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Numbs.
A mystery of old times that persists in modern medicine. An off-putting and alienating characteristic for most people, an object of myths and legends in some rare secluded circles. Most importantly at its core, a potentially dangerous and lethal condition —when you can’t feel pain, you inevitably and systematically lack one of the body’s most basic and efficient signals that something might be wrong.
Hange Zoë has, as a result, never told anyone that they belong to that enigmatic section of Humanity.
Their family noticed as they were growing up, and took necessary precautions to ensure their most troublesome heir would survive that ailment while making sure no one outside the household would ever find out. It soon turned out, however, that the child would find other ways to ruffle the aristocracy’s feathers and clash with their rigid traditions, thus tarnishing their parents’ reputation and guaranteeing a mutually beneficiary decision to cut off ties for different reasons.
Still, it’s not exactly the kind of quirk you feel like sharing with others when you’re trying to fit in. And when you go through some medical training of your own, hungry to find out more about your own condition —which they didn’t, really, because research on that topic unsurprisingly never held Sina’s most esteemed scientists’ interest— right in that sweet spot between the day you turned your back on your family and the moment you felt like joining the Survey Scouts was your true calling, it’s not something you even have to disclose to anyone: after seeing it on so many faces under your care, you can fake pain in those moment when you genuinely need an outsider's point of view to diagnose your injuries properly. And with enough determination and dedication for your work on top of that scientific knowledge, you can easily escape the medical wing after initial examinations and soothe your painless wounds by yourself anyway.
It’s not exactly something to feel ashamed of, not when Hange’s already a pariah for their identity and questionable passions, but… who knowingly has a condition that grants them a Soulmate and still joins the army, right? Who is assured since birth that there’s someone that’s literally made for them out there, and still chooses to run after giant monsters outside the safety of the Walls?
So, Hange’s kept quiet about it all those years, aware from what little data they could gather on the subject that the odds are low that they would ever meet their soulmate either way. Hell, even Moblit doesn’t know.
Well. Truth be told, Hange thinks he might suspect it, but after a drunken night where their hazy memories include their assistant tearfully asking to confirm they don’t have a Soulmate he would have to, in his words, compete with, neither of them has brought it up again —not even after Nifa joined their ranks and Moblit seemed to effectively get over one crush to fall into another, that this time turned out to be reciprocal.
So, that’s where they —are trying to— stand right now: a secret Numb, who can tell they got badly injured enough during the Expedition that they most definitely have to publicly fake the agony they know some of their fellow soldiers actually are experiencing, feeling both guilty and ludicrous at the performance they’re putting on while limping on their way into Headquarters.
“Section Commander Zoë is hurt, let me through!”
Blessed be Moblit and his anguished cry, that compells others to obey even without carrying the authority Hange would like him to develop more —but they’ll save the remarks for a later date, considering he thought he saw them plunging to their death just a few hours ago.
“Hange! What happened?” Nanaba is the first to ask, coming up on the other side to serve as their second brace while Mike walks in front, making way for them in the chaotic post-mission return crowd as he hastily fixes the makeshift bandages over his own bleeding forearm.
“Nothing serious,” Hange replies, adjusting the cheer in their tone so it doesn’t clash too obviously with the unnatural angle of their left leg with their knee and the blood that’s slowly but surely soaking through their pants around that area. “I was just testing a theory about blade placement and things… went South.”
There’s a joke in there about things going in the same direction the regiment itself was following during this expedition, except Hange’s been looked at weirdly before for choosing humor in times where normal people are in too much pain to make silly quips, so they’re going to sit on it and try and remember it tomorrow. Maybe they’ll be able to get away with it once they’re hooked to intravenous painkillers, which usually makes everyone more sensible to their sense of comedy —out of pity because they think Hange's out of it, mostly, but hey, they'll take what they can get.
Every instinct to make light of the situation disappear, however, when a shorter silhouette joins their little pack, arms crossed over his chest and an angry scowl on his face as he takes in Hange’s current state.
“I told you to stop trying to hold your blades like I do, Shitty Glasses. There’s no use changing the way you fight after so many years in the Corps, you’ll only end up hurting yourself.”
Right, hurting themself.
Because that’s something they can feel and fear, as a normal human being with no unexplained magical nerve endings whatsoever. Because they’re not cosmically bound to another social outcast out there that has most likely died of their shared condition unless they were looked after by either loving or wealthy parents, someone they’ll probably never meet whose existence Hange only started resenting so much after they met the most taciturn yet empathetic soon-to-be-promoted Captain Levi who, outside of his extraordinary combat abilities, remains a most evidently normal human being. One that Hange, considering their condition, had absolutely no business spending the last year falling in love with.
“Are you saying I’m too old to learn new tricks?” Hange gasps in mocked outrage, diverting attentions from his legitimate scolding and the perilous path their thoughts were starting to take.
He shoots them a sly smile, probably about to mention that late night —early morning, according to Erwin who found the two of them sharing a cup of tea in the kitchens during an insomnia fit of Levi's and a research-driven allnighter of Hange's— a couple of months ago when they found out that Hange was, shockingly, almost one year older than him. That discovery led to a bunch of age-related jabs that Hange finds way too funny for someone who’s their target; then again, they’ve stopped trying to rationalize their reactions when it comes to Humanity’s Strongest. But Levi takes in the way their mangled leg drags across the steps that lead to the mess hall and seems to change his mind, grimacing —see? empathetic, even when he pretends not to care about anyone— and making Hange feel eve more embarrassed that they’re lying to him specifically about being in pain.
“All I’m saying is, if you haven’t managed to master my technique in the year since I’ve joined you guys, maybe out in the field isn’t the best place to give it yet another unfruitful shot,” he settles for instead, which is still a little bit rude but, in Levi’s language, a gentler remark than whatever else he could have gone for here.
“By Sina, Levi, I hadn’t realized!” Nanaba interjects, with much more enthusiasm than Levi clearly expected. “It’s been an entire year since you’ve joined, we need to celebrate!”
Hange’s eyes meet Levi’s just as a spark seems to die in them at that —to Nanaba— promise slash —to him— threat, but all they do is smirk and shrug as much as their current position allows.
Not my fault, they silently taunt him, and they feel well within their right to do so because Levi had so little faith in them he was willing to bet they would be the one to publicly bring up the first anniversary of him joining the Scouts —which their idiotic friends would predictably make a big deal of. Now, did Hange refuse to actually place the bet back then because that theory didn’t seem too far fetched even to themself? Sure. But that’s neither here nor there now that Levi is the one who fucked it up, so they’re definitely going to gloat.
“Happy anniversary, Short Stack! Come here!” Mike warns, a millisecond before forcing him into a crushing hug.
Hange finds themself chuckling, which soon devolves in to a full bout of laughter —at Levi’s defeated sigh and exaggerated eye roll— that echoes loudly against the walls of the long corridor that leads to the medical wing that they’re currently being dragged along.
“You’re looking way too smug for someone who belongs on a gurney,” Levi notes when he’s finally being let go of, and Hange would fear their secret was discovered if he didn’t look so preciously sullen right now.
“Come on, you didn’t fight Mike on that at all,” they observe with a residual giggle. “Is the idea of physical contact growing on you, Levi?”
“Fuck, no. I’ve just given up on that animal ever respecting my boundaries.”
Mike only grins at him, unbothered by the insult, as they all settle in the queue that’s formed near the entrance to the infirmary.
“Not everyone is as understanding a friend as I am,” they offer, quickly settling against the wall to free poor Nanaba and Moblit who had to half carry them up there while having their own minor injuries to grit their teeth through.
“True,” Levi admits quietly.
He looks away then, almost awkwardly as if realizing the compliment he just paid them, and Hange feels their own cheeks blushing in reply. They mostly meant it as a joke, but it’s true that in the year they’ve known each other, no matter how close they’ve grown —by Levi’s standards, anyway, Hange likes to think— they’ve never dared to breach that famous limit of his, outside of the occasional pat over his clothed shoulder whenever they lose a fellow member of Erwin’s Squad. They have managed to make him laugh more often than anyone else they know, even if it has been more often than not at their accidental expense, and he has tolerated most of their infamous monologues at outrageously late hours without interrupting —usually, after they would give in to his nagging about eating something, but still.
So, yeah, Hange likes to think, for lack of another option they’re not even supposed to wish for considering the heavy secret they share with destiny itself, that they’re a pretty decent friend to the grumpiest soldier in their ranks, and that them surviving this past year side by side is a noteworthy event.
“Hey, Levi,” they call out softly, trying not to attract anyone else’s attention —they mainly succeed thanks to Mike’s current over-the-top moaning about his own superficial wound that keeps both Moblit and Nana focused on his antics for now.
“What?”
They hold out a trembling hand, the one that’s least covered in blood.
“Congrats on making it a full year into the Survey Scouts.”
Levi glares at their fingers, and back up at Hange’s face.
Then, he swallows thickly, like he’s about to say something much more meaningful than the casual thanks they weren’t even expecting in verbal form, and slides his palm against theirs.
Before they can hear whatever he did have to say, they’re out.
The room around them evaporates like it was only a dream, and all their eyes can see is thick, near impenetrable darkness all around. Somewhere in the distance shines the faint light of some kind of glowing white tree-like shape, that seems eons away from the oddly comfortable, sand-like ground they're currently lying on.
The first, irrational, ridiculous thought that pops into Hange’s head is that Levi must have changed his mind and tackled them to the floor at their unusual gesture of affection, prompting them to lose consciousness and hallucinate whatever the hell this is —because honestly, it’s not completely out of the realm of possibilities and one of the reasons they were hesitant to even try it.
But they quickly invalidate that silly hypothesis when the odd, familiar feeling of simply passing out —that they’ve had the displeasure of getting to know esevral times through hunger, fatigue or on one memorable occasion excessive blood loss from a ruptured spleen after they’d taunted a younger Mike, who was even more competitive than he is now, into an intensive close combat training session— leaves way for an entirely unprecedented mix of sensations.
Full disclosure, it’s a little hard to identify everything.
The first clear impression, they’d say, would be… stinging. Needles sting, right? That’s what patients always used to say when they stabbed them with one, it’s a sharp and acute feeling in one place that makes people hiss and groan with discomfort. That’s what they’re feeling right now, except it’s not just in one spot. It’s all over their body, like there are hundreds of thousands of tiny, microscopic blades pointing at them from every direction, cutting into their skin everywhere they can reach.
They’re not entirely sure, but Hange would say there’s also burning. Which makes no sense; fire burns, and they weren’t injured that way today. But somehow, instinctively and from their training years, that’s the word their brain comes up with: the feeling inside their chest right now, it’s not hot and warm like campfires during winter missions, it’s scorching as if literal flames had been lit up between their lungs and were now spreading everywhere, licking at the right half of their thorax and consuming it all from the inside out. It's making every single intake of breath sear through their bronchi and again as they exhale, and then again at every respiratory cycle they’re reflexively forced to take. There’s one specific spot on the right side of their rib cage that stands out by how sharply it aches, and if Hange were more lucid they’d probably be able to count the rib fractures likely responsible for that.
But really, they can’t think properly right now, not when their left leg might be the worst of it all and they’re not entirely sure anyone is supposed to survive this amount of nociceptive stimuli. Because if the constrictive sensation in their chest can be helped by inhaling smaller gulps of air, even though they rationally know that’s not a good way of pulling enough oxygen into their currently broken body that desperately needs it for a chance to heal; it doesn’t feel like anything can relieve the monstrosity that’s taken root in their limb. They have no idea how they’re meant to handle and fight against the excruciating pressure that’s coursing through their leg right now, the acute impression of being suddenly viscerally aware of every muscle cell as it’s being torn apart from its neighbor, of every bone shard that’s being ripped away from the now shattered structure of their tibia, of every ounce of flesh that’s been crushed and destroyed by the Titan they fought earlier today, which feels like years ago to their barely coherent mind. It’s a continuous, agonizing feeling that they feel like they’re going to need a while to even accept they’re now able to feel, one that’s so deeply unbearable it’s probably the very reason they passed out, actually.
Pain.
Something they’ve never felt before in their life, that they still immediately recognized on the lowest level of their awareness when they first encountered it.
When they touched their soulmate.
“You don’t understand, they’ve never passed out from an injury since I’ve been their assistant, not unless there was some head trauma, and it wasn’t the case here! I hear you saying their vitals aren’t that concerning, but they’re probably dying as we speak–
“I’m fine, Moblit.”
It costs everything in them to croak out those words and interrupt his tirade somewhat calmly, but they even manage to throw in a reassuring wink his way after opening their eyes.
“Hange!” Nanaba calls out, to the right of the cot they’re apparently now lying on and a little too loud to clash with the wonderful concept of headache that Hange is currently getting acquainted with. “Shit, you scared the hell out of us, honey!”
“I’m fine,” they say again, more clearly, taking in the intravenous drop that pierces their right elbow crease and is definitely responsible for alleviating some of the hurt. “I think I did hit my head on the way down before, which would explain my loss of consciousness.”
They throw a knowing look Moblit’s way, and he visibly wants to argue with them on their version of events when he was literally right next to them when it happened and most certainly saw everything —and that they didn't, in fact, suffer any kind of head trauma then. Thankfully, years of working under Hange’s command have taught him when they need him to keep silent on certain matters without asking too many questions, and he obediently shuts up for now.
“Well, there was no exterior sign of that during my examination, but I’d like to keep you under observation for the night considering this information. And I know you usually refuse to stay in, but considering the comminuted tibial fracture and three adjoining cracked ribs that could very well turn out to be bifocal lesions you’ve also suffered in that fall, I’d really like to stress that you—
“Yes, okay. You can keep me overnight,” Hange easily concedes, letting their head fall back heavily on their pillow.
There’s an odd moment of silence that makes them wonder if they’ve passed out again, until they look around and notice Nanaba, Mike, Moblit and the doctor pinning them with a similar perplexed look.
“Really?” their doctor asks, at the exact same time as Mike lets out an inappropriate whistling sound followed by and even less adequate “Damn, dude, you really are concussed.”
That tears a chuckle out of Hange’s throat —one that immediately dies when they realize it only increases the pain in their chest. Nana, as the perfect friend that she is, notices and immediately punches his arm for them, and their tallest friend winces in something Hange finally understands —Nanaba may be shorter than him, but her right hook is meaner than most Scouts’.
Hange nods at the doctor in confirmation that they will, in fact, be staying the night, and the strong-minded forty years old health professional who’s used to having to fight —physically, once, when they were still a recruit and had indeed suffered a head injury that was messing up their behavior more than usual— with Section Commander Hange Zoë for them to accept his care scratches the back of his neck in a rare show of uncertainty.
“Hum, okay, that’s… perfect, then. By the way, do you need us to up your pain medication some more? You usually don’t need much even with serious injuries, but your heart rate is much higher than I’d like without any other sign of active uncontrolled hemorrhage or pulmonary complications of your rib fractures to account for it.”
Hange bites the inside of their cheek to stop themself from demanding he pumps them full of gallons of the strongest painkiller he has on hand at once, tragically aware of how ironic it would be to let their secret out now that they finally don’t have to pretend anymore.
“Nah, I’m just embarrassed that I passed out in front of everyone, Doc. This doesn’t hurt any more than usual, I can assure you.”
The lie flows strangely effortlessly out of their mouth, but Hange can taste its bitterness on their tongue even as their friends and doctor seem to buy it —and they have to actively focus on not thinking about the one person who would see through it and who hasn’t been around since they came to.
“Alright. Then, I’ll leave you to rest.”
“Yeah, we will, too,” Nanaba agrees. “Erwin will be relieved to hear you’ve accepted to stay in the medical wing for once.”
He won’t, Hange instinctively knows. Their oldest friend in the Survey Scouts will in fact probably immediately figure out what happened, and they’ll have to deal with a suspicious look followed by an irritably accurate guess in the next couple of days.
But that’s fine by Hange, because he’s not the one they’re dreading to have a conversation with right now anyway.
Their friends say their goodbyes and Hange manages to smile, they think convincingly —even though Moblit’s careful eyes take longer than others to detach from them.
Would it be weird to organize a meeting so that every suspicious person in their surroundings get the memo on the same day, they wonder, or has the brand new access to the most atrocious type of stimuli completely made them lose their mind?
The sun set a few hours ago now, and Levi’s steps are cautiously quiet as he makes his way through the infirmary. He was supposed to leave after asking about Hange's state and flashing a disarming smile to the on call nurse that allowed him to complete the real mission he’d given himself for tonight, but of course he was never going to actually go yet. He resists the urge to roll his eyes at how easy he just got away with it and swiftly heads towards the room at the very end of the department before the young worker can notice that he hasn’t actually left the premises. Thanks to their status as Section Commander —and the low amount of injured soldier that needed to stay under observation considering most of them either died on the field or were discharged earlier— Hange’s got the luxury of privacy, which Levi reckons is the best idea considering the agony they must be going through right now when he assumes they must have refused to get knocked out by pain medication they deserve and, in their specific case tonight, need.
His Four Eyes instincts prove to be right once more when he enters the room and finds their open eyes immediately settling on him, and he walks slowly over to their bed to give them time to find and put on the glasses they left on the bedside table for the night.
There’s a sudden stiffness in their shoulders once they’re wearing them and can identify him, one that wasn’t there when he initially came in and their nearsightedness likely made them presume it was only the nurse checking up on them, and Levi feels even more uncomfortable now than he has for the past hours of introspection he just got to enjoy.
“So,” they start, looking somewhere in the space he left between himself and the bed.
“So,” he agrees quietly.
It could be said that it’s cowardly of him, to only show up now and wait for them to start the conversation.
Except Levi and Hange, for as little time as they’ve known each other in the grand scheme of things, have never had much trouble understanding one another —for reasons that are now obvious and should have been a while ago, Levi guesses— and so he knows that’s not how they’ll see it. He knows that whatever it made them feel, they must get that he had to isolate himself when the Incident happened, had to slip away while everyone focused on Hange passing out so he could be alone to experience his own share of it out of sight, and they’re not likely to hold it against him right now.
He still wishes there was a way to tear down this unfamiliar distance that’s almost palpable between them right now, to get back to the usual ease and healhty banter he’s afraid he might never get back.
“Moblit’s job just got a hell of a lot easier, now that I can feel when I’m injured,” they quip as if on cue, unsure but playful eyes meeting his own.
He smirks at them, and one of his hands goes to rummage into his pant pocket before he gets the syringe he just swiped from under the nurse's nose out and hands it to them.
“Lucky Moblit.”
Hange’s fingers carefully avoid touching his as their grab his offering, and although he understands the reason behind it seeing what happened the last time they touched, it doesn’t stop it from stinging a little.
“Did you use your charms to steal drugs for me?” They ask, half-teasing and half-impressed by the fact.
Levi shrugs to hide the slight flush that wants to travel up to his cheeks, and stumbles through a reply that comes out anything but as detached as he meant it to sound. “I figured you wouldn’t want it on record that you suddenly need more medication than you’ve never asked for before.”
The unpleasant coolness almost makes an unwelcome come back in the room at his own clumsy comment, but Hange only hums their assent as they fiddle with the IV line, hooking the syringe into the intricate installation so they can inject themself with part of the product.
“Thank you,” they whisper, sighing as it relieves some of their pain.
“No need for that,” he brushes off, “I had to take some for myself in case I need it later anyway.”
“You’re hurt?”
The concern in their voice instantly makes him feel warm in that way he’s yet to grow accustomed to when it comes to the most careless person he knows always so readily showing signs of worry about his own well being —when it most certainly isn’t their duty to do so.
“Not nearly as badly as you are,” he reassures them, knowing he failed when he notices their eyes are busy scanning him up and down and looking for a concealed injury. “It’s just, you know. Feels worse than usual.”
“Oh. Right.”
And, okay, he was willing to cut them a little bit of slack here, but come on. This really shouldn’t be so fucking awkward.
In fact, knowing Hange, he kind of expected them to brag about being Humanity’s Strongest’s Soulmate, even if that would have been annoying to deal with since it would only have revealed them not taking their situation as seriously as he wants to. After the hours he’s spent processing that bit of news in his locked room, he mostly dreaded finding them ready to ask him all sorts of questions, and he even reluctantly decided no matter what they would want to know he would let some aspects of the legends about people like them go unmentioned for tonight. Because although it’s common for Soulmates to get married in the tales he’s heard, he sure as fuck isn’t ready to dump that information on his best friend’s lap, not when it would mean romantically shackling them to someone they likely haven’t ever looked at in that light —and not when it would mean having to reveal the stupid feelings he’s been battling with for months now against his better judgment.
But Hange doesn’t look or sound curious at all, and it’s much more disconcerting than what he pictured would be waiting for him down here. Granted, they look like they’re in a lot of pain, no doubt feeling about a thousand times worse than he is right now, but the thing is, he knows them. And he can tell that under all of that…
Hange seems a little bit ashamed.
Are they disappointed by Fate’s choice of partner for them? They are the most vocal person about Levi’s abilities and they’ve never hidden their admiration of his physicality, so much so that he initially thought they saw him as nothing more than a weapon. But after they became friends and he stopped being suspicious of Hange showing signs of actually wanting to get to know him as a person and not just a freakishly strong colleague, he forgot to take into account how his low birth might look to them. He knows they’re estranged from their noble family, but he’s also aware that the environment they grew up in came with preconceived notions about, among others, the people living in the Underground, that even such an open mind as theirs might not have vanquished.
“You’re quieter than I thought about all of this.”
Well. So much for not rocking the boat tonight, right?
He’s not really surprised by his own slip up though; it’s not like he’s ever been able to behave normally when it came to Hange.
But who could have helped it, in this situation? They’re so easily fascinated by everything new, no matter how insignificant; except, apparently, their surreal and one-in-a-million chance connection to him. So as much as he wants to understand the social class dilemma, and them being temporarily distracted by this most recent turn of events and its physical consequences, it still leaves a bad taste in his mouth that they don’t seem all that intrigued about it.
Not to mention, his own sour mood isn’t exactly helped by the fact that he’s discovered a whole new kind of pain today, as well.
But Hange looks at him, really looks, effectively seeing through his grumpy front and understanding him as well as they always have —seriously, how did this possibility not occur to him before now?
“I’m in a lot of pain, Levi,” they explain as they push on the half-empty syringe again, giving themself another dose. “It’s hard to talk with a near flail chest, no matter how much I want to. And trust me, I want to.”
“You do?”
He could slap himself for how ridiculously hopeful that sounded.
Except, one: now, he knows that it would hurt which doesn’t sound appealing at all, and two: the gentle smile that illuminates Hange’s face then, like they absolutely heard his hope as well but only found it endearing instead of annoying, efficiently erases his fear that he showed too much of his hand here.
“Of course. I’ve always been fascinated with my, well, our condition, and I didn’t want to overwhelm you. The legends aren’t very popular Above, but if I remember correctly this is a big deal where you grew up, right?”
It’s the first time he hears a fellow soldier refer to it as Above when most people don’t bother trying to see things from the perspective of someone like him, someone from the infamous and despised Underground.
“It is, yeah,” he says around clearing his throat. “Most Numbs never make it to adulthood though, so I’ve never met… Paired Numbs myself.”
Crazy Lily was the closest he'd come to it, he thinks. She used to live in him and his mother’s block and would brag to any passerby about her parents being Soulmates, would claim their love was so strong it had scared the King into banishing them and their offspring down in the Underground as punishment. But she gained the monicker from all the nonsense she used to rehash about a supposed cosmic link connecting millions of people through the Soulmates' powers, and about a global war raging on since millennia that had supposedly led to the seclusion of an entire civilization while the rest of Humanity thrived without them; so, you know. Levi, like everyone else he knew, quickly learned not to pay too much attention to her bullshit.
“Me neither. I tried researching the topic before I joined the military, which is the real reason I ever studied medicine, but it seems like no one was ever too passionate about it.”
Levi takes in that information, both honored that he now knows that, and a little bashful that, like everyone else who's met Hange in the most recent years, he ventures, he never questioned their interest in their initial career or why they eventually strayed away from it.
“No hard science to back us up here, then?”
Hange sighs, visibly saddened at that idea, and shakes their head.
“Well, if we only have myths to go off of, I may know of something that could come in handy right now,” he brings up, trying very hard not to lose his train of thoughts when subjected to the adorable sight of Hange tilting their head in barely contained curiosity. “Soul— I mean, people like us… a few fables mention that we’re supposed to make each other's pain more bareable.”
“That makes no sense,” is Hange’s quick, no-nonsense reply. “Touching you caused my pain in the first place.”
Levi frowns, unable to reign it in before Hange sees it.
“Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound... I don’t blame you for this, I promise.”
They sound drained, and calm in a terrifyingly uncharacteristic way. It’s like the pain is so intense it’s taking every ounce of energy they have, and Levi knows how much that usually represents.
He waves off their apology, and walks the extra step that separates them still.
“Listen, I don’t pretend to know the reason behind it, and I’m not saying it makes sense, I’m just telling you what I’ve heard. We can try, and I’ll stop if it makes it worse.”
And I’ll steal you some more medicine, says the pointed glance he throws their now empty syringe.
Hange beams up at him, eyes suddenly alight with a familiar enthusiastic glint he hates to love in there.
“Leviiiiii… Am I just high, or are you willingly offering to conduct an experiment with me?”
He rolls his eyes at the phrasing, knowing very well it’s been Hange’s dream for months to get him to participate in one of their tests. But he doesn’t bother to hide his smile anyway, because at least they’ve taken the bait and he gets to be useful to them right now.
“I guess I am, Shitty Glasses. What do you say?”
“Fuck yes!”
He shushes them harshly after that loud exclamation, throwing a glance at the door to make sure no one’s about to come and check in on the noise even as Hange unhelpfully giggles with about as much discretion as you’d expect from them.
“Alright, but be quiet about it.”
“Yes, Sir,” they singsong, at least stifling their mocking laughter this time around.
Levi tries to glare at them, which has about as little effect as usual on Hange, and shakily brings out a hand over the closest of their bare forearms. He forces himself to count backwards from three before he makes contact, wishing his anxious anticipation doesn’t make Hange nearly as self-conscious as he feels right now.
The instant their skins touch, he knows he was right.
He wasn’t in a lot of pain himself —although it’s difficult to judge from his point of view— but that simple contact between them right now is enough to completely wipe out any lingering ache in his joints, to erase the simmering inflammation in his back and thigh muscles from the strenuous workout they got today.
He’s so surprised by how efficient it is that he almost misses the small gasp Hange lets out.
When his brain does register it though, he snatches his hand away.
“Sorry, I’ll—
“No, come back!” Hange whines lowly, grabbing his wrist before he gets too far. “You were right, it is helping.”
Their eyes are closed but there’s a pleased, relaxed expression on their face that Levi doesn’t think he’s ever witnessed before, and he allows himself to get lost in his admiration of it for a while.
“Come on. You’re not spending the night standing next to me when you’re exhausted from the mission as well,” they soon suggest, tugging at his arm without waiting for his reply.
It takes a minute to adjust their posture on the mattress so he can join them without jostling their braced leg too much, especially because Hange will not fucking let go of his hand —he tries to find that irritating, he really does— in the process. Eventually they’re both settled next to each other, Levi’s hands resting respectively against their right arm that he’s lying against, and on the juncture between their neck and opposite shoulder as he holds them in a half-hug.
Hange’s content sighs turn into a chuckle, and Levi clicks his tongue at them in annoyance.
“If you say anything about how we can both fit on here because of my size, I’m leaving,” he warns.
“I wasn’t! I was going to ask you some questions actually, now that I’m feeling a little bit better.”
Levi never thought seeing an inquisitive Hange would be a relief instead of a promise of endless trouble, but then again, he didn’t expect they’d turn out to be his fucking Soulmate, either.
They still need to sleep, their injuries more serious than he’d thought —especially now that he knows they weren’t always simply bruised after expeditions in the past, but naturally able to ignore their wounds.
“Not now, Four Eyes. Get some rest, or I’m gone.”
Hange pouts, which was already a weakness of Levi’s, one he’s only more aware of now.
“Why do I have such a rude Soulmate?” they complain in a deep sigh, nuzzling into his shirt and likely minutes away from falling asleep.
They didn’t even hesitate before using the noun Levi has had so much issue even thinking about, and something warm and comfortable takes root in his chest at how easily they’ve seemed to accept him as theirs —even though they don't completely understand everything that entails yet.
“Yeah well, mine is batshit crazy,” he retorts, squeezing their shoulder in his hand to contrast with the casual insult.
Hange’s answering snort of laughter is so soft, it’s almost impossible to resist bending down to taste it.