Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You’re so beautiful,” Armin says in the middle of laughing about something she’s already forgotten about.

The giddy giggles bubble up in her throat before she can suppress them. “I’m glad your wine thinks so,” Mikasa says, holding up her glass like she’s toasting him. They’ve both been nursing glasses of sweet white wine for the past hour, a warmth imbuing in her veins and staining her cheeks (definitely the wine, not his comment). Her stomach drops when she sees the expression on his face: eyes wide, lips parted, almost like panic, and she wants to apologize, but for what?

“No,” he says with more force than she anticipated. “No,” again, softer this time, and she notices that a few heads turned toward them. “It’s not the wine. I’ve always thought so.”

“Oh,” she says after a long moment.

“I’ve always liked you - a lot,” he blurts out, leaning closer. “But it’s OK that you don’t feel the same, really. I just wanted you to know.” He withdraws to finish the wine in his glass, coughing at the end because it had been almost half full.

“Oh,” she repeats, internally reeling from the confession. It isn’t the first she’s received: at least the second or third of its type, since a lot of the men who approach her aren’t interested in getting to know her. There had been one of the latter types earlier, which is when Armin slid on the other side of her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him, with the glass of wine she still held.

“I’ll go,” he says, turning white, likely remembering that they shared an apartment with Eren. Mikasa’s hand darts out to grab his before she can even form a thought, but she doesn’t regret doing it.

“Wait,” Mikasa says, and he looks at her for the first time since he drained his glass. His eyes widen at the heat in hers. She bites her lip briefly. “Let’s go home together.”

“What about Eren?” He’s probably still shut up in his room, studying for his last final and stewing about the fact that the two of them were finished.

She leans forward to whisper in his ear. “We’ll just have to be quiet.” She relishes the shudder that she feels from her grip on his wrist.

She’s never seen Armin move so fast in his life as she laces their fingers together and keeps pace with him.

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The bruises bloom over Mikasa’s skin, some slowly and others immediately. She takes to counting them as she recuperates. She’s stuck in bed with a shattered bone in her leg and has grown bored of the books left for her and grasping at sleep that will not come. The pain medication wears off too fast.

Levi arrives with two cups of tea, a glass of water, and more pills as she winces through a position change. “Easy,” he says, a pillow materializing in his hand as he guides her into a more comfortable position. He steps back, surveying the sight of her: beaten up and broken in body but not in spirit. “Sasha will be back soon.”

“I know,” she says, watching as he hands her the pills and water, shaking off his attempts to help her take them. She drains the glass and holds it out for him. He wraps his fingers around her wrist instead, holding it there. The worst of the visible bruises is on her forearm. He leans over to press a reverent kiss to it, like a commoner to a queen, soft enough not to hurt but firm enough for her to feel. “Ow,” she says anyway, just to tease him.

He seems to know this because he takes away the glass without apology. He sits next to her bed, setting a cup of tea that she knows she won’t drink on the table beside her. The pill make her tired. She dozes off to the sound of him taking a long sip of his tea.

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Mikasa sits with her back to a tree, the lazy afternoon sun behind her. The leaves sway in the breeze. She watches the patterns of the shadows and tries not to think.

Eren has been gone for weeks, leaving everyone on edge and leading to meeting after meeting to talk about the things that could happen. It always gives her a headache. She’s currently trying to will one away after a particularly tense meeting.

“Mikasa?” Armin comes up behind her but she sensed his presence before he spoke. She tips her head back to look up at him.

He hesitates for a moment, looking like he wants to say something - to ask how she is or what he can do, like he has many times recently - but, instead, he holds out a book.

“It’s one of your favorites.” She smiles a little at that, shifting to the side to give him room to sit.

The sun sinks in the sky as he reads aloud, her head on his shoulder. The headache melts away, and, while she’ll have a crick in her neck from the angle it’s at, she can’t find it in herself to care.

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“It’s too late for coffee,” Mikasa says as she takes the mug of steaming liquid when he holds it out.

“Didn’t you say you were going to be up all night working on that paper?” Levi settles in next to her on the couch, holding his cup of tea by the rim.

“Don’t drop that on my couch,” she says, as she always does. She sips her coffee, which is on the edge of being too hot. “And I will be if you keep bothering me.”

He narrows his eyes at her, the spine of the book in his hand cracking as he flexes his fingers. “Who’s bothering whom?”

She wrinkles her nose at him, taking a gulp of the coffee. It’s gone with another few large swallows, and she sets the mug on the table in front of them with almost enough force to crack it.

Levi sighs behind the rim of his cup, putting it on the table next to the mug and reaching over to massage the back of Mikasa’s neck.

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” he says as her head lolls back and she moves into his grip.

“I know. I just hate this essay prompt so much.” He only hums, moving his hand where she directs him. Soon enough, she sags toward him.

He knows that she’ll be mad at him for not waking her up immediately, but, he reasons, she must really need the sleep if she dozes off after a full cup of coffee.

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The frigid air in the jet bridge shocks Mikasa awake out of her half-asleep state. The trip back found her in and out of dreams as the plane bumped up and down in the sky. The snowstorm delayed them for hours, leaving her stumbling through the airport after midnight.

She walks past the closed and gated stores, the chill refusing to leave, settling into her bones. She is not looking forward to the long drive home, made even longer by the still falling snow. At least Levi knows how to handle the slick patches and curves in the road.

It’s only when she sees him, scowling at his phone, that she relaxes. He must have been waiting for hours as the arrival time moved farther and farther back. She’s cold and sluggish when she reaches him, and he catches her when she leans into him.

“How was it?” he asks, as though they hadn’t talked every night, him listening to her complaints and frustration about the stiff men in suits who talked down to her.

“Mmph,” is her only answer. She presses her nose into his hair and breathes in. He tightens his arms around her, and, finally, she is warm again.

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Nicolo doesn’t like it when she sneaks up on him (the last time it happened he hit her in the face with his spoon; he’d been very apologetic about the bruise, at least), but Sasha can’t help herself. If he were to notice her presence, he’d kick her out immediately.

But who could blame her? The heavenly smell enticed her down the hall to the kitchen. It isn’t her fault.

She tiptoes closer and closer until she’s almost next to him. His frosting technique is perfect, amazing, one of the best things she’s seen in a long time. She kneels down next to the counter, watching with rapt attention. She breathes deeply and sighs, and it’s then that he notices her.

“Wha-what are you doing?!” he blurts out, squeezing the tube of frosting too hard in his surprise. She smiles up at him.

“I thought you might needs some help,” she says, blinking and forming her face into an expression of perfect innocence. “I can take that one off your hands.”

Nicolo looks down, groans at the frosting now slipping over the side of the cupcake, and shakes his head. “Fine,” he says, pushing it toward her. “Have it.”

Sasha pops up, grinning. She picks the cupcake and leans in to kiss him on the cheek. He’s still sputtering when she walks away, scooping the extra frosting on her finger and popping it into her mouth.

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After dealing the final blow to Zeke, Levi finds himself bleeding out.

It’s too late to do anything about it now: he’d been so focused on his mission – the last thing he promised to Erwin – that he didn’t notice the damage to his body.

And, so, this is it. Levi slumps back and hits a tree, allowing his legs to buckle underneath him. He thinks, in this moment, of many things: his mother, Kenny, Erwin, Hange, all of the soldiers who lived and died underneath him.

There’s yelling to his left and a flurry of movement in his darkening peripheral vision. Maybe that was his name?

The last thing he sees before his eyes fall shut is – surprisingly – Mikasa’s concerned face moving closer to him.

Well, he thinks, what a nice sight to see before dying.

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The Blouse family sits at the table across the cell, talking quietly, likely out of respect for the other four. None of them had spoken to each other at this point: the guard’s glare switches between them, daring them to speak, act, react. There’s nothing to do at this point, though, and, save a few glances between him, Jean, and Connie, they don’t interact.

Armin has been watching her the rest of the time. Mikasa stands, facing outward. The guard’s glare does not linger on her, he finds: what expression she has on her face, he does not know. She has been quiet throughout the process, eyes down, but no longer crying.

He decides not to stop waiting. The guard will glean nothing from what they say to each other. After all, they don’t know anything useful to Eren’s group (he hates to think of it as that, but, after meeting with him and hearing what he had to say, it’s hard not to.

Armin banishes the thought and walks over to Mikasa. Connie watches for a moment before looking away.

He lays his hand on her shoulder. She’s stiff, more rigid than he expected: her resigned energy flows off in waves. Then, slowly, she relaxes.

“Hey,” he starts, not sure what he’ll say in this moment. Then he stops when she tightens up again.

“Don’t,” she murmurs. And he understands: the wounds must be too raw. So he says nothing.

She brings her hand up, and he anticipates her pushing his away. He would let her, but, instead, she covers his hand. Her fingers are cold, colder than his, icy in the dank air of the cell. She squeezes, just once, and curls her fingers around his.

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The dreams always begin in a happier time: Mama sews next to her, Papa works on their garden outside, and everything is peaceful. It feels so real that she thinks that everything else (her meeting Eren, the scene in the cabin, the surge of power, the scarf, the…other things) was just a dream.

Then they appear at the door: sometimes it’s the same three men, sometimes one who is as large as a titan, and other times rabid animals. She tries to grab Mama’s hand and run, but she always dies. Always. Papa does, too. Sometimes she finds herself being chased in the forest instead of knocked unconscious, ferocious dogs nipping at her heels, men tackling her, and worse things that she tries to block out.

Then, Mikasa wakes up. She leans over the bed and vomits into the bucket Carla put there after the third nightmare. She sits up after, shivering in bed, the cold she feels something that can’t be fixed with the blanket. Her hair sticks to the back of her neck, and she cries.

Eren has never woken up when she has nightmares. She’s quiet now to avoid waking Carla and Grisha. She doesn’t want to bother them. The difference that night is that Armin is there with them. His grandfather had an errand to run and could not take him along, so he stayed with them.

He sits up in the bed next to Eren, squinting into the darkness. “Mikasa?” Armin whispers, as though anything short of a good shake will wake up Eren. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” Mikasa whispers back, wiping the tears away and trying to suppress the hiccuping sob that bubbles up in her throat. She’s mostly successful. “Don’t worry.”

“But you just threw up,” he whispers again, scooting down to the end of the bed and climbing off. “Are you sick?”

“No,” she says. He climbs into the bed next to her. He hesitates, then puts an arm around her.

“If you’re sure,” he says. It’s been a long time since Carla came into the room to envelope her in a warm hug, though it is her doing. The embrace feels like it, but different somehow.

She can’t think of anything to say to him, not even a “thank you” for not pushing, as she slowly falls asleep again sitting up, head falling to his shoulder.

When she wakes up, he’s still there, head lying on hers. She notices the blanket has been tucked around them and sees Carla trying to tiptoe out. Her neck will ache later, but she ignores it and the acrid taste in her mouth as she falls back to sleep.

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It starts in the corner of the dark kitchen after everyone has retired to their rooms and they're alone. Sasha's head is on his shoulder, legs stretched out in front of her, feet bopping back and forth, back and forth. Nicolo watches. They're in the middle of a comfortable lull in conversation.

“I'm going to visit my family this weekend. You should come with me.” It's all it takes for him to stiffen. She lifts her head to look at him. “What?”

“I…don't think that would work,” he says. He draws his knees up to his chest and hugs them.

“Why? It's a day off, isn't it?” She tips her head to the side, furrowing her brow.

“For you, it is. I still have to work.”

“Oh.” She chews her lip. Her expression then brightens. Her eyes sparkle. “I could smuggle you out.” She gives a decisive not.

Nicolo stares. “How?” Sasha frowns.

“Well, I'm sure we can figure something out.”

Which is how he finds himself moaning about being ill to Grior the night before, tucking pillows under his blanket, and sneaking out. Sasha greets him with a wide smile and warm hug in the cool evening. Even though he still thinks it a bad idea to meet her family - an action done usually when two people are...well, he's not ready to parse that yet - Sasha became more persuasive as the night had gone on.

“We'll both get in trouble for this,” Nicolo reminds her as they mount their horses.

“Don't worry,” she says, her response to all of his voiced concerns.

They settle into another comfortable silence as they ride. Sasha insists on it, saying she needs to be alert for predators. He stares ahead, stomach roiling, as he simply follows her.

They arrive at a set of houses with a barn behind them as the sun comes up. “This is a bad idea,” he mutters.

“Stop saying that.” He’s not surprised that she hears him: in fact, he isn’t sure that she can’t read his thoughts. She dismounts and looks up at him. “It’ll be fine. I promise my parents aren’t going to do anything.” Well, that proves that she can’t read his mind, since that’s not what he’s thinking about.

“All right,” he says with a sigh, also getting off his horse. His foot gets caught in the stirrup and he ends up stumbling into her. Sasha grabs his shoulders, steadying him with her always unexpected strength. Her eyes sparkle again in the early morning light as he straightens up and meets her eyes, and it’s the perfect setup...until he hears a door open.

“Sasha!” a deep voice calls. “You’re early! Why…”

“Oh my.” It’s a different voice, not as deep, but warm. Nicolo tries to pull away, but Sasha grabs his hand and drags him forward.

“Ma! Pa! This is Nicolo,” she calls.

The woman smiles. “We’ve heard so much about you.” He doesn’t know what to say to that.

The man gives him a once over, sizing him up, and Nicolo wouldn’t have been able to say anything if he tried. The man’s features soften into something closing in on a smile, though he appears to be trying to keep his expression serious. “You’ll take care of my daughter.”

He swallows, glances at Sasha, who is beaming, and can only nod. A hand claps on his shoulder, forcing him to look away from her smile and find a very similar one on her father’s face.

“Good. Now come in. We’re about to eat.”

Chapter Text

Levi unlocks the door, stepping inside and pushing it open wider so Mikasa can come in. She doesn’t.

He turns as he shrugs off the coat she draped over his shoulders earlier. “What are you waiting for?”

“You’re supposed to carry me over the threshold.” The cool late spring wind ruffles her hair, the moonlight highlighting her beautiful face.

“You believe in that superstitious shit?” He hangs up the coat and kicks off shoes. He then gives her a onceover, warm and dismissive at once. “You’re too heavy for that.”

“Weak, short, and a cradle robber? How disappointing.” She shakes her head, but her eyes dance as she meets his again. Still, he scowls. She knows how to get to him.

He undoes his tie, throws it over his shoulder, unbuttons his sleeves, and starts to roll them up as he advances on her. She watches him with great interest and still sparkling eyes.

“Good form,” she says as he squats next to her. She starts to add something, but she's cut off when he scoops her up. The squeal that the action produces is unlike anything he’s heard from her. He likes it.

“Perfect form,” he murmurs into her ear. She makes an enticing noise and puts her arm around his shoulder. Levi kicks the door shut behind them.

Mikasa really is heavy - all muscle and height - though he can't say that now without breaking the mood. The trip up the stairs to the bedroom feels like the longest, made more difficult by the extra weight he's carrying and her teeth in his neck.

She cries out when he drops her on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows, mouth open to say something. But she stops and looks at him, and he, her.

The guests must have noticed the hands that slipped and “accidental” gropes that became more frequent throughout the evening. It couldn't be helped: Mikasa must have picked the dress to tease him: red and short and modest on top, showing just enough skin to tease.

“We should pack,” she says in a low voice, snagging her bottom lip between her teeth.

Levi has no response to that, so he climbs over her instead. He kisses a point on her neck that he knows well, sliding a hand up her thigh to push the dress up to her stomach.

“We'll have time tomorrow,” he says finally against her lips. All pretenses are gone as she throws her arms around him, the clash of their teeth ignored as they fall back to the bed together.

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The bells of the coffeeshop crash against the door as Mikasa pushes it open. It’s a cloudy, humid morning in early June, and she’s already looking forward to going to bed tonight.

The shop is sparsely populated midmorning on a Thursday: perfect for reading before she has to go into work in the afternoon. The semester only ended the week before, but she can’t afford to take too much time off at this point in her life.

She looks around to find a spot to settle as the barista steams her milk when she sees him: the man she keeps running into around town. It’s beginning to be suspect at this point. It’s happened too many times to be coincidence. The barista slides the mug her way without announcing her name, though she gave it when she ordered.

It would be better to ignore him, but she finds herself walking over to the table and setting her mug down. “Are you stalking me?”

He doesn’t even bother to look up from the book he’s reading. “Isn’t it a bad practice to engage with one’s stalker?”

She sits down. “So you admit it.”

“I didn’t say that. I was giving you advice.” He sets the book down and removes his glasses to rub his eyes. She watches him, pursing her lips. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Some peace,” she says, pulling out her book and setting it on the table with more force than necessary.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he says, standing and taking his mug but not his book. She follows him with her eyes as he asks for a refill on his tea. The book’s spine cracks when she opens it.

One of the overstuffed chairs across the room would be more comfortable than the chair she’s currently in. She sips her cappuccino and props her chin on her hand.

When he returns, she pulls out some lip balm and applies it liberally. She sees him watching the motion out of the corner of her eye but doesn’t acknowledge it. His leg bumps hers as he sits down again. He doesn’t apologize.

Chapter Text

She’s always early.

It’s the first class of the day, and, at best, all of the students arrive ten minutes after the bell rings. He’s there because he’s never been the type to sleep past 5am; and, of course, he’s the teacher. But she’s young (in the middle of the last year of school as she may be) and so many kids likely don’t even bother to drag themselves out of bed until ten minutes before school starts.

He supposes her could ask, but he shouldn't. He works not to learn intimate - which is not the best word for it, he realizes - details about his students, unless they request his help for specific and difficult issues, of course. Mikasa Ackerman is an enigma to him because she’s never approached him.

“Mr. Ackerman?” says a sweet voice to his left. He has been annotating his lesson plan for the next day: a task that takes only half of his attention. He pauses his writing, pen still to paper, to look at her. She standing next to his desk, her cardigan - buttoned up when she arrived - hangs open, revealing a crop top: not very practical in the cold, snowy, winter weather. She holds the assigned book in both hands low enough that her abs are visible. He doesn’t look. He doesn’t.

“I should write you up for violating the dress code,” Levi says, looking resolutely at her face. She arches a graceful eyebrow.

“But you won’t.” Her face stays smooth, cool, without emotion, but her eyes: they dare him to contradict her.

She's right. He won't. He only does it if someone is flagrantly out of code and someone would get on his ass later for not doing anything. Still, he reaches for the drawer where he keeps the forms, maintaining eye contact.

Mikasa lifts her book in the air and drops it on the desk. The noise doesn't startle him. He knew it was coming. It does make him pause.

They stay that way - he with his hand inches away from the drawer handle, she with her hand hanging above the book - until he asks, “Do you have a question, Mikasa?” And because he's looking at her, really looking, he sees her eyes dilate slightly, though the light in the room has not changed. Her hand then curls into a loose fist.

“I do,” she says, “but I think you should be more concerned about your favorite pen running out of ink.” Many questions flit through his head - the main one being ‘how does she know it's his favorite pen?’ - but then he looks away and sees the huge splotch of ink on the paper. He swears and lifts it from the paper. “Language, Mr. Ackerman.”

Levi glares at her quickly, taking in her small but noticeable smirk, as he picks up the paper. It bled through to his desk, but not enough that he can't clean it up with some alcohol. He looks back to her, about to tell her to stop wasting his time. Then the first bell rings, and they both jump.

“Ah,” Mikasa says softly, enticingly, “I guess it'll have to wait.” Before he can react, she scoops up her book, walks back to her desk, and slowly buttons up the cardigan.

Levi spends the rest of the day trying to parse this behavior because she doesn't bother to stop by after class, disappearing out the door right when he dismisses the class.

Chapter Text

“Shhhh,” Mikasa whispers, rubbing the little boy’s back. He continues to wail as she walks circles in the small cabin, bouncing the baby as she goes. He rubs his face into her shoulder, moving it down until he’s almost head butting her chest. “I know you’re hungry. Levi will be back soon.” At least, she hopes he will be. She looks out the window at the moon, trying to gauge the time that has passed. The rumbling of her own stomach distracts her from her task.

She strokes the soft blonde hair atop his scalp, wishing she were anywhere but her present location: a tiny structure with holes in the wall and no furniture. She’d shoved cloth into the gaps when they’d arrived. It has done little to chase away the cold.

The baby’s next sob is closer to a scream. It almost covers the sound of the door creaking. Almost. Mikasa whirls around, shifting the boy’s weight to one arm and reaching for her knife in a smooth motion.

“It’s me.” The two words relax her despite the baby screaming into her ear.

“Were you able to find anything?” Levi barricades the door before walking over to her. He carries bread and a bottle in either hand, the other supplies tucked under an arm.

“I had to wait for the family to leave. Their home was stuffed to the brim with expensive shit. They won’t miss this.” Mikasa only nods, adjusting the crying infant in her arms.

Levi mixes up the formula with ease, like it’s something he’s done for his entire life. She continues to stroke the wisps of hair, watching the tears bead in the boy’s eyes.

There’s blessed silence the moment Mikasa presents the bottle to him. Levi walks away as the boy grunts and gulps. She smiles at the noise the way she always does, not noticing the shuffling in the background.

“Here,” he says, and she starts. It upsets the boy momentarily before he resettles. “Sit.”

Mikasa looks up to find an arrangement of blankets and pillows on the floor. She hadn’t seen any of it when he walked in: it all must have been dropped in favor of the food. He waves her over when she doesn’t move, the motion somewhere between impatience and concern.

So she sits, wiggling a bit to get comfortable. Levi settles next to her with the bread. It smells heavenly (though anything would after not eating for two days). He tears a piece off and offers it to her. Mikasa opens her mouth instead of freeing a hand. He wears a scowl but she knows he’s not truly annoyed.

He pushes the bread into her mouth, and she closes her lips into a smile. As she chews, she lets her head rest on his shoulder. The three of them eat in silence as the wind whistles past the nearest window.

Chapter Text

He’s above her, around her, inside of her. She shivers from his hot breath on her neck, reaching to dig her fingers into his biceps where his arms bracket her head.

“It’s been too long,” she whispers into his ear. It has the effect she wants: a shudder that radiates down. She can feel all of it.

“I know,” he whispers back, lost for a sharp response from the shock of their skin touching, sparking, feeling. He rocks into her slowly to make it last. She arches into him with a throaty moan, and -

“Mommy?” Their heads turn to see the little girl at the side of their bed, clutching her blue blanket and rubbing at one eye. “I’m thirsty.”

Levi is on his side of the bed before she finishes her sentence. “What happened to the cup of water I gave you earlier?” The words are on the side of harsh, but his tone is soft. He’s already pulled the sheets to his chest when Mikasa just starts to sit up.

“I drank it,” Kuchel responds. She looks up at Mikasa, who’s throwing her recently discarded nightgown over her head, feet planted on the floor. “Are you OK, Mommy?”

Mikasa stands up, taking the little girl’s hand as she does. “Of course I am. Let’s go get some water.”

“But you were making a weird noise!” Kuchel tugs on Mikasa’s hand. “Why was Daddy on top of you?”

Mikasa tries to come up with an explanation fit for a four-year-old. She settles on, “We can talk about it when it’s not time for sleep.”

They’re in the bathroom at this point, and she’s lucky to have the diversion of the water to stave off further questions. Kuchel just nods to this, hopping over to the sink.

“Hmmm.” Mikasa stops Kuchel as she reaches for her step stool. “Do you need to go potty?” Her daughter thinks for a moment and shakes her head. “Are you sure?” There’s more thinking before another head shake.

Once that issue is taken care of, Kuchel again hops to the sink, quickly washing her hands and grabbing the cup on the counter (kept there for these overnight adventures). It slips in her grip: her hands are still wet. Mikasa watches this, leaning her hip against the edge of the counter and pulling one of the towels off the nearest rail. She lets her daughter fumble for a bit because Kuchel will insist she can do it on her own!

Mikasa offers a helping hand when big, watery blue eyes look up at her. She strokes Kuchel’s disheveled black hair as she takes the cup, drying the little girl’s hands with the towel as she fills it. Kuchel’s pout disappears as she opens her mouth and gulps the water down while Mikasa holds the towel under her chin (to avoid another pajama change).

Kuchel finishes with a drawn out “ahhh,” and, though she’s flagging fast, Mikasa can’t help but laugh a little at it. Her daughter gives her a toothy smile - so wide she can see all the way into the back of her mouth - before giggling.

“All right, back to bed.”

As she’s tucking Kuchel in, the little girl gives a loud, wide yawn before asking, “Are you going to go back to your game with Daddy?” Mikasa taps her on the nose and brushes a bit of hair off her face.

“I’m sure Daddy will be asleep by now. Just like you,” she adds quickly to avoid even more questions that she doesn’t want to answer.

Mikasa returns to their room and shuts the door. She must not have done so earlier: they should have heard it opening.

Levi is curled up on his side, facing away from her. He’s dressed again, blankets pulled up to his chest and tucked under his arm. She climbs into bed and snuggles up behind him.

“Next time,” she says, “you’re going to get up with her.”

“What if she asks for Mommy?” His voice is rough and sounds like sleep, and she’s mildly concerned about the possibility of having woken him up. But she had been awake, too, and this is how their life had been since Kuchel was born.

“You’ll be Mommy, then.” She slides her arm under the covers and then under his to pull him back and closer to her.

“I didn’t know you were into that.” There’s a yelp as she pinches him.

“You’ll have to wait to find out.” Levi makes an interested noise and half turns to her. She lifts her hand to put it over his face and press it into the pillow. “Go to sleep.”

“But you’re making it so difficult.” The words are muffled. Mikasa snorts.

“I’ll make your life difficult if you don’t let me sleep.” She lets go of his face and adjusts herself until she’s comfortable. He reaches back, hand finding her hair. He runs his fingers through it with a deep hum. Mikasa, exhausted, falls asleep to the noise.

Chapter Text

It has been three years since she had broken up with Jean. Mikasa wouldn’t think about it much, might not even remember how long it has been, if people would stop reminding her about it.

“You haven’t gone on a date since then!” Sasha says, again, the second time this month, while Mikasa is trying to read after work.

“So what?” The only thing that bothers her about it is that people keep bothering her about it. “I’ve been on dates in the past and they’re really not all they’re cracked up to be.” She turns a page.

Sasha frowns. “I don’t know why you’re so against this.” Mikasa sighs, tucks her bookmark in her book, and shuts it.

“I’m not against it. It’s just not a priority for me. I don’t understand why everyone else thinks it should be.” She swings her legs down off the couch, planting her feet on the floor before standing. The stretch of her hands above her head feels good even though she hasn’t been sitting long. Sasha stays where she is in the chair across from the couch, pursing her lips. Mikasa thinks that maybe the subject will finally get dropped. Which is good, because she needs to get ready to meet Armin and Eren for dinner.

“We just want you to be happy.” Mikasa stops from where she’s shrugging on her coat.

“Why do you think I’m not?”

“Because I know you! We’ve been friends for so many years. I can tell when you’re happy and when you’re not.” Sasha moves to sprawl dramatically on the couch. She grabs her phone when it buzzes, her face lighting up at what must be a text from Nicolo.

Mikasa doesn’t know what to say to Sasha now. It would be insulting to say that her friend doesn’t really know her: Mikasa has shared many intimate secrets with her over the years that she has never told anyone else. “Well,” she says, interrupting herself with a sigh, “I don’t think you need to worry about that. I’m fine.”

Sasha looks up from her phone, smile morphing into a frown again. “You - ”

“I have to get going. I don’t want to be late for dinner.” Mikasa grabs her keys and shoves them into her pocket. She knows that Sasha will know that she’s avoiding continuing the discussion that will devolve into an argument because she said fine and not happy.

Whether she’s happy is not something she dwells on. The thing is, she’s not lacking anything: she has a good job, a nice place to live, a support system if that ever goes south, amazing friends…

“You know,” Eren says while using his fork to push his food around his plate, “I know someone you might like, if you got to know him.”

Well, good friends.

“It's the trainer you have crush on, isn't it?” Eren blanches, opening his mouth and closing it without a word. He tries to look at Armin without turning his head.

Armin, for his part, looks at Mikasa with a placid expression on his face while he sucks the sauce off the fork in his mouth. When he pulls it out, Eren is still scrambling for words. “Yeah,” Armin says. “It's him.”

“How did you know?” is what Eren finally spits out.

“This is the third time you've mentioned him in this context.” She takes a bite of her food and chews slowly. “How do you even know if he's single or looking?”

Eren's face curls into a small sort of scowl. “I just know.” Armin rolls his eyes and nudges him with an elbow.

“All right, let's move on. Mikasa, do -”

“If I do meet him, will you promise to never bother me about this ever again?” She asks this with some resignation. Armin stops at her interruption, and they both look at her: stare, really.

Eren's lips curl into a smile. He starts saying something (and she knows exactly what it is), but Armin puts a hand over his mouth. “Of course,” he says, glaring at Eren and his smug face.

So, she finds herself at a nearby coffee shop later in the week, sitting at a table in the corner, swirling a stir stick in the foam of her cappuccino. She watches as it cuts through without upsetting or deflating the foam. It isn't very interesting, but it's better than watching Sasha's texts come in rapid succession (she neglected to tell her friend about the event - blind date - until the last minute, leaving the apartment to a sputtering and smiling Sasha).

A rush of cool air caresses her face, indicating that the door to the cafe has been opened. She looks up to find a man entering the coffee shop. Eren hadn’t bothered to describe his trainer - “Levi,” he’d said once, softly, conspiratorially, when Armin was away from the table - and, while he doesn’t really have a “type,” this Levi is not what she expected.

He's wearing a button down shirt under a light jacket and plain jeans. It's a surprisingly good look on him, and she finds her gaze lingering. He then catches her eye, looks her over as well (from what he can see over the table, at least), and inclines his head before walking to the counter.

Mikasa fiddles with her mug, turning it this way and that, while she waits. She sneaks glances here and there and catches him doing the same each time. She dips her finger into the foam and puts it into her mouth. It's bad manners, she knows. She's just suddenly nervous. It’s a reaction she did not expect.

“So,” Levi says, setting down his mug of what looks like tea, “how did you get roped into this shit?” The nervousness dissipates at his words. She’d been sorting through possible responses to his potential greetings; this question is not what she expected.

So she raises an eyebrow and returns, “That’s the first thing you’re going to say to me? No wonder you had to be set up on a date by someone else.”

He looks at her for a long moment, long enough to make Mikasa question her entire life, before the corner of his lips curl up. “I could say the same about you.” Her thoughts of regret evaporate.

“I haven’t been on a date in three years, and my friends have been badgering me. I finally gave in to make them shut up.” She props her chin in her hand, using the handle of the mug to turn it back and forth again. “What did Eren say that swayed you?”

“It wasn’t him. A good friend has been bothering me to date again because he’s gotten all lovey-dovey with his new partner and he thinks I should do the same.” He picks up his mug around the rim, taking a long sip. “Eren blurted it out the other day and I accepted his admittedly unpersuasive offer for the same reason.”

While she’s interested in what Eren had said, she’s distracted: “Why do you hold your mug like that? Do you have no feeling in your fingertips?”

Levi glances down to where he is still holding the mug about the rim, and says, “I don’t trust the handles.”

“So you just burn your fingers when have have hot drinks? Do you carry a briefcase like a football?”

He gives her another long look, a spark blooming in his eyes. “Eren didn’t tell me you were such a brat.”

She frowns, raising an eyebrow and sitting up again. “He didn’t tell me you were such a jerk.” She nudges his calf with the toe of her shoe..

“I’m not a jerk,” he says, features reflecting amusement. He returns her nudge, raising his eyebrow as well.

“I’m not a brat.”

“Oh?” Levi picks up his tea again. She does the same with her cappuccino, holding his gaze over the rims of their mugs. Foam clings to her lip when she sets her drink down. There’s a beat before Mikasa parts her lips, intending to catch it on the tip of her tongue. Before she can, Levi leans over and swipes his thumb there. He withdraws, but not quickly enough to escape the graze of her tongue on the pad of this thumb.

Another moment passes between them, feeling as long as the previous ones, as they freeze. Then he pulls his hand back and puts the thumb in his mouth. Mikasa still follows through with the intended motion, finding that he didn’t catch all of the foam with his motion.

The action must look ridiculous from the outside, she thinks in the back of her head, but they’re both too caught up to be self conscious. The intensity of the passing seconds is broken as her phone buzzes next to her. She picks it up, unsure of what else to do at this point. It, of course, is Sasha.

“My roommate,” she mutters, not bothering to read the message. She holds the power button down until the option to turn it off appears on the screen. He’s taking another long sip of his tea when she looks up again. The mood, she thought, had been broken by the obnoxious buzz of her phone. When she meets his eyes, she finds that it has not.

“I live alone,” Levi says, tone and expression casual and eyes dark and warm, “not too far from here.”

Mikasa’s cappuccino is partly drunk and sloshes over the rim of the mug when she puts it into the bus tub with more force than she normally would. When he takes her hand and leads her out the door and into the cool early evening, she thinks in the very back of her head that she’ll never hear the end of it from her friends when they find out about this.

Chapter Text

It’s just before dawn when the shriek echoes throughout the girls’ barracks, waking everyone with a start.

Krista is up and over to Sasha, sitting on the floor with her hand over her mouth, while everyone else is looking around in confusion and concern. “Are you all right?” she asks, hands on Sasha’s shoulders.

Sasha takes a deep breath, drops her hands, and gives a short, unconvincing laugh. “Y-yeah, sorry! I just - I saw a spider and got scared.”

“Bullshit,” Ymir grumbles from her nearby bed. “I saw you carry one out last night when Connie freaked out over it.”

Sasha pales but pastes the smile back on her face. “Oh, well, this one was, um, bigger! And it woke me up so - ” She then looks to her right. Her eyes widen, and she shrieks and dives to hide behind Krista. Ymir’s barked words of annoyance are lost in the background as Mikasa finally sits up.

Her hair sticks up at odd angles, some of it falling to hang in her face. “What’s going on?” she mumbles, brow creasing as she stares at Krista and Sasha, both wearing shocked expressions. She combs her fingers through her hair then, setting it back in order. The two girls watch this with some awe.

“Just - ah, saw a spider!” Sasha chirps, shoulders coming down from next to her ears. She releases Krista’s nightgown, smoothing out the wrinkles caused by her tight grip on the fabric.

“Oh,” is all Mikasa says in response, face showing her disbelief but - much to Sasha’s relief - doesn’t ask more questions before lying back down.

(Ymir glares at Sasha for the rest of the day. After dinner, she finds a spider and tosses it at her, smug when Sasha catches it with only a gasp to betray her surprise.

“See?” she calls when Krista herds her away, “I knew it wasn’t a spider!”)

Chapter Text

The rare warm breeze creeps in through the open window, bringing with it the clean scent of the mountains: cold water from rushing creeks, fresh, bright flowers, sunlight. It carries the sound of laughter from Gabi and Sasha, sitting out where she can see them from the kitchen window. Gabi braids together flowers - sloppily, inexpertly, because she only learned how to do it recently - into a crown for the little girl sitting in front of her. Sasha doesn’t notice, doesn’t care about the quality, clapping her hands with glee.

Mikasa’s heart warms and aches at once. At seventeen, Gabi is experiencing things she never had a chance to. She finally has a chance to be a child, to live. The nightmares still come hard and fast, and she crawled into bed next to Mikasa the night before, sobbing and shaking and pleading. It’s never intelligible, so Mikasa just murmurs soft words and strokes her hair, rocking her back and forth until she settles. Sasha had been woken up by the noise - a not uncommon occurrence that Gabi tries and often fails to avoid - and Armin had tried to grab her and curl around her to avoid further exposure. But she wanted Mama, so they ended up with Gabi against her front, Sasha snuggled against her back, and Armin pushed to the edge of the bed on his side.

But now, Gabi sits on the grass, tongue poking between her lips and brow furrowed as she loops the stems in front of Sasha’s wide blue eyes. There’s nothing haunted in her expression: she looks serene even in full concentration. Sasha chatters at her as she works, voice loud enough for Mikasa to hear but words not formed enough to be understood. A smile quirks up the corners of her lips despite her thoughts, hands submerged in the tepid dish water.

She does not truly startle at the cracking of a book spine behind her - not after everything that has happened in her life - but it does bring her back to the present. She swishes her hands through the water, searching for more dishes and finding none. She yanks the plug, and the water drains from the sink as she dries her pruney fingers on her apron before taking it off. Behind her, a chair scrapes against the floor. Armin is two steps away, so she doesn't have a chance to turn to meet him. He wraps his arms around her waist. His chin then lands on her shoulder, looking outside with her.

They watch together as Gabi finishes the crown, holding it up with a triumphant grin before her shoulders slouch. Something about it isn’t to her liking (though, from what Mikasa can see, it turned out well for one of her first flower crowns), and she slowly lowers it. Sasha’s squeal makes her jump, tense, but before Gabi can react fully, the little girl reaches out to touch the intertwined stems. She doesn’t take it, just looks at it with wonder. She says things that must be praise because Gabi brightens again, laying the crown on Sasha’s little sunhat. It’s almost as wide as the brim and ends up drooping over it at the front. Sasha looks at it for a moment, tipping forward in her concentration (and likely cross eyed stare). Gabi catches her and they both start to laugh.

“I worry about her so much,” Mikasa says. Sasha starts to shriek from Gabi’s tickling fingers. Armin takes in a breath and lets it out, the warm air tickling her skin and sending the stale scent of her Hizuru tea dancing under her nose.

“I know,” he says, tightening his arms around her. “You’re - we’re doing the best that we can. I think she’s getting better.” Sasha crawls into her lap and starts kissing Gabi’s face to distract her from the tickling. It never fails to work. Gabi’s sunhat flies off as she falls backward, landing with ease on her back. Mikasa closes her eyes when Sasha sits up on Gabi’s stomach, looking down with concern only to get caught up in tickles again.

“I hope she is,” she whispers, as though there’s any possibility of them being heard over the laughter and cries. Armin squeezes her again but doesn’t respond. It’s a subject that they’ve gone over and over: one they’ve never argued about or even disagreed on. It lingers and lingers in Mikasa’s mind, always there even if not in the forefront.

Chapter Text

It’s presented as a semi-vacation: traveling to the area that used to be the inside of Wall Sina. The journey, Hange says, is to sniff out any whispers about Eren’s rumored defection.

“Why aren’t you sending new recruits?” Jean asks, arms crossed as he leans against the door. Because it doesn’t sound like a mission to send a handful of vets on: especially when they’re so visible. Hange doesn’t respond for a very long time.

“I’m...concerned about the newest entrants,” they say, looking down at clenched fists. They relax a bit after a breath. It’s fair, since a good number of them have been holding vigil with Floch as they all wait for Eren’s return. Floch, who is absent from the room.

There are mutters of agreement in the room, to both the request and Hange’s sentiments. Sasha, at least, waits until they’re out of the room to complain that she won’t be able to eat Nicolo’s food for who knows how long.

“And you won’t be able to see him,” Connie says, wiggling his eyebrows and nudging her with an elbow. She throws one back into his side, considerably harder, and stalks off with a blush on her face.

All of that is what leads Mikasa to the bar she currently sits in. She’s alone, as they agreed to spread out. It’s hot inside to counter the frigid air outside. She tugs at her collar, shifting to cross her legs and adjust her long skirt, scarf already off and lying across her lap. Civilian clothes, to be less visible. It proves to be a futile effort.

“The girl worth a hundred soldiers!” the man says, slipping onto the stool next to her. His words are not terribly slurred, but there’s a definite undertone of drunkenness and the smell of hard liquor on his breath. “Or,” he continues, eyes scanning her body, “the woman worth a hundred soldiers.” She forces a small, closed lip smile, and tucks a piece of hair that fell out of her low ponytail behind her ear. “What are you doing so far in? I thought the base was by the ocean.”

“It is,” she says, since it’s not a secret, “I’m just out on vacation for a day or two.” The man raises his eyebrows, leaning closer than necessary.

“I thought you were busy. What with, you know, Humanity’s Last Hope being gone.” He waves a hand, trying to gesture to a faraway place. Marley is in the other direction. The smell of booze on his breath fills her nose. It takes everything in Mikasa not to pull away. Instead, she forces a laugh that sounds so fake she wants to cringe.

"What do you mean? He's not gone." Hopefully she can lie better than she can laugh.

"Oh really? I heard that he's out. I've got good sources too." He smiles, all teeth, expression eager, like he wants her to be impressed.

Another terribly fake laugh. "I guess they're not as good as you think."

He leans back, lips curling back over his teeth. He frowns, considering her. Then he looks her up and down again. His expression changes.

"I guess I should trust such a renowned soldier. I'll have to spread the word." She doesn't believe he will. "Now, how about I buy you another drink? Something stronger than that." He nods to the half-gone beer, chosen for its low alcohol content.

"Thank you," she says with another tight smile, "but I'll have to pass. I'm meeting an old friend soon."

He leans toward her again. "Aww, come on. One drink! It'll help you loosen up. You really need to relax a little." He settles a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it and making motions that he must think will help her stiff muscles. The points of pressure only make her tense more.

"I appreciate the offer, but I really can't accept it." She reaches to grab his wrist and remove it with grace. Another hand lands there before she can and yanks it away.

"She's not interested, asshole. Take a hint." Levi stands next to them, holding the man's arm in a tight grip.

Mikasa hides her surprise under quickly formed mask. He wasn't on this mission, was he? He wasn't part of the meeting for sure. It doesn't seem like something he would take part in, either.

"Woah, man, chill out," the man says, trying to pull himself free and failing initially. Red marks left by Levi's hand mar his skin. "I wasn't gonna try anything. I know she can kick my ass." He says this with a reverence bordering on lecherous. His face changes to one of fear after that. Mikasa glances at Levi to find a death glare focused on the man (who, apparently, didn’t even realize whom he was speaking to). "And you too, Captain!" He gives a shaky laugh. "Nice meeting you, Mikasa! I hope to see the woman worth a hundred soldiers again." And then he's gone. She never even learned his name, about which she is not disappointed.

"What are you doing here?" she asks without a greeting. He looks right and left with barely a turn of his head either way.

"Walk with me," is all that he says. She leaves some money on the bar for the drink and tugs on her coat, winds her scarf around her neck. They leave. "Hange sent me here for something else," is what he tells her after they're far away from the bar, after he's checked multiple times for people tailing them.

"Oh," she responds, knowing better than to ask him what. Instead, "how did you end up here?"

He stops, so she stops. He motions for her to take off her coat, an odd sort of light in his eyes. She shrugs it off with a raised eyebrow, scarf ruffling, ends settling against her front. He pulls out a handkerchief, shaking it once. He uses it to brush off her shoulder: the one the man grabbed.

"Who knows what sort of shit he was carrying." He wads up the cloth and tucks it in his pocket.

"I was going to do that later," she says, her tone more defensive than she intended. She pulls her coat back on once the cold air starts creeping through her clothes.

He shrugs. "Now you don't have to." She still would, she would have said, she's not stupid. But instead she says nothing as he starts to button up her coat for her. "Be careful."

Levi is gone before she can tell him he doesn't need to worry about her. She probably wouldn't have, though, because her heart suddenly jumped into her throat.

He was looking at her like that again, and she knows it won't be the last time she sees him on this fake vacation: probably not even the last she'll see him that day.

Chapter Text

“Seven minutes in heaven!” Sasha yells in her face, the scent of beer invading her nose. Mikasa thinks she must have spit on her face as well, but the thought doesn’t get far: the closet door slams just inches from her nose. She recoils. Before she can even form another thought, there’s a click. She grabs the doorknob and tries to turn it to no avail.

As she bangs on the door with a closed fist, she cries, “What kind of psycho puts a lock on the outside of a closet door?!” There’s laughter on the other side: Connie and Sasha, drunk off their asses, obvious in their enjoyment of this cruel prank. She slams her forehead to the wood, still tugging at the doorknob.

“Someone you’ve decided to be friends with,” comes a deep voice behind her. Mikasa jerks away from the door - heart thudding in her throat, half-convinced that she’s about to be stabbed - when she realizes what Sasha said: a game that requires two players. She turns, but her eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark. There’s a thin stream of light coming from under the door, barely illuminating the space.

She does recognize the voice after taking a breath: Levi Ackerman, star athlete, top of their class, and thorn in her side. To be honest, they rarely interact, but there’s just something about him that made her skin prickle. She has the same feeling now, especially when she turns and finds him leaning against the wall but a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest, shoulders tense: his entire being radiating the irritation she too felt.

There are many questions she could ask in this moment. She decides on - and snaps -, “What are you doing here?” Her eyes adjust to the low light; she sees the scowl marring his attractive (damn it) face, a piece of hair hanging just between his eyes. He reaches up to rake a hand through his hair, pulling it back in place.

“I decided I needed a break and thought this closet would be a nice place to do it.” For a moment, she believes him: he isn’t the social type, and her question was meant to also apply to the fact that he was at a party at Sasha’s, of all places. Sure, it was a good location (out in the country, away from neighbors who would call the cops on them), but not a place where she’d expect to see him. Of course, it only takes another moment to realize he's being sarcastic. She mirrors his scowl. He huffs and continues, "Isabel dragged me here. Told me I needed to stop jerking off alone in my room on Friday nights."

As soon as the words leave his lips, his face shifts. She can tell he didn't mean to say that second part. Mikasa snorts and claps a hand over her mouth to stifle laughter. She then lowers it enough to ask, "Does that mean you sometimes jerk off with someone else? Your friend Farlan, maybe? Or -"

"She has a shitty sense of humor," Levi snaps. His arms tighten across his chest and his jaw clenches. He opens his mouth like he's going to say more before closing it again. He turns his head, and she allows herself to appreciate the line of his profile.

"Then what do you do?" She leans against the door, arms at her side, fingertips brushing against the grain of the wood.

"We're stuck in here for another five minutes," he says. Mikasa blinks, confused. She realizes that he's trying to change the subject. Why, she has no idea. No point in pressing him about his Friday nights.

"Probably more. Sasha and Connie will probably forget that they forced us in here." Levi huffs out a sigh in response, raking a hand through his hair again. He says nothing and crosses his arms again. She finds herself mirroring his posture, slouching and sliding down the door a bit. Silence falls between them. Someone shrieks when walking past the door.

She realizes that, without meaning to, the slump moved her just close enough to barely brush her tights-clad need to nudge against his jeans....and thigh. The pants are fitted, so she can feel the heat of him through the material. If he notices - he has to have noticed - he doesn’t make a move. She decides, then, to keep it there. Maybe slide down the door more to press it more firmly. She’s just cold: that’s all it is. He doesn’t react. She knows he feels it, but he doesn’t do or say anything.

It happens then: the prickling underneath her skin, starting from the top of her head and shimmying through her limbs, lighting up her fingertips and curling her toes. It’s more intense than it’s ever been. She shivers from the feelings skittering along her spine. Her fingers clench into fists, and she wants to leave, to run away, to get out of the suddenly stifling space, because it frightens her: the reason why she never gets close to him.

There is a very long moment where neither of them move, one where she scarcely takes a breath. Then, it happens: the brush of something against her bare forearm. She tenses before realizing what it is, and then it's gone. An instant of the simple touch of fingertips, warm yet enough to feel like it left a brand on her arm. She breaks out in goosebumps and draws in a gasp that she hopes is soft enough to go unnoticed (while hoping at the same time that it didn't).

"You're always so tense around me," he says in a low voice. "Why is that?"

She swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. She tries to wet her lips with a quick swipe of her tongue. “I’m not,” she whispers, as though they aren’t alone and someone could hear them over the noise of the party. The words came out before she could think of a better response. She cringes at how terrible of a response it is.

“So you’re always like this,” he says, the words sounding louder this time. Not because he’s raised his voice, Mikasa realizes, but because he’s closer. She takes in another breath through her nose and pushes it out with great effort. If she held it in, she would likely never let it out: not here, at least. Even so, exhaling does not lessen the tension imbuing her body.

The words hang between them after that, the air starting to crackle as well. ‘I’m not,’ she wants to repeat, but the words would be even less convincing than before.

His touch returns to her arm, heightening her senses so suddenly that she feels dizzy. When Levi says, “Sasha had some interesting things to share in her grossly drunken state -” she can’t bear to hear the rest. She cuts him off: not with a hand to his mouth or words of denial, but with her own lips.

It isn’t soft like she might have imagined - oh, fuck it, had imagined - late at night when she was alone (along with many other actions that would stem from a simple kiss): it’s a clash that he welcomes, meeting her with the intensity she gives and he accepts. His hand wraps around her arm instead of a simple touch, the feeling hotter than before against her skin.

But it’s all shorter than she anticipated, shorter than the scenes created in her mind, because the door behind her is ripped open with a loud laugh. They tumble out together, falling back into Sasha, who is too uncoordinated to even think of catching them.

So they fall, him landing on her, in front of all the people there. Someone cheers - Isabel, probably, she thinks - though the room doesn’t go completely silent like she expects. Then again, the roaring in her ears and the beat of her heart in her throat would drown out everything if she let it: silence or otherwise.

And...that’s it. He gets off her, brushes himself off, and walks away. She wants to get up and hit him for doing all of that but has no chance to as Sasha helps her up. The smell of beer on her breath invades Mikasa’s senses again, her loud voice distracting, and she doesn’t catch the brief look he gives her over his shoulder.

Chapter Text

“What are you so pissed off about?” Levi asks, not looking up from his phone as he accepts the flute of champagne.

“I’m not,” Mikasa says, but it’s through clenched teeth and a tight jaw. She takes a sip of her champagne in an attempt to relax a little.

“You’ve been uptight all day. Don’t do that ‘it’s nothing’ shit.” His thumb slides up the screen, continuing to read the unnecessarily long email from a client.

Her hackles raise at his words, shoulders tensing and lips pressing together in a line. She wants to shoot back that it is nothing. That would do little to persuade him to drop it. So she sighs and takes another zip before saying. "I don't like the way she talks about you."

He taps the screen of his phone to start writing a response. "I didn't think you'd be the jealous type." He says it with little emotion behind the words, apparently ambivalent to the idea.

"I'm not jealous," she says too quickly. He continues to type away on his phone. She's already frustrated and his lack of attention despite engaging with her makes it all the worse. So, without thought to the action, she snatches his phone out of his hand, turns off the screen, and, due to the lack of pockets in her dress, shoves it down the front of it.

Levi's expression flits from annoyed to mildly amused in an instant. "That isn't going to deter me from taking it back," he says, looking at her cleavage and the corner of the phone sticking out before meeting her eyes.

"Bad form to stick your hand down your subordinate's dress at a company party," she responds in a clipped tone. He rolls his eyes at the remark, and Mikasa tenses up again.

"Everyone knows we're fucking at his point." He doesn't reach for the phone but she takes a step back anyway. She takes a moment to breathe.

"So, that's all this is to you?" She knows it isn't from the whispered words in his office and the things he tells her in the darkness of her apartment, under the sheets, quiet and only for her ears.

His eyes flash and he closes the distance between them. He takes her hand and squeezes it. "Stop dodging the question." Her lips curl at the corners even though his words aren't ones of reassurance or warmth.

"I'm not jealous," she repeats. "The things she says would piss anyone off." Of course he was right that she was pissed off. He knew her so well.

"Who the fuck are you talking about?" Her eyes flit to the woman standing across the room, a fake smile pasted on her lips as she looks over at the same time. She gives Mikasa a once over, like she's sizing her up for a fight. As though she could actually win: she's half a foot shorter and doesn’t have anywhere near the same amount of muscle that Mikasa does. Her smile tightens a bit before Mikasa looks away, back to Levi, who squeezes her hand.

“You know,” she says, not gesturing or making any move to give him anything else to go on. He doesn’t look away from her, instead frowning and sighing.

“What is she doing now?” Because it was no secret that she disliked Mikasa and thought she had a claim to Levi because she knew him first. That she thought Mikasa swept in and stole him away with the intention of pissing her off (even though Levi had rejected her multiple times in the past and never indicated for a second that he might be interested). That he was just sleeping with Mikasa to make her jealous.

“The usual. Though she has been talking about ‘stealing you back,’ as though she owns you and you’re just an object.” He doesn’t appear fazed by the words, because he’s heard it all before, ever since Mikasa came to the firm a month ago. “I just don’t like it.” But he’s had all of his attention focused on her (at least, since she took the phone away, but she knows how hard he has to work to keep up), and there’s really nothing to be jealous over, though jealousy isn’t a rational emotion.

“So tell Erwin about it,” he says

He then reaches up, and she thinks he might cup her face or touch her lips or any of the things he does when they’re alone. She’s ready to let her eyes flutter shut and lean into it. Instead, he plucks the phone from her dress, wipes it with a sleeve, and unlocks it.

“What the fuck?” she says, ready to shake off the hand that still holds hers. He tightens his grip, using one thumb to finish the email.

“I needed to get that done,” Levi says after hitting send.