Chapter Text
Two minutes.
That’s what the flickering yellow pixels on the display above him said.
Levi waited. It was a windy Friday night, just past nine. The air smelled like warm asphalt and something that had been sitting in the sun all day, slowly giving up its heat now.
He turned his head one last time; left, then right.
No one there. Perfect.
His gaze dropped back to the glass-covered transit map. A mess of lines, colors and station names no one really bothered to understand. With a swift motion, he reached into his right pocket and pulled out a thick black marker.
Click.
He paused for a second, rolling the cap in his left hand. That small crease formed between his brows - the one that always appeared when he focused, whether he meant to or not.
The tip of the marker moved toward the smudged glass, slowly but without a trace of hesitation, until it met the surface. The line formed almost too easily, like it had already been there and Levi was just tracing it back into existence. He didn’t lift the pen once. Up, down, to the side, back again. Curves folding into edges, edges softening into something curvier. It all flowed together; clean, controlled, with that quiet kind of confidence that didn’t ask for attention but took it anyway. And just as suddenly as he began, he stopped, the marker disappearing back into his pocket.
Levi took exactly three steps back and looked at it. His eyes moved over the tag, slowing here, catching there, the crease between his brows shifting. Less focus now, more… judgment. If anyone had been watching, they would’ve known exactly what he was thinking.
Could’ve turned out better.
At the same time, someone not familiar with tagging or graffiti in general maybe would’ve had a hard time deciphering what Levi had just written across the map. Not a word meant to be read like a normal one, anyway. More like a signature. Something you left behind to mark presence, not explain it.
‚LOCAL’ it said in bold black strokes; Levi’s tag. Not just something he’d come up with on the spot, but the name he’d been writing for years. The one he left behind on walls, signs, benches, stoplights - anything that would hold it.
His mouth twitched, barely there, as he turned away and headed toward the platform. Right on cue, the familiar, emotionless female voice cut through the air, announcing the arriving train. It pulled in with a sharp screech, doors sliding open with a hiss. Levi glanced over his shoulder one last time with an almost disapproving look on his face, before stepping inside.
He opted for a window spot in an empty four-seater booth as usual, moody tunes seeping through old wired headphones, into his ears.
Outside, the city drifted by so fast, his tired eyes could barely keep up. Blurry darkness rushed along the window, a city somewhere between exhausted and still awake. Streetlights smeared across the glass, cars moving slow and steady through the night, into the weekend.
He leaned his head lightly against the headrest, thin strands of pitch black hair softly resting over his eyelids.
Only a few stops separated him from his destination, each one taking him further away from the hustle and bustle of the city center. More people got off than on - not that there were many to begin with - most of them probably heading home after a long day of work.
The train slowed slightly as it approached the next stretch of track. The one that cut close to the old concrete wall that ran parallel to the rails. Levi felt it before he consciously registered it, as his head lifted automatically, the upcoming corner catching his attention.
He was already reaching for his phone, fingers slipping into his pocket with practiced ease. Then a quick glance across the nearly empty carriage. Levi was careful with things like these. Always. And as he turned the phone horizontally-
Shit.
Across the train isle, in the booth closest to his, sat another passenger. Not scrolling. Not distracted. But starring directly out of the window Levi was seated at.
Of fucking course.
Levi held the phone there half a second too long, debating if he should risk it, before ultimately shoving it back into his pocket.
Unbelievable.
Most people spent entire train rides glued to their screens and now, of all times, this one decided to be present and on top of that wasn’t even looking out his own goddamn window.
Fine. He didn’t need the picture that badly anyway. Not now, at least.
With nothing else to do, he fixed his gaze back on the window. As they approached the underground station, he could finally catch what he’d been waiting for; his most recent piece. Even in the dim, passing lights it stood out.
A pleased look replaced his frown from before, the wrinkle between his eyebrows softening.
He’d sprayed it a couple of days ago, when the city’s public transport company had called for a strike. It was a pretty big piece, slightly unconventional in the way it held itself together. The color scheme was simple, consisting mostly of white and silver. What made it stand out, were the extravagant letters, which seemed to dissolve into one another, fading at the edges, making the words look almost ghostly.
The pale tones stretched across the dark concrete like an echoing whisper: „Tu par,“ Interrupted by an ivy tendril, separating the words in the perfect place, before continuing. „Ceci reste“.
On the right corner sat his intricate tag, serving as a signature for his art, claiming it as his. But as the train got closer to the underpass, his eyes caught involuntarily on something sticking out of the picture, something that wasn’t supposed to be there.
“On verra,” Levi muttered under his breath, storm-grey eyes still locked onto the interrupting neon letters as his upper body leaned - almost against his own will - slightly forward, following the motion of the train as if that alone might buy him another second.
Next to the blatant provocation, there was a tag, though it was gone before he could properly make it out.
Levi forced himself to look away, as the train came to a stop, his gaze dropping to his lap.
His piece was only a few days old and someone had already messed with it. That wasn’t how things worked. Anyone in the graffiti scene knew; you didn’t touch someone else’s work. Even the most clueless beginner understood that much. It wasn’t a rule written down anywhere, but it didn’t need to be. You just didn’t do it. Going over a piece after some time, sure. If the spot was busy, if space was tight, or if the graffiti was just bad, it was part of the cycle. That was different, that was expected. But this?
Levi let his tongue press briefly against the inside of his cheek, irritation beginning to be overtaken by curiosity, slow and steady.
That wasn’t random. „On verra.“ The words echoed inside his mind, sharper now. A challenge, then. Or at least someone clearly thought it was funny enough to act like one.
His eyes narrowed slightly, head slowly leaning back against the window. There was an almost unnoticeable tension in it now, though.
He tried to recall the tag. Anything. The shape, the flow, a familiar line. But it slipped through his memory just as quickly as it had passed the window. It didn’t seem familiar. Or maybe just new. Hard to tell in a scene where everyone was constantly trying to outdo each other.
Still; he didn’t like not knowing.
A quiet sigh left him as he ran a hand through his hair, already thinking ahead. Maybe Isabel or Furlan had heard something. They usually knew the most recent gossip in their bubble, whereas Levi couldn’t be bothered to keep up with that kind of thing.
So, with quicker-than-usual steps, Levi got off the train and, without really noticing his tempo and made his way toward their agreed meeting point. The mockery someone had made of his work, however, didn’t leave his thoughts for a single second. Before he could properly register that though, he was already there.
The small, run-down switching house stood at the edge of the local freight tracks, half swallowed by neglect and time, the other by silvery-white birches.
Levi pushed his way through the overgrowth with some effort, the bushes already starting to dress themselves in the first green leaves of the year. Once he reached the structure, he grabbed onto a tree branch, pulled himself up, and climbed it with practiced ease. He hoisted himself onto the roof, landing quietly as he settled into place.
„Finally,“ Isabel exclaimed happily, turning around slightly to greet Levi with a smile. She was sitting on a blanket, cozied up to Furlan, who was busy doodling something on a rusty piece of metal.
„Took you long enough,“ Furlan teased without looking up.
„You know, some people actually have jobs,“ Levi shot back, brushing a few leafs off his jeans. „When did you get here?“
He watched Isabel take a sip of her beer before she answered, handing Levi one for himself: „Not that long ago.“ That, Levi could have already guessed by the only half-empty bottle in her hand. „I wanted to watch the sunset, but someone took his time getting ready.“
At that, Levi let out a quiet huff through his nose, accepting her offer: „Must not have been worth it. You look the same as always.“
This finally made Furlan look up from his drawing: „I wasn’t getting ready, I just couldn’t find my pens.“
„Whatever,“ Isabel waved him off, shifting a little to make room for Levi to sit down beside her.
He let himself onto the blanket, setting the bottle down between his legs. Without much urgency, he pulled his backpack forward. It was the kind that slung over only one shoulder, across his chest, now leaning half against the ground. The strap slipped off as he opened it. Inside, the usual mess: cans, caps, gloves, a flashlight, stickers, a few things rolling loosely against each other.
Behind him, he heard Furlan say something that made Isabel scoff. „Don’t start,“ she warned.
„I didn’t start anything,“ Furlan denied, laughing but still focused on his doodle.
„You literally did!“ Isabel shot back, leaning over his wide shoulder, their arms tangled.
Levi’s fingers finally found his neatly packed rolling kit and pulled it out, turning it in his hand once before setting the bag back down. He opened the velcro fastener of the fabric that held his tobacco, paper and filters, but before beginning to roll a cigarette, he reached for the lighter.
He slipped the plastic base between his index finger and the bottle cap of the beer, effortlessly popping it off with a soft plop.
„Cheers!“ Isabel immediately raised her bottle in the air, waiting for Levi to clink the glass together. Furlan did the same, setting his work in progress to the side.
„Cheers,“ he gave in and took a small sip from his beer, then a bigger one, before setting it aside and sticking a cigarette filter to his bottom lip.
Levi started rolling the tobacco-filled paper between his thumb and middle finger, hesitating for a second. „Did either of you hear anything?“ he finally asked rather indirectly.
Furlan didn’t look up immediately, having picked up the marker again. „About what?“
„Someone went near my piece.“
„Which one?“ Isabel took the words out of her boyfriends mouth.
„The underpass,“ Levi explained, licking the sticky strip of the paper. „White and silver. The one with the ivy in the middle.“
Furlan’s hand paused mid-line, head tilting slightly. „The one where I spotted for you? Already?“
Placing the finished cigarette between his thin lips, he mumbled: „Apparently.“ His tone stayed neutral, but the irritation was still there, just buried deeper now.
„That was fast. It’s only been like- what, three days?“
„Two,“ Levi corrected, pressing down the flint wheel of his lighter.
„Even worse,“ Isabel muttered, then tilted her head. „Okay, but what did they do? Just tag over it?“
„Not over it,“ Levi exhaled, grey smoke rising up. „Next to it.“ That earned him a confused look from both of them. „Someone added something.“
„Added how?“
Levi’s jaw shifted slightly before he answered: „Someone wrote ‚On verra‘ at the end in neon violet.“
„French?“
„Yeah,“ Levi nodded. „Means ‚we’ll see.‘“
„And what did your piece say again?“ The dirty blonde tried to recall while reaching for another beer. „Something about leaving?“
Plop.
Levi leaned back a little, his free hand braced behind him now. „My piece said ‚Tu pars. Ceci reste.‘ Means ‚You leave. This remains,‘" he translated flatly.
Then Furlan let out an amused huff. „Oh, that’s annoying.“
Levi watched him take a big sip, before continuing.
„That’s not just random,“ he went on, a small grin spreading across his lips. „That’s someone being smart about it.“
Levi half-nodded: „Or at least, trying to be.“.
„Okay, wait-“ Isabel interrupted. "So you go all dramatic existential crisis on a wall-“
„It’s not-“
„- and someone answers you with ‚we’ll see‘?“ Isabel finished, ignoring him completely.
There was a beat. Then she laughed: „Sorry, that’s actually kind of funny.“
Levi’s eyes narrowed slightly. „It’s not.“
„It is,“ she insisted, still grinning. „Someone basically looked at your whole ‘this stays forever’ thing and went ‚eh… debatable.’“
Now Furlan too huffed a quiet laugh. „I mean, it’s definitely a reply.“
Levi didn’t deny that, but something just didn’t seem quite right about Isabel’s assumption. „I guess. But if they disagreed with my - as you call it - ‚this stays forever thing,‘-" he shot her a somewhat offended look "-they could’ve just gone over my piece to prove their point, but they didn’t.“
„Hmm, guess you’re right,“ Isabel admitted, before shrugging and jokingly continuing. „Maybe they’ll come back to go over your piece and were just kind enough to give you a heads-up?“
„Or maybe they’re just an idiot.“ Furlan tapped the metal sheet lightly with his pen. „You got a picture?“
„No.“
„Seriously? You didn’t take a photo?“
Levi just shrugged: „There were other people on the train.“
„You’re so paranoid, Levi,“ the redhead laughed at him, lifting her middle and index finger with asking eyes. „No one’s gonna think you did that just because you’re taking a picture of it.“
Despite rolling his eyes at her comment, he let her have the rest of his cigarette.
Furlan just sighed: „Unlucky.“
„Yeah,“ Isabel agreed, though she didn’t sound particularly sympathetic. „You need to take one on your way home later and send it.“
„That was the plan,“ Levi nodded, exhaling quietly through his nose, gaze drifting off for a second. „I didn’t catch the tag either,“ he admitted. „Too fast.“
„Nothing?“ Furlans asked, lifting an eyebrow.
Levi shook his head. „Nothing solid.“
Furlan leaned back again, frowning slightly. „Then I haven’t heard anything. No one’s been talking about going over your stuff."
„Same,“ Isabel frowned. „If someone pulled that kind of move, people would’ve mentioned it. At least a little bragging, you know?“
Levi nodded faintly. That’s what he’d expected. Still…
Isabel tilted her head, studying him from the side for a moment. „You’re taking this way too seriously.“
„I’m not,“ Levi disagreed once more.
„You are,“ she countered easily. „You’re overthinking it right now.“
A pause.
„I guess…“ he admitted with a tiny sigh, defeated by Isabel’s charm.
Furlan smirked slightly: „Scared?“
„Nah that’s curiosity,“ she had apparently psychoanalyzed him before he could even answer. „Maybe a little paranoia.“
And Levi couldn’t argue against that. Because she was right. So he didn’t bother denying that one either.
His fingers tapped lightly against the glass bottle. „It just wasn’t random.“
Isabel’s grin returned, sharper now. „No, definitely not. Someone's trying to mess with you specifically.“
„Or with the piece,“ Furlan added.
„Same thing,“ she shrugged, even though it wasn’t the same at all. Then she leaned back, stretching her legs out. „Well,“ she sighed, almost cheerfully, „congrats.“
Levi looked at her with a confused look on his face.
„You’ve got yourself a fan,“ she finished.
Levi didn’t answer. He just let out a quiet breath through his nose, gaze dropping to the bottle in his hand as his fingers traced the rim absentmindedly. The conversation kept going around him; Isabel saying something, Furlan replying. But it didn’t really stick this time.
„On verra.“ It lingered. Not loud or dramatic. Just… there.
A couple hours later, Levi pushed himself up without making a big deal out of it, reaching for his bag and slinging it over his shoulder in one swift motion.
„Already?“ Isabel looked up at him with heavy lidded eyes. Drunk eyes.
„Yeah,“ he confirmed, simple as that. „Gotta head back.“
Furlan gave a small nod, like he’d expected it. „Text when you get a picture,“ he reminded his friend, the look in his eyes matching his girlfriend’s.
Levi didn’t answer that one. Just adjusted the strap on his shoulder.
„And don’t get murdered on the way home,“ Isabel added, almost loosing her balance as she turned toward him.
He tried shooting her a flat look, but couldn’t help a grin tugging at his lips: „I’ll try. You too.“
That was enough of a goodbye.
The train ride back was quieter. Or maybe it just felt that way. Levi took the opposite seat from before, by the window; one arm resting against the glass as the outside started to blur past him again. Lights stretched into lines, reflections layering over each other until it was hard to tell what was outside and what wasn’t.
He didn’t bother with music this time. Didn’t really feel like it. Instead, his hand slipped into his pocket, fingers brushing against his phone before pulling it out.
The train slowed. Not much, just enough. Levi’s eyes shifted toward the window, focus sharpening automatically as the familiar stretch of track came into view. There, the wall slid into frame and this time, there was no need to hesitate. He lifted his phone, holding it steady, camera already rolling as the train moved alongside the concrete. This time, the addition came first. Neon purple cut into the picture, sitting there almost like it belonged. It didn’t. But it tried.
„On verra.”
Levi’s grip tightened slightly. He followed the movement, adjusting just enough to keep it in frame for as long as possible, as the train picked up speed again, the wall slipping away. He lowered the phone again, his eyes lingering on the dark reflection in the window a second longer than necessary. Then he glanced down at the screen, replaying the clip, jaw shifting imperceptibly.
Now that he could study the intruder’s work more closely, he noticed how it almost seemed like they had tried to mimic his style. Just louder, less controlled. Like someone copying a signature without understanding the hand behind it. And then there was the color: that aggressive neon violet, practically screaming for attention.
Still, something about it felt off in a way he couldn’t quite place. Not just sloppy or overcompensating, but different. The lines pulled in directions that felt slightly wrong, the weight sitting where it shouldn’t. Subtle, but enough to throw him.
Pausing the video again, his thumb hovered for a second before freezing the frame. There: thick black paint, edges bleeding, drips cutting down through the letters.
U - N - D - U - E
Levi frowned slightly.
„Undue?“ He muttered under his breath.
The name didn’t ring a bell in the slightest.
His thumb tapped the screen once more, replaying just the last second again. The lines, the pressure, the hesitation in the curves seemed inexperienced, but not random.
Weird tag.
Deliberate, though. Which made it worse.