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I was curled up on the floor of the school’s library shaking and reciting numbers by 3’s, which was unfortunately not a new thing for me.
“3, 6, 9…,” did i wash my hands before I came here? I always do, right? Three people stood a foot away from me as I chanted out loud, rocking on my toes, they were mumbling something to each other - or maybe it was to me - but I couldn’t be bothered.
“27, 30…”
The librarian was among them, by now she was used to my antics, or my “weird quirk,” as she liked to put it. Yes, if Obsessive Compulsive Disorder was a weird quirk, sure. Among many things, the fact that I lost count is what’s got me pinned to the floor today. I lost count, goddammit, bringing a hand to my head a little too hard and wiping down my face, “45, 48, 51, 54…”
Upon entry into a building I have to walk through every damn threshold, it’s so absolutely tiresome, but even if I was dragging ass I would continue to do it. I’ll walk through once, twice, and a third time if I want to enter a room, I’ll walk through once, twice, six times when I plan on staying in the original room. Oh, but what will little old me do if I accidentally go over three or six trips, it’s simple: I go a couple more rounds until I hit nine, or twelve, or fifteen, or eighteen, or, ugh.
Did I fold my towel into thirds when I got out of the shower? “72, 75, 78…” Fuck, this place just has too many doors. How could I lose count, dammit, fuck.
Someone else entered our little pow wow by the entrance to the history section, they spoke to the librarian and then to the other two standing by. Thank Jesus this ushered them all off leaving just me cradling my head in my arms and the stranger. They came closer but kept their hands to themselves. They must have been whispering because I couldn’t hear them, only a soft vibration of sound close to my left ear.
“90, 93, 96…”
Eventually they put their hand on my left shoulder and their voice started to break through my mumbling, “—na be okay. I want you to repeat after me: ‘nothing bad will happen if I stop, this is just my OCD.’”
“111, 114…”
“Can you hear me, ‘nothing bad will happen if I stop, this is just my OCD, nothing bad will happen if I stop, this is just my OCD.’”
“120…,” I looked up and met green eyes, “123…. nothing bad…will happen if I-I stop, this is just…my OCD, nothing bad will happen if I s-stop, this is ju-ust my OCD, nothing bad will happen if I stop, this is just my OCD.”
He said it with me over and over, we sat for a while, could’ve been minutes, maybe hours. I guess at some point I stopped shaking, my breathing returned to normal and looking down at tan hands holding mine I thought maybe I could be okay. I guess we stopped chanting our little mantra because it was quiet again, everywhere besides inside my head.
This was how I met Eren.
He held fast to my hands and asked me to take him outside, I nodded my head and led him out of the library’s automatic doors.
And back in once.
And back out again.
He looked at me, smiling, and still grasping my right hand took a long step into a run, I followed suit. After a bit we slowed to a jog and he started to speak again, “I’m Eren,” his voice was weak and he was heaving out breaths, “I heard it’s good to run when your mind get’s too foggy.”
He was right, even though I was careful to hop over every thick crack and pothole in my path, my mind was the clearest it’s been in years. He kept talking even though he could barely breath, “the librarian told me about your actions and my father is a therapist so I took a guess,” he huffed a bit and continued, “I guess it helps that I’m a studying nurse.”
I stopped at this point and he lurched to a stop as well, i looked up at him than, “Levi.”
- - - - -
Eren never let go of my hand after that day…alright that was a little overdramatic, it’s not like I had him hold my hand while I took a shit.
After one year together Eren still made a game out of arranging our belongings in his home and mine, straightening this and re-hanging a picture because it just didn’t look right where it was.
After two years we moved in together and he would stay relatively calm - after an initial yelp - at the freezing cold showers he was forced to take because I would spend over an hour in there, washing and re-washing and re-washing because I missed a step.
After three years together he still answered my constant “am I going to be okay?” with a kiss and an “of course, love.”
After four years his friends, family, colleagues, and even his tax attorney understand that they would have to wait to greet me while I wander around their homes and offices entering and exiting and entering and exiting and entering and exiting each room.
It’s to be expected that we have our little spats, he’s got anger issues out his ass - though it’s often aimed at someone other than me - and a stubborn shit, while I’m, well, to put it simply, an asshole. Though while he can leave the room in the middle of a fight I find myself needing to tend to the situation right away, sometimes this can make it worse, but once I’ve apologised six times, fifteen times, twenty-one times, until it came out right, his eyes are back to their gold tint.
He continues to look after me since day one, I was on my fourth and second to last threshold in Armin’s apartment when it happened. I lost count. I tripped over my feet with mortification painted across my face.
I’ve been here three hundred and eighty four times, how could I let myself get distracted? Did I lock the door to the apartment? …No, I don’t think I did. Eyes wide, I looked up to Eren and found his green eyes on me - he was always watching me, but not with caution or worry, just curiosity and affection.
“You were on seven, babe,” a blush reached up my neck to my cheeks and I straightened my back in shock, was he counting with me? Did he always do that? When I didn’t continue, he took the liberty of dissipating my other worries, “and~ I turned off the lights and locked up the apartment, remember.”
I let out a heavy breath and smiled, entering Armin’s bathroom once more and exiting. After the last doorway I walked over to sit with everyone and they said their hellos and how are yous as if I just arrived, which I guess I had.
We went home that night and I made sure to kiss Eren eighteen times, “thank you,” I breathed out. Three more kisses - no wait, another six after that, until it was perfect.
Not because I needed too, just because he deserves nothing less than perfect.