shit luck, remember?” Eren tosses as he gets his jeans on properly, shoving his sweatpants and an extra pair of shoes in his bag.
“Knock it off,” Armin says, putting his own water bottle and straps into his tote. “You’re going to be great, you’re one of the best in the class!”
“Must be nice to be the best,” Eren shoots, eyeing Mikasa as she settles back on both feet, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “You probably actually slept last night.”
“There’s no need to be nervous.” She says simply.
Armin laughs, “Yeah maybe for you.”
“For all of us. We’re good enough. We’ll make it.”
Eren swallows, turning back to pull his coat over his shoulders and zip up his bag. It would be nice to have her confidence. Maybe it’s harder when this the only thing you’ve ever wanted your entire life. And yeah, thinking about that’s that’s not helping the nerves at all.
Mikasa’s hand finds his shoulder and squeezes. “You’ll be great, Eren.”
He nods half heartedly, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “What time is it?”
Armin checks his watch. “7:15”
“We should go.”
“We should eat.” Mikasa says.
“No way,” Eren sighs. “I’ll just feel like I’m going to hurl, anyways we ate enough last night.”
“You’ll want the energy later.” Mikasa says firmly.
“She’s right Eren, you should at least try.”
“Fine,” Eren sighs, “But if I throw up during my routine it’s your fault.”
Apparently, eating wasn’t all that appealing to anyone this morning. There’s hardly anyone in the cafe and by the time they met everybody out front at 7:45 to walk over most of them look worse than he feels. Well, except for Sasha, who’s weirdly combining food and anxiety by jamming a muffin down her throat with a panicked expression.
It’s as cold as it has been all week, just sharp enough that you feel the need to jam your hands deep in your pockets and snuggle down into your scarf. At least the wind isn’t ripping up the streets like it was yesterday, bouncing off the concrete and the steel to cut just that much colder. It’s bright as well, hardly a cloud to be seen, the sky a cold clear blue overhead.
Their dorms sit on the square so they can see the sky well enough, sprawled out above them and filling in all the gaps between grey and steel. Out in the square people hustle by on their way wherever people go first thing in the morning: work, class, sometimes home again. The four filed lines of commuters slant down into the subway, two down, two back out. Students wander past with coffees tight in their hands. Suited men and women rush quickly and definitively across the bricks of the square in all different directions. A homeless man by the fountain buries himself deeper in his torn parka, urging his cup out a little further with busted sneakers.
“Where the fuck is Jean?” Ymir swears, tugging her collar up even higher around her ears. “It’s fucking freezing.”
“It’s not that bad.” Reiner grins, turning his big blond head up into the cold and taking a deep breath.
“Yeah, maybe not for the children of Mother Russia.” Connie snaps, pulling his beanie down firmly to make sure his shaved head is as covered as humanly possible.
“He couldn’t find his hair wax.” Marco says suddenly.
“Who?” Krista asks rubbing her mitten covered hands together.
“Jean.”
“Jesus fuck,” Ymir grumbles. “Hey, Sasha, stop jaw fucking that muffin, you’re turning me on.”
Sasha glares at her and doesn’t slow her pace, even though there’s enough crumbs to feed a decent rodent population in her scarf. Connie sighs and reaches out, swatting the crumbs off and onto the ground.
“There he is.” Annie says.
Everyone turns just as Jean shoulders his way outside.
“Fuck me,” He growls as soon as he’s out. “Why the fuck is it so cold?”
“Oh, is it? I didn’t notice while we were waiting for you to finish your manscaping.” Ymir rolls her eyes.
“Don’t argue,” Armin says sternly, “We really should get moving.”
The group accepts his directions as usual, always their little babysitter. They hustle their way down the street, circling around the square towards the theater a block or so down.
Jean shivers around the cold, looking tired and miserable as usual at 8AM. He glances over at Mikasa, slowing down so he’s walking between her and Marco. She doesn’t seem to notice.
“We’re going to be late.” Eren says under his breath.
“Oh, good, so I didn’t miss Eren’s panic attack.” Jean grins over his shoulder.
Eren steps on the back of his sneaker.
“Hey!” Jean shouts.
“We’re not going to be late.” Mikasa says calmly. “You know there’s plenty of time.”
“That depends,” Connie says, “Hey Bert, how’s the traffic up head.”
“That not funny.” Annie mutters.
“It’s pretty funny.” Reiner notes.
“It’s not busy.” Bertholdt says.
Annie rolls her eyes.
“Hey, Eren,” Marco calls over his shoulder. “You really that nervous?”
Eren doesn’t say anything. He focuses on the shape of his shoes keeping in pace with Jean’s in front of him, with Armin’s next to his.
“There’s no reason to be nervous.” Marco tries.
Eren can’t help laughing, feeling his teeth grit despite himself. “Are you fucking kidding?”
“He’s right,” Mikasa says gently.
“Yeah, maybe not for you Cojocaru.” Sasha mutters through her crumbs.
“No, Mikasa’s right,” Jean says right away, “We’ve gotten through the hard part, the auditions for the academy, the placement. We wouldn’t have been put through the academy unless the Theatre thought we were promising enough to keep on.”
“The academy is one thing.” Eren says. “The Theatre’s another.”
“Look, they care about us, they’re invested in us,” Jean continues. “Sure, it’s one thing if you want to be a principle, but there’s plenty of employment meat to go around and enough stage light for all of us.”
“We have made it through all the training, Eren,” Armin says, “That can’t be said for everyone, think about how many were in the class when we started.”
“Yeah, we’ve practically made it already.” Jean says.
“Shut up.”
Eren stares, and it takes him a second to realize that he hasn’t said it.
“It’s not nothing,” Annie continues sternly, leading the way ahead of the rest of them. “And we certainly haven’t made it. This is one of the most prestigious theaters in the world and you’d do well to remember it. There are children on the street where we come from who would kill themselves if they thought heaven looked like this.”
“… Gosh Annie, that’s a bit dark.” Krista says, brows furrowing.
“It’s true.” Annie says blankly.
“She’s right,” Reiner says, “It’s an amazing opportunity, and we’re all fortunate, but we’ve made it this far and that isn’t nothing. We’ve all got what it takes, we just have to make it through today.”
They all fall silent for a moment, the sound of their feet and the streets around them filling the cold air.
“I ate too fast.” Sasha groans.
They turn the corner around the block and the theater suddenly unfolds in front of them, surrounded by a reverent square and stretching up into the clear blue sky unchallenged.
They’ve all seen it before, almost every day these past years at the academy. It should have become commonplace by now, and sometimes Eren thought it had to some of them, even if it never would be for him.
But despite that, they all come to a stop as they see it, standing in the square without a word and looking up at it’s simplistic but austere beauty as if for the first time.
It’s not the most classical of theaters, and often times the Europeans mocked it for it’s starkness and lack of embellishment. There were no nymphs or muses or classical gods draped over the sides, no gargoyles or angels sitting up at the tops of the arches and looking down over the funny world below them. It was simple: five arches filling the square font, towering stories high and filled with Mondrian like tiled glass.
It was stark. It was brazen. And Eren had known it was the most beautiful thing in the world since he was five years old.
He didn’t care that it wasn’t “classical”. It was proud, stolid, present. It didn’t need any of that traditional “flair”. It didn’t need ornamentation or glitz or pomp. That was all inside. It was a temple. A home for the art of movement and the form it gave back to the world. It was everything it should be. And he was potentially less than eight hours from being a part of it forever.
“Wow!” Sacha stares, “I hadn’t seen the new poster yet!”
“They must have put it up last night,” Bertholdt notes.
In the center arch there’s a long hanging fabric that moves just slightly in the wind off the square, the December show printed on it, massive and brilliant.
“Jesus…” Jean stares, “I still can’t believe he can be that small and lift like that.”
“Jean!” Eren shouts, turning quickly.
“Hey, hey, it’s a compliment!” Jean defends, “No need to get defensive just because you have his poster on your wall and lay tribute at it nightly!”
Eren can’t seem to look away long enough to glare at him.
“… I have his poster too.” Krista says shyly.
“Same.” Connie adds with a shrug.
“We have two.” Bertholdt says. Reiner elbows him in the ribs.
Eren decides not to point out that he actually has five. But it’s nothing to be ashamed of. He’s been in more shows than that since they got here and Eren had at least one poster before he even started here. He should have posters, he should have saved up when he was sixteen for an very rare autographed playbill. He should have ran up to the front last winter to chuck his bouquet as hard as he good at the stage and thank quietly god that it hadn’t smacked him in the face.
Levi Laurent - or just ‘Levi’ as he was almost exclusively known - was the best. Undoubtedly, unquestionably, historically and profoundly: the best.
The poster now hanging in front of them is just a small testament to that. It’s from the Nutcracker, the show that’s going to start that Friday as December rolls in. It shows him in a stunning pas de deux with Petra Rael, the female lead this season and the last three before it.
“Come on gang,” Marco says, stepping towards the theatre and turning back to smile at them. “You can’t stare at it forever.”
“Jesus christ Marco, don’t say ‘gang’, it makes it sound like were in fucking Scooby Doo.” Jean groans, following him forward.
“What’s a ‘Scooby Doo’? Is that a dance?” Bertholdt asks as he heads in the same direction.
“Russians are fucking weird,” Connie mutters to Sacha as they follow suit.
Soon enough it’s just the three of them left behind.
Eren can’t seem to make himself move. He stays where he is, the soles of his sneakers easing over the stones, his eyes fixed on the hanging poster and the way the light catches the windows between the arches.
“Eren,” Armin says pleasantly, leaning closer, “There’s really nothing to worry about.”
He really wishes people would stop saying that. Maybe for them there isn’t. Maybe for them this isn’t something they’ve gone to bed thinking about their entire lives and waking up with every morning. Maybe they haven’t spent every moment working harder than they knew was possible to get to this exact place, this exact minute.
“Eren,” Mikasa says, stepping closer.
Eren swallows, finally looking away from the poster.
“We’ve done this hundreds of time.” She says simply. “It’s no different.”
It’s beyond different. It’s not even close enough to orbit different.
“We’ll just go in there, warm up, go through some steps with the instructor like usual, and then it’s just two minutes on stage, and we can go home.”
He doesn’t want to go home. He wants to walk inside and never leave. He’ll live in the fucking rafters if he has to. Maybe they’d write a ballet about him…
“You forgot the waiting.” Eren says.
“It’s only a few hours.” Armin smiles supportively. “They said they’d post the list first thing in the morning in the dorms.”
Eren swallows, and takes a deep breathe. He’s waited long enough. And they’re right. He’s ready.
“Let’s go.”
They’ve all been in the building before, but it seems far more ominous today. Previously they didn’t have to worry about anything except savoring their experience, but today was the day they found out if that experience was going to become habit and the winding hallways and greenrooms under the theater felt closer than they ever had before.
Eren’s still trying to convince his stomach to settle as he pulls on his shoes and starts in on his splits, glancing over to see Armin finish tying up his, white as usual, and joining in with straddles. Jean and Marco are off to one side doing the same, even if Jean keeps glancing over to where Mikasa’s stretching. Reiner and Bertholdt aren’t around, probably off stretching with Annie somewhere. They’ve always been freakishly inseparable. He should be grateful, with them around Mikasa, Armin, and himself didn’t get half the hell they got in elementary school for being joined at the hip.
A man with frameless glasses and swept back hair swings around the door suddenly with a clipboard and an exhausted expression.
“Alright, I’ve got your numbers here.” He drones, unclipping the papers from his board and waving them in the air.
He starts to read off the chart, handing the number out to whomever stands up to claim it until they’re all gone.
“Five minutes, then everyone in the practice hall.” He says when he’s done, turning right back out the way he came.
Eren swallows, trying to focus on the safety pins he’s fumbling with to attach the number thirty to his stomach.
He slips. “Fuck—“ The pin pricks into his thumb and he pulls it up to his mouth.
Armin sighs, already done with his own number twelve and stepping over, taking the pins from Eren and getting the number all organized in just a few seconds.
“Alright?” He asks, smiling up at him.
Eren nods shortly.
“Alright Jaeger,” Jean grins a bold number five now on his secured stomach. “If you want to throw up, now’s the time.”
“Fuck off.” Eren spits.
Armin puts a hand on Eren’s shoulder, gently pushing him towards the door to follow the rest of them.
Things feel a little better in the practice hall. This is the space he knows, the space he’s supposed to be in. All the rest of the academy students are flitting through the doors eagerly, filling up the space of wooden floors and mirrors with the sound of light voices and lighter steps.
Eren glances over and sees Mikasa settling into the barre between Sasha and Krista over with the girls. She looks over at him and nods. He looks away, moving into place himself.
He lets his fingers trace over the wood of the barre, and he shuts it eyes, focusing on that familiar feeling and letting everything else shut out. At least until the door at the back is thrown open.
“Ready?!” the voice pouring through the door yells into the space and suddenly there’s the feeling of all breath in the space simultaneously catching.
Eren feels his posture snap, his hand drifting into place with his legs and he can see everyone surrounding him doing the same as the sound of heeled steps head into the practice hall.
“Now, I know you all must be a little edgy this morning,” the female voice says.
Eren glances up to see a woman with a high messy bun, glasses, and an amused expression moving down the aisles. He recognizes her instantly.
“But don’t fuck up and you’ve got nothing to worry about, right?” she continues playfully.
Eren swallows hard. At least everyone else is starting to look a little panicked now that the top choreographer of the company, Madame Hanji Zoe, was apparently running their session. Well, it could have been worse, it could have been the director, but of course he doesn’t have the time to oversee a simple student audition.
“Remember,” Madame Zoe says, that goofy smile still on her face, her foot already tapping out a beat. “Titén Ballet Theatre is a classical organization, and nerves never helped that poise kids.”
She turns, making her way up the next aisle, eyeing the bodies of everyone she passes.
“Now, you might be thinking you’re on top of the world after making it through the academy, but it takes much more than that to join the company. We are looking for skill of course, you wouldn’t be here without it, but the true measure of a dancer is their grace, their tenacity, and their zeal. I always say the best dancers look are those who look like their bones have been put through a taffy machine and their muscles have been forged to compensate, so let’s keep that in mind,”
Eren can just see Jean look over his shoulder with an immensely confused and disturbed expression.
“Music!” She commands and instantly the piano in the corner starts. “Open!”
Eren feels his feet instantly follow her directions, chin lifting, arms centering, all the bits of his body he’s learned to know snapping into place to follow.
“We’ll start with the first combination!” She calls over the music.
She kicks them off and Eren starts moving. He feels his feet tracing the patterns, the rest of his body following suit: pliés, tendus, degagés… He focuses on his posture, on his breathing, on his poise, doing his best to ignore the others. If he starts watching them now he’ll only get distracted.
They move through the combinations, all the while Madame Zoe walking between them, eyeing their every move, critical stare tracing with laser focus and precision.
They make it through the combination three times before suddenly the door across the room opens again. Eren can’t help letting his eyes slide towards it even if he keeps his neck in position and instantly regrets it.
Behind him he just hears Connie swear under his breath. He spoke too soon, maybe the Director does have time after all…
A man files in, pace slow enough that it might be casual if he didn’t hold himself with such military precision. Eren remembers the first time he saw the line of that body, so fluid and so powerful sweeping across the stage with such immense control it seemed impossible. He’d seemed so tall then, hell, he seemed tall now, walking down the aisle towards Hanji with his short blonde hair swept back from his face, one hand in the pocket of his khakis, casual white blouse tucked in neatly.
Madame Zoe turns to see him, and then spins back to them. “Third combination, starting on the fifth!”
Eren focuses again, re-centering following the directions as the music adjusts ever so slightly.
He’s trying to see without adjusting his posture, eyes tugging at their sockets even though he knows its doing no good and he should just focus, but he can’t help it. He’s never seen him off stage, only at ceremonies and performances.
The director’s speaking to Madame Zoe, a polite smile on his lips and focus in his eyes. She says a few words and they start moving down the aisles together, gazes tracing Eren’s classmates. The looks are quick, passing, hardly focusing and then Zoe arrives to Mikasa and stops.
Eren’s too far away to hear them but he sees Madame Zoe say a few words to Mikasa and she breaks format with the rest of them, carrying out a few steps apparently according to special instruction. The Madame continues to instruct her, the Director says nothing, merely watches, evaluating for several minutes and then finally nodding and saying something, maybe “thank you”, before moving on.
They start to turn around his aisle and Eren’s attention snaps back, focusing completely on his own movements. Degagés, frappés, grand battements. Degagés, frappés, grand battements.
They move up the floor, even over the sound of the piano Eren can hear the hard soles of their shoes starkly against the soft slide of slippers filling the rest of the space.
He can’t notice it. He can’t focus on it. He just has to go through his motions.
It feels like it takes them forever to reach him, walking slowly by. He feels eyes slip over him for a moment, maybe two and then continue on.
He lets out a breathe he didn’t know he was holding, and quickly reminds himself to keep his stomach tight, moving into the next set of steps.
It’s easier to get a look at the director with them in front of him now, moving past Jean, and Reiner, and the rest. Even if he had no idea who he was and only saw him the street it would be more than obvious that he was a dancer. His posture’s immaculate, strong and tall and unflinching. There’s complete discipline in his body that anyone who’s tried to take similar measures can recognize. The way he holds his head, the way his hips move as he walks, it all screams of someone of immense talent on the stage.
Erwin Smith was never a Levi Laurent - but he was extraordinary in his own way, which was apparently enough the few times they had been on stage together. And it was just as it should be that when his dancing days began to pass he slid into the administration of the theatre seamlessly and in less than a few years he was company director.
They circle the room together twice and then the director moves on, filing out of the room and Madame Zoe circles three times more with specific instructions on each pass. Eren’s almost relieved when she gives them the signal that it’s over, but then he remembers exactly what’s coming next and the sick panicked feeling clambers up into his stomach all over again.
Madame Zoe makes her way out of the room sharply and the man with the clipboard comes back, directing them to the greenroom they can wait in before having their turn on stage.
The energy is practical bouncing off the walls, all eager looks and quick steps, until they’re all together, pressed into the dressing rooms and suddenly no one seems to have much to say.
Eren’s focusing on his feet, stretching on leg at a time over and over again. He can feel Mikasa watching him with concern but he ignores her, squinting hard and focusing on making sure he bends right. He can feel Armin take a deep breath next to him.
“I can’t believe that Director Smith came through…” Marco says nearby.
Jean nods silently, stretching his arms in front of his chest.
“You’d think he’d be too busy…” Marco continues.
“He’s doing his job.” Armin chimes in. “He’s a good director.”
“Yeah,” Ymir snorts. “‘Good’, that’s the word for it.”
“You know what I mean,” Armin says.
“Certainly liked the look of you,” Ymir continues to Mikasa, “What did they say to you anyways?”
Mikasa doesn’t look at her. “Nothing. They just wanted to see a few things.”
The door suddenly swings open, the man with the clipboard shouldering in. “Alright - you know the routine. We take three backstage at a time, I’m reading the order now so remember who you’re after. You leave the stage and come back here when you’re done. When one of you comes back, the next one goes out. Wait your turn backstage. You’ll be called out. Do the routine. Come back. When everyone’s done, you’re free to go.”
Eren takes a deep breath. Armin squeezes his shoulder.
“The order is: Marco Bodt, Mikasa Ackerman, Thomas Wager, Krista Lenz, Millus Zermisky, Mina Carolina, Jean Kirstein, Reiner Braun, Annie Leonhart, Hannah Litz, Nack Teaz, Ymir Hart, Connie Springer, Eren Jaeger, Bertolt Hoover, Armin Arlert, Sasha Blouse, Samuel Simon, Tom Dancy, and Daniel Tompson.”
After Connie… that’s not so bad, before Bertolt. And at least he’s not last.
“Got it?”
A few people murmur in the affirmative.
“Alright, so Bodt, Ackerman, Wager, let’s go!”
Mikasa lifts herself off the counter behind them. Armin’s on his feet instantly and Eren follows.
“Good luck! Even if you really don’t need it.” Armin beams.
He wraps his arms around her, giving her a good squeeze before stepping back. She looks up at Eren, eyes slightly wider than usual. He forces a smile, pulling her close for a hug.
“You’ll be great.”
He’s pretty sure he feels her smile against his shoulder. “Thanks.”
He leans back and then suddenly without thinking he’s pushing his hair out of her face. “Your parents would be really proud of you, you know.”
Her eyes widen with surprise and something glimmers behind them. She pushes it back, smiling quick and small.
“Alright, let’s go!” Clipboard calls.
Mikasa nods, moving past them towards the door.
“Hey-“ Jean calls. Marco and Mikasa turn and suddenly he’s blushing. “Good luck, okay?”
Marco smiles with a nod, turning the follow the rest of them out the door. Mikasa doesn’t seem to notice.
“Smooth,” Ymir teases.
“Shut the fuck up,” Jean grumbles.
None of them talk much while they wait. They sit in silence, each focusing on their own thoughts and their own stretches or movements as they try to distract themselves from what’s crawling around their brains. Up above them they can just hear the music floating down from their classmate’s routines, sometimes there’s the sound of a jump or a landing. No applause. No cheers.
It’s hardly five minutes before Marco’s back, face a mix of relief and anxiety.
“It was alright,” He says, settling back in next to Marco. “Not as bad as I thought it would be.”
Krista takes a deep breathe when she heads for the door.
“Knock ‘em dead kid,” Ymir smiles. Krista returns it weakly as she leaves.
Jean leans back. “Smooth.”
“Oh, very original.”
Mikasa’s back next, hurrying through the door with a strange look on her face.
“How’d it go?” Armin asks instantly.
She looks at Eren. “Levi’s up there.”
Everyone in the room turns.
“What?!” Connie yells.
Eren’s stomach is somehow transforming from concrete into lead.
“No, no,” Marco says, “He wasn’t there for mine.”
“He must have been late.” Mikasa says. “It was definitely him. He’s up there, sitting with Director Erwin and Madame Zoe and the rest of them.”
Sasha groans lowering her head into her hands, “Fuuuuuck.”
Mikasa is still glaring at Eren with concern.
He ignores her, focusing on arching his feet back and forth on the floor and not vomiting on everyone within a ten foot radius.
Soon enough Wager’s making his way back in and the line starts to move. It continues, one in, one out. Eren focuses on his feet, watching his toes curl back and forth, back and froth. Jean leaves and comes back. Then the rest of the Russians. A few more. Ymir. He flexes his toes. Back and forth. Back and forth.
“Eren… Eren!”
He looks up sharply.
Armin has a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s time to go.”
It takes him a minute to really hear him.
“Right…” he stands.
He has a feeling that Mikasa, Armin, someone, reaches out to give him a hug but he’s already moving towards the door. He’s positive a few people say things, “good luck”, “you’ve got it”, things like that, but he hardly hears.
He makes his way down the hall, stepping carefully up towards backstage. He passes Ymir on her way back. He’s almost sure she says something. He doesn’t hear it. He’s moving forward before he forgets how altogether.
Backstage it’s close and dark, surprisingly warm with the theatre spanning out just past the curtains. He can’t see it yet but he knows what to expect. Their first week in the academy they all snuck in, spilling out onto the stage and taking mock bows, dancing back and forth all together with laughter bouncing off the round wide ceiling and up around the tier after tier of boxes and balconies. Eren hadn’t danced, or laughed, or shouted just to hear his own voice echo. He’d stood on the edge of the stage, looked out, and he’d known then that he was finally where he was supposed to be.
Connie’s music is filling the space all around them. Giselle. Act I.
Eren can’t really see his routine from where he is but he’s seen it enough in practice these past six months. He can hear his feet hitting from where he’s standing. Connie always hit the ground a little too hard for someone of his height.
There’s a jump, then another, and the music falls to a close.
He hears something that might be a muffled “thank you”, but he can’t be sure if it was Connie or the reviewers. Connie’s steps are moving towards him, hurrying off the stage. He pushes back into the darkness, the sound of his heavy breathing suddenly filling up the space. Or is that Eren’s? Connie moves past him sweat still shining on his forehead. Eren barely manages to smile back.
“NUMBER THIRTY: JAEGER, EREN.”
The sound cuts through the space echoing and huge but suddenly, strangely, he’s not afraid any more.
He shuts his eyes. He takes a deep breath. The music starts and he moves towards the stage.
The lights hit him hard and they’re brighter than he expected, but that’s all the better. It shuts out everything else: the seats, the audience, everything, leaving just him, the music, and the space. All the familiar things about the stage surround him and suddenly he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be, that wide smooth black surface under his feet, scuffed and scrapped from the jumps and movements of thousands before him: his friends, his mentors, his idols, and now, him.
The music shifts, Don Quixote, Act II, Scene II. Eren shifts along with it, preparing for the first jump coming out of the first set of turns, focusing on keeping his feet neat, building the force without letting his body fall out of line.
He can hear Amin’s voice in his mind carefully reminding him, “Allegro, allegro,”
He can see Mikasa’s feet landing exactly where they should, lifting with impossible control, “Ballon, cabriole,”
The music swells. He focuses. There’s only a bit more, the final jumps, the last turns. He shuts everything else out, ignoring the sweat that’s already slipping down his forehead, refusing to let his ankle slip to the side.
Couru. Assemblé en tournant. En Face.
And Arabesque.
Hold. Done.
Eren takes a deep breath, suddenly seeing the theatre for the first time. He can feel his heart battering in his chest, his breath coming fast and firm.
He did it. He actually fucking did it. And it was good. It was really fucking good.
He relaxes, slipping back into a more casual stance with a small bow, unable to keep the smile off his face. When he looks up again he actually takes a moment to focus.
Madame Zoe is there, leaning on her elbows on the table and squinting through her glasses. Director Erwin is next to her, a pen between two fingers, leaned back, eyes focused gently on the stage. And next to him… she was right. He was there.
Eren feels his pulse pick up all over again. Levi’s there. Right there. Right there!
He’s leaned back in his chair so far it looks like it might actually fall, boots up on the table in front of him. He has his arms crossed in front of his chest. He’s eyeing the director’s notes with an almost painfully bored expression on his face.
It’s so strange to see him sitting there like just another… person. It’s not that he looks all that different out of costume and makeup, not floating around a stage with impossible height and grace. It’s just sitting there, with sharp toed boots and black jeans and a jacket Eren’s pretty sure costs as much as his own car, he looks, well, impressive, just in a whole new way. Levi’s eyes turn lazily to his face and Eren catches his breathe.
“Jaeger?” A voice sounds.
He looks away sharply, face suddenly flooding with heat. “I’m sorry?”
Director Erwin is watching him carefully. Madame Zoe is leaning over the table.
“That choreography, it was… interesting.” she says.
“Oh, um, thank you?” he tries, attempting to swallow the dry feeling out of his throat.
“It had a similar style to Miss Ackerman’s routine.” Director Smith notes.
Eren stares. “Uh, yes.”
There’s a pause.
Levi sighs, “Did the same kid do your routine?”
Eren tries to pull it together. He’s been imagining standing in a room with these people since he was sixteen and now not only is he here but he’s actually talking to them. He swallows and tries to act like a normal person.
“Yes. Armin Arlert. Sir.”
Levi snorts. “He’s ‘Sir’, kid. I’m not that fucking old.” He tilts his head to one side to gesture at the director.
Eren’s almost sure he sees the director roll his eyes.
“Thank you.” Director Smith says firmly, giving Eren a short polite nod.
Eren manages to smile, “Thank you.”
He’s off the stage five seconds later.
“Hey, how’d it go?” Bertholdt says, grabbing his arm quickly backstage.
“Good.” Eren says. A smile starts to spread across his face. “Great, actually. I think.”
Bertholdt can’t seem to manage his own smile just yet.
By the time Eren’s back in the dressing room his chest feels twenty pounds lighter. He still can’t seem to stop smiling.
Armin and Mikasa hit him full force as soon as he’s through the door. “How’d it go?” Armin asks.
“Look at him,” Sasha sighs, “He did great.”
Eren suddenly frowns, “Armin - don’t you have to go?”
“Yes.” Mikasa says, shoving Armin towards the door and down the hall.
“I wanted to see you before I went!” Armin starts.
“Go. Now.” Mikasa insists, giving him a final push.
“Wait they—“ Eren starts, but Armin’s already half way down the corridor, rushing towards backstage. “But…”
“He doesn’t need to know.” Mikasa says next to him.
Eren looks over at her, “They asked you too didn’t they? About the choreography?”
Mikasa nods. “Of course they did. It’s extraordinary.”
Eren frowns. “Then why not—?”
“They’ll ask him. In there. No need to make him nervous. And when he comes back, don’t press him about it. It’s his business if he wants to tell us what happened.”
Eren swallows. His heart is still thudding in his chest.
“Did you really do well?” Mikasa asks, leaning over to tap her shoulder against his.
Eren grins back at her. “Yeah. I did.”
The very corner of her lip tilts up in the smallest of smiles. “Good.”
Armin’s back before too long and he’s almost the last so they don’t have long to wait. They meet the rest of the group outside, pacing around in the cold, high and bouncing on that chaotic mix of adrenaline and anxiety that’s more common to all of them by now that it rightly should be. It’s strange to think that this might be just the beginning, that if things go exactly right this will be one of the easier days on their lives, but Eren’s not thinking about that now. It was a good day, and he’s allowed to bask for at least a little while.
Jean and Reiner are insisting they need at least one drink before crashing, which turns into two, and then three, and for a few of them a good deal more than that. Bertholdt and Reiner are singing Russian folk songs with their arms around each other for support as they crash back towards the dorm building. Sasha’s hiccuping every two seconds, and Connie’s somehow finding it hilarious every single time. Marco’s trying to braid Ymir’s hair and she’s trying to fight him off all the while which would work better if she wasn’t wearing Krista’s big knit mittens.
By the time Eren and Armin stumble into the elevator their numbers have diminished. Jean’s still ranting next to them about how he knew he’d do fine this whole time and there was never anything to be nervous about. And Eren must be in a good mood because it’s not even annoying him, it’s all just merging into a pleasant hum of sleepy contented satisfaction.
Eren hits his bed face-first and apparently Armin’s too tired to wake him up and make him brush his teeth because he can hear him shedding layers and climbing into his nest of a top bunk already.
It takes all of ten minutes for him to pass out for good, his dreams shifting back and forth with worn stage floors, broody eyes, and lights so bright it’s like the world being born.
“Eren! Eren!”
There’s a crowd cheering, chanting, calling. For him. The lights are brilliant, there’s flowers on the stage. There’s an audience spread out in front of him, stories high, miles deep—
“Eren!” Someone squeezes his shoulder. Hard.
“Huh—?” he shoots awake, eyes snapping open misty and blinking.
It’s bright all around them. Far brighter than it should be. How late did he sleep in anyways?
Someone’s still talking to him.
“What?” He manages, trying to sit up.
“The list!” Armin says, jumping off his bed and tugging on his jeans. “They said they posted the list! It’s up right now, downstairs.”
Eren practically falls out of bed. He’s on his jeans in two seconds, tugging his shirt on instantly. “What? Did you see it? Did we make it?”
“Jean just said it was up, we’re all going now!” Armin insists, chucking one of Eren’s sneakers at him and grabbing at the door.
“Shit—“ Eren just manages to pull his last shoe on as he stumbles out behind him.
Armin hits the button for the elevator.
“Too long, too fucking long!” Eren insists, pulling the door to the stairs open next to them.
He’s not even sure he touches most of them.
He can hear the excited crowd even before he hits the bottom floor. His shoulder smashes into the door and he’s shoving his way into the crowd instantly.
“Hey, Eren—!” Someone calls out but he doesn’t pay attention. He squeezes between bodies, pushing, shoving, and finally, finally, he can see it.
It’s a small piece of paper, ordinary as anything, tacked up to the wall.
“Titén Ballet Theatre - Class 104 - The Following Have Earned Acceptance to the Company…”
He feels his breath caught in his throat. There’s supporting hands on his shoulders, warm words in his ears, but it doesn’t count, none of it counts until he actually sees.
“#1 - Mikasa Ackerman, #2 - Reiner Braun, #3 - Bertolt Hoover, #4 - Annie Leonhart, #5 - Eren Jaeger, #6 - Jean Kirstein—“
Eren stares.
“#5 - Eren Jaeger.”
He lets himself start to smile.
“#5 - Eren Jaeger.”
People are yelling congratulations, he can see Mikasa next to him smiling through her bangs. The rest of the list is flitting through his brain, “#7 Marco Body, #9 Connie Springer, #10 Sasha Blouse, #11 Krista Lenz, #12 Armin Arlert, #13 Ymir Hart…”
All of them. Thirteen accepted. They made it. All of them.
“#5 - Eren Jaeger.”
He made it. They made it. Together.
It’s a piece of paper on a wall. It’s impossibly simple, small, and in the scope of things, maybe insignificant. But it’s there all the same. A piece of paper with his name. And truly, for the first time, it feels like it’s just the beginning.