Chapter Text
Eren Jaeger, emergency surgeon with Doctors Without Borders, was finally going home.
After four long years overseas—most of them spent in conflict zones or makeshift field hospitals—he was heading back to something like normalcy. Not that he was sure what “normal” even meant anymore. He’d signed on for a position at a hospital back home, but the idea of clean floors, scheduled hours, and working air conditioning still felt almost too good to be true.
He wasn’t going alone, either. Sitting beside him on the flight was his older brother—Zeke—who had somehow managed to make Eren’s already exhausting life even more stressful in their final days abroad.
The plan was simple: sleep through the ten-hour flight, land, stop by the hospital to sign some paperwork, then crash at home and pretend the past week hadn’t happened. But of course, nothing ever went according to plan.
Just as Eren began to relax in his seat, he heard it:
“Is there a doctor on board?”
He closed his eyes again and exhaled slowly through his nose. Of course.
It had been a week straight of chaos. First, there was training the new staff to replace him— even though his contract was officially over and he didn’t owe anyone anything. But he couldn’t just walk away. That wasn’t who he was.
Then came the frantic packing. The international shipping nightmare. The last-minute scramble to the airport because his very intelligent older brother had misread the flight time.
“Zeke,” Eren muttered under his breath, “never again. And I repeat— never again —am I letting you book the plane tickets.”
Zeke, utterly unbothered, lounged in his seat like a man on vacation. “You’re welcome for the scenic route.”
“You picked a flight with three layovers. We could’ve taken a direct flight.”
“I thought it’d be character-building,” Zeke said, smiling innocently.
“We’ve had enough character-building for a lifetime,” Eren snapped, rubbing his eyes. “You know what else would’ve built character? Letting me sleep for more than two hours this week.”
“And yet, you’re still so charming,” Zeke deadpanned. “Truly, it’s impressive.”
Eren shot him a look. “Since you’ve decided to make my life a living hell, the least you could do is promise you’ll stop taking jobs in unstable regions. As an apology.”
Zeke sighed, stretching his legs. “No promises.”
“Zeke—”
“But,” he added, cutting Eren off with a grin, “I am thinking about taking that teaching job they offered me. Not a full professorship, but I’d be traveling the country, giving lectures about conflict resolution and negotiation. You know—war stories with PowerPoint.”
Eren blinked, the irritation in his face melting away. “Wait—seriously?”
Zeke gave a small nod. “With my background, I could probably make it into a university role eventually. It’s… safer. Might be time.”
Eren leaned back, smiling in disbelief. “Do you know how happy Mom and Dad are going to be? Finally , all the kids in the same country. You realize this means family barbecues, right? And holiday photos. And Mom bugging us about grandkids.”
Zeke laughed—loud and easy. “You missed home more than all of us combined.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Still, even as Eren looked forward to seeing his family again, a part of him already missed the work. There had been meaning in it. Urgency. The feeling that what he did mattered every single day. That kind of purpose was hard to come by in regular hospitals. He wasn’t sure if he’d find it again.
He hoped he would. But he also knew he couldn’t keep burning himself out forever. His body was exhausted. His heart, too. And if the right short-term mission came up again… well, he probably wouldn’t say no.
Zeke nudged him lightly, breaking the silence. “Sleep. You look like you’re about to code on me.”
Eren let out a soft laugh and leaned back in his seat. “Wake me up if the plane goes down.”
“Obviously,” Zeke said, already pulling up his blanket.
As Eren closed his eyes, his thoughts wandered—to the patients he’d left behind, the friends he’d made, the impossible situations they’d survived together. He hoped he could carry that experience with him into whatever came next. He hoped he could still make a difference.
With that final thought, Eren let himself drift off, the soft hum of the engines and his brother’s steady presence beside him lulling him into sleep.
💠
Irritation was Levi’s baseline.
It was his default emotion, his comfort zone, the lens through which he viewed the world. Between endless business trips, managing the tea shop, and forcing himself to finish a book he no longer even liked, stress was just another part of his routine.
But nothing— nothing —pushed him closer to a full-blown breakdown than Farlan Walker .
Best friend. Business partner. Personal plague.
Farlan had dragged him to Africa under the guise of a “relaxing getaway.” What it actually was? A glorified guilt trip into some “humanitarian opportunity” Levi had zero interest in. Rest and relaxation? Not even close. Levi spent the entire week coordinating logistics, translating paperwork, and getting coated in a fine, sticky layer of dust and regret.
To be clear: Levi wasn’t heartless. But no one in their right mind would call him soft , either. He hated heat. He hated filth. He hated bugs. And Farlan had forced him into all three, with that infuriating, wide-eyed idealism Levi was definitely going to punish later.
He lasted seven days. Seven.
Longer than anyone would’ve expected, frankly.
Then, without ceremony, Levi snapped. Bought two return tickets on the spot. Hauled Farlan out of the town by his sunburnt collar. Farlan had protested the whole way, flailing and whining like a child banned from dessert, but he didn’t resist. He never resisted when Levi got that specific look in his eye.
And just when Levi thought it couldn’t get any worse—of course, it did.
First, their flight time was changed without notice. Then, they got sideswiped by a motorbike on the way to the airport. And the plane?
An airborne biohazard.
Cramped. Sweaty. Reeking of old food and damp socks. Levi had wiped down the seats with sanitizing wipes until the fabric changed color. He spent the first six hours of the flight fantasizing about suing the airline out of existence.
And then Farlan got sick.
Really sick.
Clammy skin. Glassy eyes. Slurred words and shallow breathing. At first, Levi thought he was faking—some kind of karmic payback. But when Farlan swayed sideways in his seat and nearly passed out, the irritation Levi had been nursing all day snapped like a cheap wire.
Fear took its place. Cold, heavy, real.
“Sit up,” Levi said sharply, already reaching for the call button. “Don’t be dramatic.”
Farlan didn’t argue. He just gave a weak nod and slumped back, sweat soaking through his shirt.
Levi’s hands were steady when he needed them to be—but the second he pressed the call button, he noticed the tremble in his fingers. Not from panic. Not exactly.
From the quiet, awful truth that if something happened to Farlan, Levi wouldn’t recover from it.
The flight attendant arrived, her smile fading fast when she saw Farlan’s state.
“We’re too far out to land,” she said gently, kneeling beside them. “I’ll make an announcement—ask if there’s a doctor on board.”
Levi just nodded, jaw tight. “Do it. Now.”
He passed Farlan a bottle of water. His fingers brushed against skin that felt far too cold. Farlan tried to sip, missed his mouth, and Levi helped him without saying a word.
He hated this.
The germs. The uncertainty. The not knowing what the hell to do . He wasn’t a doctor—he served tea, wrote books, translated contracts. He had no tools here. Just fear, and one very important person getting worse by the minute.
Farlan meant more to him than Levi could put into words—and Levi loathed words he couldn’t control.
So instead, he sat there. Steady. Silent.
And waited for someone—anyone—to save his best friend.
💠
Eren was asleep—finally.
Completely at peace, like Morpheus himself had dragged him under and refused to let go. Zeke sat beside him, grateful for the quiet. For once, there was no sarcastic commentary, no muttered complaints, no last-minute checklist of things Eren had forgotten to do. Just the sound of even breathing and the occasional twitch of a dream behind closed eyes.
Zeke took the opportunity to work on his field report—the one part of his job he actually despised . Every few minutes, he glanced sideways at his brother. Just to check.
After twenty-six years of watching Eren sleep, it still unsettled him how still the kid could get. He looked like a corpse. A calm, sun-kissed corpse, but still.
Then the captain’s voice crackled over the intercom.
“We have a medical emergency on board. If there is a doctor present, please notify one of our stewardess immediately. I repeat: if there is a doctor on board—”
Zeke’s head whipped toward Eren, irrational panic flaring for half a second. Was he the emergency? Had he died in his sleep without a sound? But no—Eren was still breathing. Still annoyingly peaceful.
The announcement came again, more urgent this time.
Zeke sighed. Of course.
He looked at his brother and then at the stewardess walking quickly down the aisle, eyes scanning each row. Before she could pass, Zeke raised a hand. She spotted him and hurried over, her expression tight with worry.
“Hello, sir, are you the doctor?”
Zeke shook his head and gestured to the sleeping mess beside him. “No, but he is. My brother.”
She looked down at Eren, hesitating. Long hair pulled into a loose ponytail, tanned skin, lean build—he didn’t look like a doctor. More like a professional swimmer or an indie model. Zeke could see the doubt flash across her face, then disappear just as quickly into sheer desperation.
“I just need to wake him,” Zeke added gently. “He’ll help. He always does.”
He hated to wake him. Eren hadn’t slept in days— because of him. Between Zeke’s change in flight plans, the job stress, and that whole last-minute packing disaster, Eren had barely had time to breathe. And now this.
“Eren,” Zeke said, shaking his brother lightly by the shoulder. “Eren, wake up.”
No response. The stewardess hovered, wringing her hands. A few passengers had turned in their seats, curious. Zeke tried again.
“Eren, come on. There’s an emergency. We need you.”
Eren groaned and turned his face toward the window. “Five more minutes. I swear to god, Zeke, if this is about the snacks again—”
Zeke leaned in, voice firmer. “Eren. There’s a medical emergency. You’re the only doctor on board.”
Eren cracked one eye open, blinking blearily. “What—? Zeke, I haven’t slept since Tuesday. I land, go straight to the hospital, sign like—fifty forms. Just let me sleep.”
The stewardess looked like she was two seconds from crying.
Zeke placed a hand on Eren’s shoulder and spoke low, soft with guilt. “I’m sorry. I know. But this sounds bad. Please.”
Eren blinked again. The fog in his head cleared slowly—but when it did, it was like a switch flipped.
He sat up without another word, his expression sharpening from half-asleep to all business in a breath. Gone was the cranky little brother; in his place stood Dr. Jaeger—confident, calm, and already scanning the aisle ahead.
“What’s the patient’s condition?” he asked the stewardess, standing up and adjusting his shirt.
“High fever, slurred speech, sweating, shallow breathing. Row 17. We gave him water, but it’s not helping. I think he’s getting worse.”
“Lead the way,” Eren said, all trace of sleep gone from his voice.
Zeke watched him go, heart pinched with something between pride and concern. No matter how tired or angry or done with the world Eren was, the second someone needed him, he showed up. Every time.
The stewardess looked up at Eren like he was already saving the day.
Zeke leaned back in his seat and sighed.
💠
Levi’s anxiety had morphed into full-blown dread.
Farlan was deteriorating fast—his skin was gray and clammy, his breathing shallow, his lips tinged blue. He was no longer speaking, no longer aware of what was happening. Levi held his wrist tightly, checking for a pulse he couldn’t trust himself to measure properly.
The stewardess had helped move them to a narrow, curtained space near the galley, offering what little privacy the cramped aircraft could provide. But the air was stale, the space too hot, and no doctor had come. Levi could feel helplessness clawing up his throat.
This is my fault.
If he hadn’t insisted they cut the trip short—if they’d stayed even one more day—maybe Farlan wouldn’t be like this.
Then, finally, the curtain shifted.
A stewardess stepped in, eyes wide with relief, and behind her was a tall young man. He looked out of place here—lean build, long hair tied back in a loose ponytail, casual clothes, and a face so young it bordered on suspicious.
The stewardess gestured toward him. “This is Dr. Jaeger.”
Levi didn’t move. He stared.
This? This kid?
But before he could say anything, the young man stepped forward, gaze immediately on Farlan. His tone was even, clear:
“Everyone, give me some space, please.”
Levi and the staff backed off. The doctor dropped to his knees beside Farlan with fluid precision, already checking his breathing, pulse, temperature.
“What’s his name?” he asked, eyes locked on his patient.
“Farlan Walker. Thirty,” Levi replied quickly.
“Any known allergies?” Eren asked, already pressing two fingers to Farlan’s neck.
Farlan gave a weak shake of his head.
“Any insect bites? Exposure to animals or plants?” he continued, his voice low and focused.
Another shake.
“Open your mouth,” Eren instructed.
He examined Farlan’s throat and tongue, his expression unreadable. But Levi caught the slight narrowing of his eyes. He knew that look. The doctor was worried.
“I’m going to lift his shirt to check for rashes, stings, swelling—okay?” Eren added gently.
Farlan gave the faintest nod. The stewardesses quietly stepped out.
Eren moved quickly, scanning his chest, sides, abdomen. Nothing obvious. Just burning skin and fevered tension. He checked the legs. Same.
“I’m letting the staff back in,” Eren said softly.
He rose to his feet and motioned for Levi to follow. They stepped just outside the curtain, where the pilot had joined the group, face drawn.
Levi glanced sideways at the doctor. “How bad?”
“Severe allergic reaction,” Eren said, all professionalism. “Fast onset. We’re lucky he’s still conscious. If we don’t treat him now, he might lose his airway.”
He turned to the stewardess. “I need the emergency medical kit. Now. ”
She returned in under a minute, handing over the case.
Eren opened it quickly, scanned the contents—and froze.
“…You’re kidding me.”
He rifled through it again, more sharply this time. Then looked up, eyes dark.
“Where’s the EpiPen?”
“This is the full kit,” she said, sounding genuinely shaken. “We don’t—”
“You don’t carry an EpiPen on an international flight?”
The stewardess opened her mouth, but Eren held up a hand—gentle but firm.
“I’m not blaming you ,” he said, his tone softening. “I’m angry at the company. You’re doing your job. But this?” He held up the kit. “This is criminal negligence. Someone’s going to die one day, and it won’t be your fault—it’ll be theirs.”
The stewardess nodded, visibly rattled. Levi stayed silent.
Eren took a deep breath and began pulling supplies out of the kit: syringe, gloves, antiseptic, vials. He held one up.
“Adrenaline,” he said aloud. “It’s what’s in an EpiPen, just not pre-dosed. I’ll have to calculate the right amount and inject it manually.”
He crouched by the fold-down table and grabbed a pen from his pocket, scribbling numbers on the inside flap of the kit:
0.01 mg/kg body weight. 30 years old. Approx. 75 kg. Target dose: 0.75 mg. Max safe IM: 0.3–0.5 mg per injection.
He paused. Adjusted.
“0.5,” he murmured. “Split the dose if needed.”
Levi watched him work—how fast he calculated, how steady his hands were as he drew the precise amount into the syringe, checked it again, then again.
Eren looked back at the stewardess. “I’m going to administer it intramuscularly—in the glute. He’s awake, so I’ll give him the choice. Privacy, if he wants.”
Inside the curtain, Eren knelt again.
“Farlan, I have adrenaline here. It’ll act fast and help your breathing. But it goes into the glute, and there are people around. If you want them to leave, just blink.”
Farlan didn’t blink.
“Alright,” Eren said, voice a little warmer now. “Good man.”
He disinfected his hands, the site, the syringe—everything twice. Then he delivered the injection with a clean, practiced motion.
And they waited.
Five seconds. Ten.
Farlan’s chest shifted. He inhaled deeper. His fingers twitched. The tension in his face began to fade.
Levi let out a breath, chest aching from holding it too long. Eren sat back, visibly relieved, but still watching Farlan like a hawk.
“He’s stabilizing,” he said softly. “It’s working.”
The crew looked on like they’d just witnessed a miracle.
Eren cleaned up, then returned to his scribbled math, calculating dosage for a second injection—just in case.
They monitored Farlan for half an hour. Eren didn’t move, except to recheck vitals and hydration. Eventually, he nodded.
“He’s still weak, but he’s breathing better. I want him upright but resting. Don’t move him far.”
They moved Farlan into a row near the back of the plane—three seats, mercifully empty. He was still pale and groggy, but breathing easier, color slowly returning to his face.
Levi took the window seat. Farlan leaned carefully against the aisle. And Eren—Eren planted himself in the middle like a human safeguard, his shoulder brushing both men slightly.
He hadn’t sat still once in the last hour. He hadn’t panicked either. Even now, he stayed upright, alert, checking his watch at intervals and glancing at Farlan with clinical precision.
Levi watched him, amazed by the control, the quiet confidence. And beneath it—compassion. This wasn’t a man chasing praise. It was someone who couldn’t not help, no matter how tired, no matter how poorly equipped the situation was.
“Thank you,” Levi said, quietly but clearly.
Eren gave a slight nod. “I’m just glad I got to him in time.”
Then he added, softer, with a hint of warmth: “He’s lucky to have someone like you. You didn’t wait around. Most people hesitate.”
Levi blinked, caught off guard. “…I almost didn’t.”
“But you did,” Eren said, a half-smile playing at his lips. “That’s what mattered.”
There was a pause—then Eren finally leaned back slightly, relaxing just enough to show he was no longer in emergency mode.
Farlan groaned beside him, muttering, “Did someone hit me with a truck?”
Levi huffed a breath. “No, but you managed to almost die in the middle of a pressurized germ tube. Real classy.”
Farlan managed a faint laugh. Eren cracked a smile.
Levi turned to Eren again, more serious now. “You really think this could’ve killed him?”
“If I hadn’t been on board?” Eren nodded. “It could’ve gone very badly.”
Levi’s jaw tensed. He looked toward the stewardess further up the cabin—now seated, eyes downcast—and then back to Eren.
“I’m suing the airline.”
Eren raised an eyebrow, amused. “You don’t waste time.”
“They didn’t carry the most basic life-saving medication,” Levi said, voice clipped. “It’s reckless. It’s criminal. And don’t get me started on the state of that medical kit.”
Eren tilted his head, clearly impressed. “Let me know if you need a medical report for the case. I’ll write it myself.”
Levi gave a rare, sincere smirk. “Deal.”
Farlan groaned again and leaned his head toward Eren. “You’re sure you’re a real doctor? You look like you should still be getting carded at bars.”
Eren smiled faintly. “I don’t drink.”
Levi snorted. “Figures.”
The tension, finally, began to lift.
💠
Eren was swaying in his seat.
Not dramatically—just a slow, imperceptible forward tilt every few seconds, like a man fighting off the gravitational pull of sleep with pure, stubborn willpower. He blinked hard. Then again. His arms were folded tightly across his chest like a barricade against exhaustion.
Levi noticed. Of course he did. The man next to him was practically listing sideways like a ship taking on water.
“You’re going to faceplant,” Levi said flatly.
Eren turned his head just enough to squint at him, bleary-eyed. “I might,” he admitted. “And that wouldn’t be ideal.”
“You just saved someone’s life. I think you’ve earned a nap.”
“No,” Eren said firmly. “If I sleep now, I won’t wake up until landing. And I have a meeting. Protocol briefing. Reassignment nonsense. It’ll be bad.”
Levi raised an eyebrow. “Worse than passing out mid-sentence?”
“Debatable.”
Then Eren groaned and turned fully toward him, eyes glassy but pleading.
“Okay,” he muttered. “This is me officially begging. You need to keep me awake.”
Levi stared at him.
“Excuse me?”
“Talk to me. Tell me a story. Recite your grocery list. I don’t care. If you don’t entertain me, I will collapse onto you like a dying Victorian heroine and start snoring into your shoulder.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Levi snorted.
“You think I’m entertainment?”
“You have the face of someone with five secret novels, two childhood traumas, and a tea collection organized by bitterness,” Eren replied, almost without thinking.
Levi’s mouth twitched. “That’s… disturbingly accurate.”
“Told you,” Eren muttered. “Now entertain me before I start listing all the potential side effects of in-flight coffee.”
“Please don’t.”
Eren shifted to sit more upright, rubbing his eyes. “Palpitations. Gastric reflux. Hypertension—”
Levi cut him off with a sigh. “Fine. Jesus. What do you want to hear? I can tell you about the time a woman tried to smuggle a bag of earl grey into an evidence locker.”
Eren blinked. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was. It’s always the earl grey.”
That earned a laugh from Eren—real, low, and warm. “Okay, now you have to tell me the whole story.”
And so Levi did. Begrudgingly at first, but soon enough, he was talking. Eren was still visibly tired, but he was listening, and every time Levi paused, Eren made a sarcastic little comment or asked a question just off-kilter enough to be genuinely funny.
At one point, Eren yawned so hard he actually teared up, then immediately muttered, “Keep going, I swear I’m still here.”
“You’re going to fall asleep mid-sentence,” Levi said.
“I’ve slept in ditches, in tents, in a truck bed full of vaccine coolers. I can make it through a two-hour flight if you keep talking about contraband tea smugglers.”
Levi shook his head, but the corners of his mouth were pulling upward.
“You’re a nightmare.”
“You’re my caffeine substitute.”
“God help you.”
Eren chuckled again, slumping a little in his seat but staying conscious. “You know,” he said softly, “you’re actually pretty good at this.”
“At what?”
“Conversation. Distraction. Delayed collapse prevention.”
“I aim to impress.”
Eren glanced sideways, and even through the exhaustion, there was a flicker of something bright in his eyes. “You do.”
They talked the rest of the flight. About books. About bad tea. About a travel article Levi wrote once that caused an entire bakery to sue him. Eren, through sheer force of sarcasm and curiosity, managed to stay awake the entire time.
By the time they landed, Levi was still mildly annoyed.
But he was also… smiling.
And Eren was still awake.
Barely.
💠
Once they arrived at the airport, Levi and Farlan were quickly rushed into an ambulance, while Eren and Zeke were picked up by their father. Zeke was driven straight home, drained but stable, and Eren was taken to the hospital for the documents and forms he still has to sign. During the car ride, Eren kept silently kicking himself.
He hadn’t exchanged numbers with Levi. Not even once. He didn’t even know Levi’s last name. How was that even possible?
Of all the things to forget in a moment like that.
But life had its own twisted sense of timing.
Later that same day, Eren found himself walking through the hospital hallways and bumped straight into both Levi and Farlan—his patient and the man who’d become an unexpected companion during the trip. They looked tired but definitely better.
“Doctor!” Farlan called out immediately, grinning like he’d just won a prize.
Eren felt a rush of relief flood him. Farlan was okay, still in good spirits despite everything. After a quick health check, Eren confirmed the treatment was working as it should.
Before parting ways, Eren nervously pulled a crumpled business card from his wallet and handed it to Levi.
“If you still have any book recommendations, here’s my number,” he mumbled, cheeks burning. He was trying to sound casual, but he was very aware of how awkward he probably looked.
Levi took the card, raising an eyebrow in that familiar mix of frown and amusement he always wore like a shield.
“Noted,” Levi said, voice low but with a hint of a smirk.
As they prepared to leave, Farlan couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease.
“Levi, am I crazy, or did you just win the lottery?” he asked, totally missing the gravity of the day.
Levi shot him a sharp, warning look.
But Farlan only grinned wider. “A young, impossibly handsome doctor just gave you his number. And let’s be honest—he’s probably gay. That’s a jackpot if I’ve ever seen one.”
Levi’s face tightened, but he kept silent, clearly weighing whether to laugh or strangle his friend.
“If you don’t call him, I swear I’ll go gay just to hang out with that guy,” Farlan added with a chuckle. “Consider it public service, Levi.”
Levi might have strangled him under any other circumstances—especially after nearly losing the doctor hours before—but instead he muttered quietly, “I’ll call him.”
Barely audible, but it was enough to finally shut Farlan up.
Despite that promise, it would be months before Levi and Eren crossed paths again—leaving Eren’s shy heart quietly hoping for the next chance.