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He could still feel you.
Feel your presence in his room; in his hollow heart. With every shallow breath he took he swore he could still feel your warm palm on his skin, gently patting his shaking shoulders.
The clothes you’d left behind were still in his closet. The little notes you’d scribbled to him on random days still compiled. The letters you wrote sit heavy in a wooden box inside his bedside drawer.
He once complained that they created clutter in his room when you started slowly moving your things into his private quarters. It started off with clothes left on his unmade bed and eventually ended with you bringing your hygiene products to his personal bathroom. Slowly but surely, you moved in. Slowly but surely, you cemented a place in his life where you’d already cemented a place in his heart.
But now glancing at your shared bed, half empty, he simply couldn’t find it in himself to do anything about your ‘clutter.’ It was, after all, all he had left of you.
The pillows on your side of the bed still smelled like you. The cotton where you slept countless nights before had a slight depression, an imprint of your body on the mattress. Faintly, if Levi closes his eyes, he swears he could still feel your fingertips running through his scalp as you peppered sweet little kisses onto his calloused skin.
His own fingers reach out and grasps at air where your beautiful face should be, sleeping peacefully next to him. Snoring. Twitching your eyes when you had nightmares. Him gently shaking you awake and holding you close to reassure you that everything was okay, whatever you dreamt of wasn’t real, and he’ll be here to make the darkness go away.
Yet his own darkness starts to eat at his conscience. He curses at his hands for even having the audacity to reach for you when it was these same hands that signed your death certificate earlier in the day.
Three weeks.
That’s how long it’s been since he woke up next to you. Since he bid you good luck before breaking into formation as you crossed the walls and rode your horses through titan country.
It’s been three weeks since you were separated from your squadron. Since they came back from the expedition and he’d only noticed you weren’t there when they finally reached the walls. Since he searched through countless corpses and severed bodies, trying to find your own.
It’s been three weeks since he’s pushed off on signing the “M.I.A. - PRESUMED DEAD” document with your name and information printed at the top before he was forced to come to terms with your fate when the second search party once again came back empty handed.
It’s been three weeks since he last cracked a smile. Since he lost the last reason he had to strive forward. Since he lost the last reason to hope for a better place; a better future; a small home in the suburbs to live out the rest of his life with you.
It’s been three weeks since he last heard your voice. Since he rested his cheek against the palm of your hand. Since he first picked up a bottle of bourbon and let the alcohol numb his distressed mind and aching heart to the reality that you were gone.
Three weeks. It’s been three weeks, and Levi still lies to himself when he says he’s okay.
A breeze passes through the open window, snapping him from his thoughts. Goosebumps form on his skin but he couldn’t bring himself to get underneath the sheets or close the window because he tells himself that the breeze was you. It was you, checking up on him, scolding him for drowning his sorrows in bottles of brewed brown, wiping away the tears he didn’t even know he’d shed as the pain of loss and mourning— the very things he’d been trying to outrun— hit him all at once.
He closes his eyes to stop more tears from falling. But he knew he was really doing it because he found darkness more comforting than having to look at your shared room. Not when you weren’t there to make the darkness go away when he opened his eyes. Not when every little thing reminded him of you.
The chair in the corner where you always sat, reading under the dim glow of candlelight. The shelves full of books, an impressive collection you’d both amassed throughout the years. Even the porcelain cup that sat on his bedside table reminded him of you. It was a gift you’d given him when you were both still in the Underground. A cup matching his own sat on your bedside table, that much he already knew without having to open his eyes. He brewed you a cup of tea hours before going on the expedition that would seal your fate.
His skin tingles when he remembers the way you held his hand as you both sipped tea on that day. You were sat next to each other on the bed. He was reading the newspaper and you were reading a book, intertwined hands resting in the space between your bodies.
A new wave of tears threaten his eyes and he hears himself sob before he realizes the tears have fallen again. His hands clutch at his hair, pulling at the strands, and he lays on his side to curl up into a ball as he wills himself to stop, be quiet, and stop being so weak.
His heart began to speed up and his ears began to ring. He couldn’t focus. It was so noisy— everything was too much. The was talking. So much talking.
shut up. be quiet. leave me the fuck alone.
Levi realizes that the talking was his own conscience degrading him, and he wonders if he’s finally snapped. He heaves and gasps for air, trying to get his mind to shut up, but it only serves for the noise to get worse and suddenly the ringing in his ears turns into static. His heart begins to thump louder, and he’s acutely aware that he was having a panic attack.
Pathetic mewls leave his lips and his hands reach out to your side of the bed out of habit, just as he’s done plenty of times before. Only this time he doesn’t feel your fingers gently grasp at his shaking wrists to pull him to your chest, to hold him and whisper sweet nothings into his ears to calm him down. Instead, he grasps at white fabric, and he lets out a frustrated growl when he once again feels air where you should be.
Unfair. It was unfair.
It was unfair how you were taken away from him so easily. How he hadn’t even noticed until it was too late. How he didn’t have a body to mourn, knowing you were either rotting away in a forest or disfigured in some titan’s belly.
Levi cracks open his eyes and his gaze lands on splotches of wetness on his pillow, the marks of his sorrowful tears. He sniffles, telling himself there was no need to be so pathetic when soldiers died everyday. He repeats it to himself like a mantra.
But then, he thinks, you weren’t just any other soldier. You were y/n— his y/n. The owner of his heart. The love of his life. The one who kisses his forehead good morning and good night. Who held his hands underneath the table before giving him a knowing glance, like you were sharing a secret that only you two knew of. Who would slip little notes into his pockets when you thought he wasn’t looking. Who sat with him in silence and calmed him down when emotions got the better of him. Who held him close and tight on nights like this, when the crushing reality of pain and loss finally broke him. And the sickening irony of needing you the most because he was mourning your death almost made him want to laugh.
He doesn’t know how long he stayed there. Unmoving. Curled up into a ball on your side of the bed, nose digging into the sheets to find comfort in the remnants of your scent as he hugged himself to slowly calm himself down.
Suddenly, he hears the door to his office burst open and rapid footsteps approaching his room. The wood slams against the wall, and his reddened eyes meet the wide and panicked ones of a soldier he’s seen in passing. She’s breathing heavily like she ran a mile to get there, sweat dripping down her forehead as she frantically looks around in search of the captain before finally landing on the man in question.
“Captain Levi, we—“ She’s cut off when he heaves a loud sigh, slowly sitting up and rubbing his red puffy face.
“Has there been a breach?” He asks. His voice is hoarse, she notices. The tone is calm but his eyes are angered, clearly not amused to be interrupted when he was mourning, and the soldier visibly gulps as she replies.
“N-no, Captain.”
“Are there titans anywhere in the walls?”
“No, but sir we—“
“Has anyone died in the few hours that have passed since dinner? Choked on their own spit, perhaps?”
“Well, no. But—“
“Then why the hell are you here?”
“Captain I was—“
A thought crosses his mind and he clicks his tongue in irritation. “Tch, did shitty glasses send you?”
“…yes but—“
“Tell four-eyes to stop sending people to check up on me.” He murmurs, beginning to lie down. “I’m allowed some goddamn privacy the night before my fiance’s funeral.”
“Yes but, sir, that’s actually why I’m here.”
“Whatever motivational words you have to say, save it for someone who cares.” He pulls the sheets above his head. “I’ve had enough pity-filled glances and half assed condolences thrown my way to give a damn—“
“Captain Levi, Y/N is alive!”
The soldier doesn’t know what’s happening until her back is abruptly slammed into the wall behind her and pain shoots from her spine to the back of her head. Hands are tightly wrapped around her throat in an ironclad grip, and her feet are dangling from the ground. She gulps.
The captain’s face is mere centimeters away from hers. If she thought he looked angry before, then the scowl he gave her now made it look like he was smiling just moments ago.
“What kind of sick joke do you think you’re playing, huh?” He sneers. “You think it’s funny to make fun of someone’s death?”
She tries to reply but only choked sounds escape her lips as her fingernails claw at her captor’s hands. Tears blur her vision as the Captain tightens his grip, but the way his eyes almost glowed a bright red— the clear intent to murder if she so much as breathed out of line— didn’t go unnoticed to her.
“Do you get some fucked up kick out of this?” He asks again. “You get a kick making fun of a man who’s lost everything?”
He loosens his grip the slightest, and the soldier is momentarily relieved when she realizes she could finally speak.
“N-no, sir, I—“
“Levi, let her go!” Another frantic voice pleads with him from behind. “She’s telling the truth.”
Wait, what?
“What?” He chokes out. His grip loosens on the soldier and she slides to the ground in relief, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.
Hange cautiously walks closer, almost scared that any sudden movements would put Levi in a state of shock. They slowly, warily place a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“It’s true, Levi. Y/N is alive.” The Section Commander murmurs. “Your Y/N is alive. They’re looking for you.”