Chapter Text
PARADIS ISLAND, 1900
The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.
The typewriter dings. Erwin Smith sighs, presses the lever, pushes the carriage until it stops.
The beginnings are always the easiest. It’s what comes after that’s the hard part.
PARIS, 1899
Erwin has but a few things to his name when he moves to Paris in the summer of 1899: a handful of clothing in an old suitcase, his trusty typewriter, a lease on a tiny two-room apartment across the street from a place called the Moulin Rouge, and a dream.
The flat is old, the furniture it came with is covered in a thin layer of dust, and the windows are dirty and make a horrible screeching sound when he opens them—but it’s his, and it’s perfect, and he’s in Paris and finally, he can get to writing about all the things he’s always dreamed of. Truth, beauty, freedom, love…
The next thing he knows, his ceiling cracks open and a person falls through, landing in an explosion of dust and splintered wood. Oh, just grand, his first hour in Paris and he’s already broken something—
The person, who’d fallen in a crumpled heap to Erwin’s floor, suddenly springs to their feet and brushes the dust from their face before speaking.
“Oh, I’m so, so, so, so, so sorry!” he gasps, face sheet-white, though Erwin can’t tell if it’s just from the powdered paint debris. He brushes the bangs of his blond hair aside, revealing boyishly large blue eyes. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, sir, please accept my apologies!”
Erwin chuckles, waving his hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry! I just moved in barely an hour ago, so—nice to meet you?”
“Hey, Armin? Who are you talking to?” a voice calls from upstairs, and then suddenly a horde of young people are staring at Erwin through the hole. “Oh. Hi, new neighbor!” a girl with her hair tied back in a long ponytail shouts, poking an arm through the hole to wave at Erwin.
“We don’t have time to be greeting neighbors!” sighs a girl wearing a bright red scarf despite the heat of the summer. “We have to get back to rehearsing.”
“Rehearsing?” Erwin raises a brow. “Are you…actors?”
“Right we are!” crows a boy with hair cropped close to his head. “We are the proud, the mighty, the legendary—”
“Oh, no one, really,” says the boy who’d fallen through the ceiling—Armin, Erwin remembers. “We’re trying to finish writing a musical.”
“A musical?” Erwin echos.
“A musical!” shouts the girl with the long ponytail. Erwin really needs to start learning some names.
They introduce themselves as Eren, Armin, Mikasa, Sasha, Jean, and Connie. “We are,” Connie declares with a fist over his chest, “the Wings of Freedom! And we only write and perform to celebrate beauty, truth, freedom, and love!”
Erwin’s over the moon delighted. How fortunate he is to happen to live below such a lively young group, all of whom believe in the very ideals he’d come to Paris to write about. They invite him upstairs to watch what they’re working on.
“This is a musical,” Armin tells him as Erwin takes in the massive set currently in progress, “set in a world where the only people left have to live trapped behind walls, for outside the walls lurk giant monsters and beasts.”
“Man-eating giants!” Sasha exclaims.
“Yes! But,” Eren picks up, “despite the fear is one group brave enough to venture beyond the walls to explore, in the name of all humanity!”
Erwin’s not only compelled by the story itself, but quite impressed with the creativity of these young people. Someone sticks a script in his hand. “We need someone to stand in for the commander,” Eren says. “Can you do it? Just read the lines.”
Erwin stares at the script. “‘Bestow your beating organ upon me’?” he reads. “That sounds…” He tries to figure out a kind way to say “awful” and comes up with nothing. Some writer he is.
“Brilliant, right?” Eren beams hopefully.
“What are you talking about, I took that out of the script!” Jean barks.
“Well, I put it back in! It’s a good line!”
“It could be worded a little better,” Armin offers, but neither Eren nor Jean acknowledge him, too caught up in their own bickering. Meanwhile, the rest of them start shouting out suggestions.
“Grant me your soul,” Mikasa tries.
“Bequeath your core!” Connie yells.
“Contribute yourself!” Sasha pipes up.
None of these sound very good at all, but they keep going. As the din around him carries on, Erwin cycles through all the words he knows—and he’s got it!
In a fit of passion and dramatics, he tosses the script aside; the papers go fluttering to the floor, forgotten as he thumps a fist over his chest in conviction. “Give your heart!”
The acting troupe hushes immediately, and for a few long seconds, Erwin worries they all hate his contribution. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so presumptuous as to start suggesting things when he hasn’t been part of the writing process this whole time.
“Oh,” Eren says quietly. “That…”
“Is so moving!” Sasha exclaims. “That’s perfect! Mister, do you mind if we use that in our script?”
“But of course! Now should we try it from there?” Erwin asks, and gets six enthusiastic nods in response. “Right, then. Give your heart!” he reads.
“We give our hearts!” the troupe echoes.
“I do not fear these colossal monsters that live beyond our walls!” Eren cries.
“They have taken from us our homes and our families!” Connie declares. “Today, we reclaim our lives!”
Another cheer goes up, and Erwin nearly cheers along with them before remembering to glance at his script. “Very well, soldiers, we shall ride at daybreak!”
The rest of rehearsal goes as swimmingly as it can considering Eren and Jean butt heads nearly every chance they get, but Erwin gets to help them write lyrics for the unfinished musical numbers, and by the time the sun falls, the show is halfway to complete.
“Well,” Armin says to Erwin after the rest of the troupe has scattered to alter costumes and paint sets, “I know we’ve only just met, but I sense within you a fellow artist’s soul.”
“Why, thank you,” Erwin says, pleased.
“You’ve helped us so much, and if it’s not too much to ask, do you think you would be the one to pitch the show to the Moulin Rouge? Word is they’re undergoing a major renovation and they’re looking for a brand new, spectacular production to start off the season.”
Ah yes, the venue right across the street from them. It all seems very convenient. And, hoping this will be a brilliant avenue to connect with more creatives in this bustling city, Erwin agrees.
The very next morning, Armin comes knocking at his door to tell him their plan. They’ve already made arrangements to attend the next night’s performances at the Moulin Rouge, during which Armin and Eren will use their connections to get Erwin a pitch meeting. “There’s one dancer in particular you’ll need to meet with,” Armin tells him. “His name is Levi. He’s the star of the whole thing, and if you impress him with our pitch and your poetic lyrics, well, then the owner Shadis can’t say no to anything he wants!”
“Levi? Can you tell me more about him?”
Armin pauses. “I think you’ll get to know him very well through his performances tomorrow night.”