[ (a gift) for :: awberthxoldt ]

In the storming, swirling weather, amidst the dense gray clouds that clung low to the earth like moths to a light, the only source of luminescence for meters - perhaps kilometers, conceivably - was nothing more than a dim speck against the opaque fog that embraced the world. The dull yellow square of radiance was wedged tightly between many others like it. All the rest, of course, were dark. Yet, for whatever reason, on the third floor of an inexpensively-constructed apartment complex, the window with the light lay, shining through the layers of murk that surrounded it.

The electric alarm clock on the wooden table blinked the time in and out in an unscheduled rhythm. 4:45, 4:45, 4:45. Papers were strewn about it chaotically, and a pair of anxious hands darted in and out of view, pencil scribbling furiously between abrupt pauses and groans of displeasure. Your print was wobbly and almost unreadable, but you couldn't stop your hands from shaking. Whether this was from the three cups of coffee or the stress would forever remain unknown.

Your eyes jumped from line to line of the paper as you decided to abandon the pencil for now. Resuming it now would have only produced equally disastrous results, so you had to wait a bit until the caffeine settled in or your brain stopped sending jittery impulses across your nerves. Again and again you read through the eloquently-written paragraphs. You had already read it a million times, but a few more wouldn't hurt at all. After all, the better you remembered your introductions, the better the chances that you would get into university.

Survey Institution of Sciences. Your dream school.

Ever since a young age, you had dreamed of one day gaining entry to such a school. You never really knew what you wanted to be when you got older - perhaps that was why Survey was the right place for you. They specialized in more than just science, contrary to their name: the arts, literature, language, sports, law, medicine...it was all there. There, in one of the best schools of the country. When you were a child, this had all seemed within reach. Your grades were high in every subject. Schoolwork was your highest priority. You couldn't think of a day without homework. Yet that had been how you'd liked it. The satisfaction of all your effort was worth it.

Logically, as a teenager, you had entered the upper grades with the same expectations for yourself. And at first you had maintained your legacy with flying colors. You made great friends, were ranked highest in your classes...it was all great. This was when you truly knew you were destined for Survey Institution.

After a year, everything changed.

For some reason, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't keep up. The piles of work added up, and, eventually, the amount of free time you had dwindled so far down that there wasn't a moment spent on anything but schoolwork. Although it felt like hell you'd still kept up. Your grades were no longer the best, but they were acceptable. Certainly still higher than most others'.

In your last year before university, even this, too, fell apart. You had no idea what happened. Somewhere along the insanity of it all, you had lost yourself. Your life was no longer about you - it was about your teachers, your school, your homework, when the next test was, when the next quiz was, what was due tomorrow, how few meals you could skip without passing out to finish it all, how few hours of sleep you could run on. Insomnia had somehow snuck inside your head and began to throw you off, too. You were sleepy at school and sleepy at home. It took two caffeinated sodas and a large coffee to even get you out of bed.

You would've continued this self-deprecating cycle if not for the one person in the world that mattered more to you than getting into Survey Institution: Reiner Braun, your boyfriend of three years, at the time. He had noticed the severe decline in your health and practically forced you to step away from schoolwork. Somehow, with his help, you managed to finish the year with passing grades.

When you'd brought up the idea of going straight to Survey Institution of Sciences, he had immediately shot you down. There was no way he was letting you back into an atmosphere like that - at least, not until you could take care of yourself first. He was persuading enough to stop you that year. That was also the year that the two of you had moved in together.

With his guiding hands, you had slowly shed the shell of the girl you had become, and returned to...well, you. He was so worried for you that he had even postponed going to university himself for the first year after your graduation. You couldn't express how grateful you were for him. The next year rolled around, and you were doing significantly better. Reiner still insisted for you to wait, and, albeit more reluctantly, you still agreed. The year off had been one of your best. Even though he did head off to the Survey Institution himself, he would always come home with a smile on his face and joke around with you.

At the end of his first year, you had, like you always did, posed the question once more. It was only then that he had agreed. You had been fully restored to the same cheerful, kind, warm-hearted girl you once were, and Reiner was determined to keep things that way.

Yet here you were, at five in the morning, re-reading your detailed plan again and again, even though you'd had it memorized for the past month. Today was application day.

The day where your future would be decided with the swish of a pen.

All last night you'd stayed up, and, for the most part, Reiner had, too. Although it hurt him to see you like this, he knew full and well that this was something you wouldn't budge on. You had been waiting your entire life for this day.

So he had done all he could - made you dinner, prepared you snacks, set you up in the living room with some bottles of water and an assortment of food, kissed your head, and then curled up on the couch next to you. His intentions hadn't been to fall asleep...but he himself had been up all night the past few weeks, worried sick about you.

Suddenly the words on your paper weren't legible anymore. The world was beginning to grow blurry, spinning round like a windmill, and your eyes were watering. Your biggest enemy had returned: yourself.

And she whispered quietly to you: You can't do it. You know you can't. You couldn't even handle high school.

You hadn't had those thoughts since first moving in with Reiner. "Dammit," you muttered, "focus."

Yet no matter how desperately you willed yourself to calm down and get a grip, you just couldn't. The doubts had already flooded your mind, and you were drowning, slowly, agonizingly, in a sea of your failures and regrets. You couldn't do this. You had been right all along. There was no place for you in Survey Institution of Sciences. There was no place for you anywhere.

The old fears had cut open your old wounds and you gave up the fight. It was pointless, after all. Everything was pointless. Weeping on the couch next to the sleeping form of Reiner was pointless, but you did it anyways.

It didn't take him long to hear your sobs and jolt himself out of his slumber. He was used to this: if you couldn't sleep, sometimes you'd wake him up for help, and sometimes you'd just cry. Either way, he ended up conscious, doing everything he could to help you. Today was no different.

You felt his arms around your waist as he sat up, pushing his makeshift bed of a throw pillow and patterned blanket to the other side of the sofa. "Hey, what are you doing?"

Somehow you managed an answer. "Rereading the plan. Just to - make sure I know it all." Just hearing his voice urged your mind back into its normal state, and you took an inhale before continuing, far more softly, "...But I don't think it matters anymore."

With your eyes glued to the ground you hardly noticed him fold his arms across his chest. "What are you talking about, [y/n]?"

"School," you muttered, putting your head in your hands and fighting back the next wave of sobs.

It all made sense to his tired brain then. "Come on, [y/n]. You're ready for this. If anyone can get into university, it's you. Hell, you'll probably kick my sorry ass out of the top ten percent." He gave a smile, though not without a bit of reality coming round to bite him. He had known - for as long as he had known you - that you could academically beat him in every possible way. And he loved you for it.

You shoved yourself back from your table. "I can't. Reiner..." you were searching your vast vocabulary of all the words you'd ever known to select the right ones to explain how you felt. "...I - I just can't." Wow, what a wonderful way with words. Gritting your teeth, you shoved your own thoughts back.

"I'll make you some breakfast," Reiner began, draping an arm across your neck, "I bought everything to cook your favorite last night. And I can drive you there, too - see? I'll sit in for as long as I can." His hand found its way through your hair, gently ruffling it.

You couldn't deny that the thought of a delicious breakfast was appealing, but the rest...well, it didn't matter. You had always wondered if there was a point in your life when you would simply hit a wall: no way around, under, or over. No matter who tried to help you past it, you would forever remain on the other side. And you couldn't help but feel that today you had hit that ever-dreaded wall. "I can't do it," you whimpered. "I can't do it, Reiner! I'm not going, because I know that I'm going to mess it up."

His response shook you like a slap across the face. "Fine, then." Reiner pushed off the sofa, stopping midway for a large, arcing stretch, before striding to the middle of the room and pushing your work table out of the way.

"Reiner - what are you doing...? Please - let's just stop..."

He shook his head and put his hands on his hips. "Nope. I'm sorry you have to see this, [y/n], but it's necessary."

"What are you -?"

"DO IT!" He shouted swiftly, performing a small squat alongside the sudden words. "Just do it!"

Oh my gosh.

You could hardly restrain your irritation as he took a few steps forwards, extending one of his arms until his index outstretched index finger stopped against your forehead, and continued, "Don't let your dreams be dreams. Yesterday, you said tomorrow. So just do it!"

"Stop," you moaned. Your head hurt from the sugar overload, and from all the tiny words you'd been reading, over and over. Hearing Reiner shout was certainly not helping your headache.

"Make your dreams come true!" A perfect ninety-degree squat followed. "Just do it!" His face was contorted and his muscles tensed as he held the position, eyes never leaving yours. The stupidity of it all made you shake your head - although a small giggle escaped you as he flexed his strong arms.

He returned to a normal stance, despite the fact that he remained flexing for a good few moments longer than necessary. "Some people dream of success - while you're gonna wake up and work hard at it." In a fluid motion he grabbed your fourth half-downed cup of coffee, taking a sip of it himself before tossing it to you without warning.

You somehow managed to catch it.

"You'll need to finish that," he whispered with a wink.

The first warm gulp was hardly halfway down your throat when his ridiculous antics continued. "Nothing is impossible!" he shouted, and you nearly choked.

"You should get to the point where anyone else would quit, and you're not gonna stop there!" A flamboyant gesture towards the mounds of paperwork that had accumulated atop your desk only accentuated his point. "No, what are you waiting for?" He was suddenly grabbing your shoulders, face inches from yours, shaking you back and forth and yelling, "Do it! Just...do it!"

A peck on your forehead didn't go unnoticed, and you felt your face flush red. His voice was no longer as loud or extravagant, but rather more like himself, filled with more compassion than before. "Yes you can," he murmured, "Just do it."

You nearly squealed as he pulled you into a tight hug, his burly arms gentle across your frame, wrapped around you firmly nonetheless. "If you're tired of starting over..." his breath was warm across your face, and for the first time that day your eyes stuck to his, filled with a light that had been missing for awhile now. He finished off softly. "...Stop giving up."

The two of you remained like that, motionlessly melded together, until your returned the embrace. You loved him; even when he was an idiot, even when he sat you down for a playlist of over 300 videos labeled 'important,' even when he rearranged your furniture to deliver a speech that blatantly ripped off Nike's whole logo. You loved him because you needed him, and you needed him because you loved him. "I think I'll take you up on that breakfast offer," you initiated, laughing a bit as you buried your face against his neck.

"Good," he replied, his usual cocky manner returning. "I knew you'd come around."

You raised an eyebrow and shoved him off of you. "Oh, really? Did you now, mister Reiner LaBeouf?"

The laughter that ensued remained inside your head throughout the entire interview. And when your acceptance letter came, you hugged Reiner like he had hugged you that day, but you had to beg him not to repeat the speech.

And, of course, Reiner - being Reiner - sat you down and did it all over again.

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Status: Unedited (My deepest regrets for any typos or grammatical issues I may have; I will re-read later and fix them. c: )

This was a gift for the wonderful awberthxoldt.  Boy oh boy, writing this was a fun ride. ;)  I really hope that this brightens up your day! 

The motivational speech, of course, belongs to Shia LaBeouf.

With love,
- Petri ♥