I thought the hustle and bustle of the city would make it easier to find a job.

I guess I was wrong.

Life had worked out better for others. Like for him. And for her. With their superior intellectual skills, they had both been accepted into college.

On scholarship.

I was a different case. Having not been accepted on even a partial scholarship I had to leave the whole college idea at the door; too much money that I didn't have nor would ever be able to obtain.

So as I wondered aimlessly down the scorching, August, city sidewalk I wondered what Armin and Mikasa were doing at this very moment.

They both called daily, of course. Throughout their own transitions, they really haven't shared much about their newfound campus lives. Part of me was thankful for this; I was quick to be envious, despite being happy for them. Another part of me had the desire to know if college life was really as difficult as it made itself out to be.

They seemed to be quite interested in how I was doing, although I really had nothing worthy of reporting. I had finally settled into my new apartment (rented, of course) but then was that really something of enough importance to share with them? Armin himself had set me up with it, after all.

The apartment space was small and wasn't located in what some would call a family friendly area, so to speak, but it got its job done well enough. My apartment was on the second floor of a four-story brownstone-like building slated together with deep red brick. The rest of the street looked the same as my own building, glued together between other apartments and entryways with rusty fire escapes running along the side windows. The only thing that made them different, really, were the names of those listed who lived inside of them, proudly presented above a dented brass intercom that was on display in a small foyer-like area before a set of double doors that led to the homes of the inhabitants.

So maybe that's why a wave of nostalgia rushed over me when I saw my name, "Eren Jaeger," on that list and I wanted to become something to the people in this neighborhood.

To the kids I constantly saw running up and down the block.

To the guy on the corner who was probably a drug dealer.

Only problem was I had yet to introduce myself.

To anybody.

In fact, the only conversations I'd shared with my new neighbors were the frequent "excuse me's" that commenced if I ever needed to go up or down the stoop while a group of boys would sit there, chatting and smoking cigarettes.

Not that I knew them. Until today, that was.

I made my way outside to walk over to the grocery store and pick up a few items. As I made my way down the small set of stairs, the typical exchange of words between the boys and myself were shared and I continued on my way, kicking a few pebbles on the pavement as I repeated my grocery list to myself in my head.

Everything was going normally until one of the regular boys on the stoop called out to me. "Hey, kid," he said. "You're new here, aren't you?"

I looked over my shoulder and nodded. The stoop-goer stood up and squished the butt of his cigarette into the ground before making his way over to me. He was tall. Taller than I was, anyway. He had a long face and wore a sweat-filled, white t-shirt with ripped, faded jeans. "I'm Jean," he said, as he held his hand out, expecting me to shake it. Nodding, I introduced myself as I returned the favor. "Eren."

After our handshake Jean quickly returned his hand to his pocket; he appeared to be searching for something. Pulling out a pack of Marlboro Lights, he quickly retrieved a lighter from the other pocket and placed the cigarette into his mouth. "So," he began, "I'm guessing because you're new you don't really know anyone around here, do you?"

I shook my head "no".

"Well then," he reached for my shoulder and spun me around to face the direction of the two other boys sitting on the steps. "You're lucky you have me to show you the ropes. Here we have Connie," He gestured to a smaller boy, a bit tan with a buzz cut. "He lives on the floor below you with his mother. Ain't that right, Connie?"

Connie scowled.

Laughing, Jean continued. "And that guy over there is Marco," he reported, pointing to the other boy. He appeared to be the same height as Jean, if not a bit taller. He had black hair and freckles spotted along various points on his face. Marco smiled sweetly; definitely too innocent for this neighborhood.

Jean looked back at his friend, letting go of his tough-guy façade to reveal a cheerful smirk. "Marco's a pretty recent renter around here. Lives just above you, all on his own. Trying to get his life started. He was like you just two years ago- until we showed him around, anyway. Right, Marco?"

Marco laughed and nodded.

Now Jean grabbed my shoulders again, only this time he had me facing behind us, towards another building. "There are two girls up there on the top floor; Christa and Ymir are their names. Ymir's the one you gotta watch out for. When you first meet her she's got a tongue like a knife; but don't let her words get to you. She's just fucking around, not really the most serious person you'll meet here." Jean laughed. "And then there's Christa. Real small. Blonde. Sweet as sugar, too. Can't believe a goddess like that ended up rooming with a chick like Ymir, but I'm not gonna be the one to question their friendship.

Jean stared at the top floor fire escape for a moment, going completely silent before continuing. "Rumor has it Christa's family is fucking loaded, but for whatever reason she chose to stick it out here. Beats me, but whatever."

I was whipped around again. Jean directed my attention to a much more renovated looking brownstone, three buildings up from ours. "And then there's those three," he said, a mysterious tone dripping from the words that oozed out of his mouth.

"Foreigners," he began, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "No one knows a lot about them; their pasts, I mean. Two guys, one girl. Live on separate floors. The girl, Annie, is about as fun to converse with as a solid block of ice. She's all business; no play. I swear everytime I'm around her the temperature gets about twenty degrees cooler." Jean shook his head. "Lost soul, probably. But on the upside, there's Reiner and Bertholdt. Bert's more on the quiet side, but easy going and kind to say the least. Then there's Reiner. Reiner's a great guy. Very helpful, too. Sometimes you'll see him carrying groceries for the little old ladies that live around here. But just don't get in a fight with him. He's got muscles that could pop your skull open like a zit."

I shivered at the thought.

Jean finished his cigarette almost as quickly as he started it. "There are all sorts of characters around here," he said, blowing out a final puff of smoke. "This girl Sasha across the street is always eating something; whenever I see her. Yesterday it was toast. This morning it was the remaining bits of a McDonald's hash brown. There's this dealer on the corner up there, too. Real old timer here."

This was somewhat familiar news to me.

"Oh, yeah, that guy. I've seen him around," I said. To be honest, that guy had already peaked my interest. He just stood there, doing his job; but when a patrol car drove by it's almost if he'd expected them. He'd just hop right in. "What's his name?"

"Don't know."

"What?"

Jean raised a brow at me. "I said I don't know."

Well then.

"But you just said he was an old timer here."

Jean stretched. "Yeah, I did. But I don't know his name. No one on this entire street does. We would ask, but think about how weird that would be, after all these years."

Seemed fair enough.

Jean glanced at his watch. "Shit, you got places to be, don't you, kid? Better get on that before it gets too late. We'll see you around."

I thanked Jean before turning and continuing on my way. It was 4 o'clock in the afternoon, now. The sun's rays scorched the sidewalk, making the horizon unclear and hazy. The typical city smog added to the humidity. If the owners at the store were slow on business they would probably close earlier than usual. I couldn't blame them; I don't think anyone would want to hang around a store where you could practically feel the sweat dripping down the side of your face.

I was nearly about to round the corner and cross the street to get to the small, neighborhood shop before I heard a distant "oh, shit," coming from behind me. I turned to see Jean jogging back up the street, waving at me as if he hadn't caught my attention already. By the time he reached me, Jean looked winded. A hoarse "wait, hold up," croaked itself out of his throat. I gave him a moment to catch his breath although I really didn't think it was that far of a run. "I forgot to tell you," he said as he pushed his hand into his side as he straightened himself up. He breathed in sharply before continuing. "I forgot to tell you about this one character who passes here when he's making his way home. Real snobby looking guy from the business district. Comes around this time, every day."

I cocked a brow. "That's interesting, Jean, but why did you have to run over here to tell me that?"

Jean shot back a glare, putting his hand on his hip. "Because we don't like that guy. I suggest you stay away from him."

"Well if he's that bad you could at least tell me his name," I said, huffing and readying myself to turn around again.

Jean took me by the shoulder, bringing me forward a bit. My eyes widened. The face Jean had on display was definitely not a friendly one. Whoever this guy was must've given the neighborhood a lot of shit, because when Jean said his name, he spoke with a terrifyingly hateful tone; one that was soaked in vengeance and bursting at the seams with fury. As he spoke, his anger was relayed by the guttural sound produced by the back of his throat.

"Levi."