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The fire crackled softly in the hearth of Levi’s dimly lit quarters, its warmth a feeble shield against the draft seeping through the Survey Corps’ aging walls. Hange sat cross-legged on the floor, her back against the edge of his bed, a half-empty mug of tea cradled in her hands. Her glasses were smudged, her hair a wild tangle from hours of poring over reports, and Levi couldn’t decide if he wanted to tidy her up or commit the disheveled sight to memory.
He chose neither, opting instead to stare fixedly at his own tea like it held the secrets of the universe.
“You’re being weirdly quiet,” Hange said, tilting her head. The firelight caught the lenses of her glasses, turning them into twin flames. “Did I accidentally drink your special bergamot blend again? I told you, labeling your tea tins would prevent these tragedies.”
“It’s not the tea,” he muttered. It’s you.
She snorted. “Oh, so it’s the fact that I tracked mud in earlier? I apologized for that. Twice. And I cleaned it up!”
“You used your coat to wipe the floor.”
“Resourcefulness is a virtue, Captain.”
He grimaced. She’d been doing this for years—needling him, laughing too loudly, invading his personal space like a hurricane in human form. But tonight, something felt different. Maybe it was the way the shadows softened her edges, or how her voice had lingered on Captain, like it was a joke only they understood.
Or maybe it was the way his chest tightened every time she smiled.
Levi set his cup down with deliberate care. “Four-Eyes.”
“Hmm?” She was already distracted, poking at a loose thread on his bedsheet.
“Look at me.”
She did, and the sudden intensity of her gaze nearly undid him. Her eyes were always too bright, too much, like she saw the world in colors no one else could name. Levi swallowed.
“You’re… annoying,” he said.
Hange blinked. “Oh. Wow. Thanks for the heartfelt confession, Levi. I’m touched.”
“Shut up. You’re also… relentless. And messy. And you talk too damn much.”
She opened her mouth to retort, but he plowed forward, his words sharp and rushed, as if he’d die if he stopped. “But when you’re not here, the whole place feels… wrong. Like someone turned down the lights. And I hate it.”
Hange’s teasing grin faded. She set her mug aside, her movements uncharacteristically slow. “Levi…”
He looked away, jaw clenched. “I’m not good at this. Never had to be. But if you… if you died tomorrow, I’d regret not saying it.”
“Saying what?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
He met her eyes again, and the vulnerability there nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. “That I need you. Not just as a soldier. Not just as… whatever this is.” He gestured vaguely between them. “As you. The mad scientist who blows up labs and forgets to sleep and—and matters.”
Hange’s lips parted. For once, she seemed speechless.
Levi’s ears burned. “Tch. Say something, or I’m taking it all back.”
She scrambled to her knees, closing the distance between them. Her hands hovered uncertainly, as if afraid to touch him. “Levi,” she said, her voice trembling, “do you mean…?”
“Yes,” he snapped, flushing crimson. “Obviously.”
“But you hate people.”
“I hate most people.”
“You called me a ‘chaotic rodent’ last week.”
“You are a chaotic rodent.”
She laughed then, bright and startled, and Levi’s traitorous heart lurched. Before he could retreat, her hands found his face, her thumbs brushing the lines of his jaw. Her palms were warm, her touch feather-light, and he hated how his breath hitched.
“You’re terrible at this,” she said softly.
“I know.”
“It’s kind of charming.”
“Don’t push it.”
Her smile softened. Slowly, giving him time to pull away, she leaned in. Their foreheads touched, then their noses, and Levi’s pulse roared in his ears. When her lips finally met his, it wasn’t a spark—it was a slow, steady burn, like embers coaxed back to life.
He kissed her back clumsily, his hands gripping her sleeves like he was afraid she’d vanish. Hange laughed into his mouth, her fingers threading through his hair.
“You’re… really bad at this too,” he muttered when they broke apart.
“Says the man who compared me to a rodent during his love confession.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
He did.
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