Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He shot drilling looks that could kill at the bespectacled lady engrossed in the most grotesque book. It was well past closing time, yet she showed no signs of leaving.

You sat tucked in the back, bathed in the dim glow of yellow lamps and fairy lights, their soft shimmer casting a warm hue against your skin. Your eyes stayed fixed on the unfamiliar words sprawled across the pages, lips resting idly on the rim of a ceramic cup.

The cover was an aberration to him. An abomination, even. A shirtless man with a smoldering expression clutching a red-haired woman in a dramatic embrace. Levi suppressed a scoff.

He began stacking chairs together, the noise deliberate—pointed, even—as if to shake you from your trance.

Levi had been working weekends for two months, and every Sunday evening, you appeared—without fail. And, just as predictably, you always picked up a book that made him want to throw himself into a pit. Hideous covers. Terrible titles. But you had always left before closing hours... so why was this night different?

Levi wiped your table rather aggressively, the force of it shaking the coffee in your cup as it clattered slightly against the saucer. Still, you didn’t stir. Your eyes remained glued to the page, lost in the words, utterly unaware of his growing irritation.

“It’s bad enough you’re reading that atrocious book—but now you don’t even want to leave?”

The deep voice cut through your trance like a blade. Your head snapped up.

Levi jerked back. He hadn’t expected that. The glint in your eyes caught him off guard—wide, innocent, yet sharp. It was the first time he had ever really looked at you. Cat-shaped glasses sat idly on your nose, lips slightly parted, hair cascading over your shoulders in quiet disarray.

Your gaze flickered to your watch.

10:15 PM.

You gasped. You had completely lost track of time—lost in the book, lost in another world. Hurriedly, you gulped down the last of your coffee, slung your bag over your shoulder, and, without a word, bowed slightly to a bewildered Levi before rushing out the door.

The atrocious book remained on the table, staring back at him like an offense.

With a scowl, Levi picked it up and flipped to the first chapter.

He read the opening line.

Then promptly slammed it shut.

Grotesque. Atrocious. Horrendous. Horrific. Appalling.

-----

The next Sunday evening, you were back.

Levi noticed you the moment you slipped in, just as he was working the espresso machine for another customer. You drifted toward the fantasy section, no doubt searching for yet another smutty, abominable book.

This time, your glasses were bright yellow, matching the short, sleeveless dress that flared around your legs. A beige tote bag hung from your shoulder. A small crease formed between your brows as you scanned the shelves.

He knew you wouldn’t find that book there. But still, you kept looking.

Finishing with the customer, Levi made his way to you, slipping effortlessly into your space.

“I believe you’re looking for this.”

He held up the very book you had been searching for.

You snatched it from him without hesitation. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened next.”

Levi leaned against the bookshelf, just a little too close, caging you in with the wall at your back. The air grew thick. He wasn’t much taller than you, but at five feet, it didn’t take much to make you feel cornered.

“Oh, let me guess,” he drawled. “The mafia boss slaughters the rival  gang to get Miss Little Red Riding Hood back.”

You gasped. “Is that a spoiler?”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s how these corny books go. You’re wasting your intellectual capacity on filth. Those writers should be beheaded and fed to sharks.”

His comment earned him a slight moue, lips pursed in quiet irritation.

You retreated to the back seat, snuggling in as you flipped through the pages, searching for where you had left off.

From behind the counter, Levi watched. Lost in that book again.

With a sigh, he took the initiative to make your usual coffee—the only one you ever ordered.

He had first noticed you in his third week, though not intentionally. You made it impossible not to. After all, he was the one who always had to return your distasteful books to the shelves.

Like clockwork, you came in, ordered the same coffee, a tote bag slung over your shoulder, and disappeared into the back, burying yourself in some cringeworthy romance or fantasy novel.

If he had it his way, he’d destroy that entire section of the book café. But he knew better—those ridiculous books brought in customers, and his mother needed every bit of income they could get.

Still, something about you gnawed at him. You seemed... smarter than this. And for some reason, he wanted more from you.

You looked up to find a steaming cup of coffee placed in front of you—and the rude barista standing there, his steel-gray eyes searching, probing.

Marking your page, you set the book down and reached into your bag for cash. You found your purse, but before you could pull out any notes, he spoke.

“It’s on the house. Thought I should apologize for the way I spoke about your book of choice.”

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, meeting his gaze.

“I think you can make it up to me by recommending books that would—what was it again?” You smirked. “Oh, right… build my intellectual capacity.”

He stared at you. Long. Unblinking. He couldn’t believe you were mocking him.

“If you’re not in a rush, I’ll be closing up soon. Maybe I could teach you a thing or two, Miss Riding Hood.”

You snickered. “It’s barely 7:00.”

“Slow night,” he said with a shrug. “And I’d rather spend the rest of it nurturing intellect into a heathen.”

Heathen. You bristled. Who does this smug man think he is?

He was infuriating.

And gorgeous.

And the way his jeans hugged his ass—fuck. He was so hot.

Back at the counter, Levi moved with practiced ease, clearing the area at a leisurely pace. The café wasn’t even supposed to be open today—Sundays were meant to be a day off. But ever since moving back home, he had started coming in anyway. They needed the money, and besides, it gave him time to read.

He glanced back at you. You hadn’t even flinched at his words. He would make sure you learned what real books were.

Chapter Text

The book café was now empty.

You watched the rude barista thank the last customer before flipping the sign—Closed. It was just you and him now.

He cleared the mugs quickly, wiping down the tables in one swift motion.

From behind your book, you peeked at him, at the way his shirt clung to his frame, the subtle flex of muscle as he swept the floors. His bangs kept falling into his eyes as he worked, focused and serious.

Whenever he glanced your way, you'd immediately drop your gaze and pretend to read, even though the words on the page had long since lost meaning.

You’d always noticed him. His constant scowl, the clipped replies. The way he made your coffee just right every single time. It was comforting after a long week of classes and studying.

But tonight? You were intrigued by his smartass energy. And this time, you were ready to match it.

Two books landed on your table with a quiet thud.

You looked up, startled, just in time to see him pull out the chair across from you and sit. He didn’t say anything at first—just watched you as you adjusted your glasses, the silence stretching in the dim café light.

You glanced down at the titles, fingers moving instinctively over the nearest spine.
"Crime and Punishment," you murmured. The pages looked well-worn, the kind of book someone had actually read—maybe more than once.

His voice cut through the quiet.

“These are better than the filth you fill your brain with.”

You blinked, but didn’t rise to the bait. Not yet.

Instead, you reached for your cup, fingers circling its rim.

“It’s rude to make recommendations without a proper introduction,” you said softly, keeping your gaze on the swirling remnants of your drink. “I thought someone so well-read might’ve learned a thing or two about propriety.”

He didn’t answer right away. You could feel the tension in the way he exhaled—controlled, clenched. You didn’t need to look to know his jaw was tight.

You already knew his name. You’d seen it every day for weeks, printed neatly on the black tag pinned just over his heart.

But you wanted to hear it. From him

“Levi,” he said at last, the word escaping like it was being pried from his teeth.

You looked up at him, tilting your head.

“Levi?”

“Yes. Just Levi.”

A small smile curved at your lips—barely there, but enough.

You didn’t say anything more right away. You just looked at him, letting the weight of his name settle between you.

Just Levi.

You liked the sound of that.

You glance at the thick spine and the serious font. No abs on the cover.

That’s your first red flag.

“So, Just Levi, I’ve heard of this Fyodor guy,” you say, tilting the book slightly in your hand, “but this looks like something that would slowly kill me from the inside.”

Levi folds his arms, the fabric of his black tee tightening across his forearms as he leans in, eyes focused—sharp and still. Like he’s trying to see through you.

“Dostoevsky doesn’t care about your comfort. He drags you into the mind of a man who thinks he’s above morality, then strips him down to his rotting guilt. It’s ugly. Paranoid. Brilliant.”

He pauses. His gaze doesn’t waver. “And it’s Levi.”

You raise a brow. “Is there… kissing?” you ask, lips quirking. “I like Just Levi better.”

He exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “There’s a prostitute who tries to save his soul.”

“…So no kissing.”

He shrugs.

“Read it anyway. It’ll either change how you see people or confirm everything you already believe. Either way, it’ll do something.”

You pick up the second book.  A Room with a View.

The cover is soft—sunlight, open fields, a kind of old-world stillness. It looks suspiciously gentle for someone like him.

Inside, on the first page, a name: Kuchel, written in looping cursive.

Your fingers traced it, slow and careful.

“What about this?”

“That one’s for when you’re tired of growling werewolves and six-pack CEOs,” he says dryly.

You narrow your eyes. “It looks… pastel.”

“It’s about a woman choosing passion over propriety,” he replies, tone steady but not unfeeling. "She's set to marry the perfect man, safe, predictable, until someone shows her a different kind of love and it wrecks everything she thought she wanted."

You flip a few pages, squinting at the prose. “So… like Pride and Prejudice, but without the good drama?”

“No,” he says. “It’s quieter. But it’s real. The kind of love that asks you to wake up instead of fall asleep smiling.”

You pause, considering. “Do they kiss?”

He sighs. “Yes, they kiss. But only once. And don’t expect the sloppy, disgusting trash in your books.”

You blink. “Wow, a book where people talk about their feelings instead of just making out in broom closets. Revolutionary.”

“You’re missing the point,” he muttered, almost like it was a throwaway.

You check the time. 8:50 PM.

You slid your bag onto your shoulder, fingers curling around the strap. “I read to take my mind off numbers and equations.”

He stilled for a second, like the answer caught him off guard. Not in a bad way. Just… unexpectedly honest.

“You go to University of Paradis?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“What’s your major?”

You hesitated, like saying it out loud somehow gave it more weight. “Pure mathematics.”

It always sounded colder than it felt.

He watched you a second too long, like he was turning that over in his head.

“Figures.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged.

You smiled, a soft curve. “What about you?”

“Comparative literature.” Said like it didn’t matter. “I like stories that mess people up differently.”

Of course he did.

You turned toward the door, but his voice followed you—lower this time.

“You never said your name.”

You paused, then glanced back over your shoulder. “Y/N.”

There was something in the way he looked at you then. Something unreadable but not uninviting.

“I’ll see you next Sunday,” you said, trying not to sound too certain. “I’ll… think about your recommendations.”

You stepped out into the night air, the door clicking softly behind you.

And for a few steps, you told yourself you weren’t smiling.

Even though you were.

Chapter Text

You spotted Levi from across the room, deep in conversation with a blond man whose presence radiated quiet authority. Levi’s lips moved, sharp and precise, though you couldn’t make out the words. Behind him, the window let in streams of late-afternoon sunlight that painted soft gold across the classroom floor.

Some students were still lingering—blank notebooks, half-closed books, idle chatter—but most were packing up, trickling out of the room in lazy waves. Class had clearly just ended. You stood by the door, heart thrumming, the moment catching in your throat.

You braced yourself.

“JUST LEVIIIIII!”

The word tore out of you at full volume. Every head turned.

Levi’s froze mid-sentence, his eyes snapping toward the doorway. You watched the exact second his soul detached from his body. His entire expression twisted—embarrassment, disbelief, pure horror.

The blond man raised a brow. Levi looked like he was debating whether to disintegrate on the spot.

The room quieted, a sea of eyes flicking between you and him.

You smiled, completely unbothered.

You walked up to them, slipping into the little space between their conversation like it was yours by right.

“Hi, I’m Y/N L/N,” you said, offering your hand to the blond man.

He looked between you and Levi with quiet curiosity before taking your hand in a firm shake.
“Erwin Smith.”

Before you could say anything else, Levi cut in, his tone already bristling.

“Oi. How the hell did you find me, brat?”

You pulled out the chair across from him like you belonged there and sat without waiting for an invitation.
“Turns out, it’s a small world,” you said, resting your chin in your hand. “I have this friend, Hange, who—surprise—knows you. I may or may not have mentioned an asshole barista who tried to get me to read books that make me want to gouge my eyes out.”

Erwin laughed, deep and amused. “I like this one.”

Levi grit his teeth like he was physically holding back a retort.

And right on cue, chaos entered. Hange barreled into the classroom with an armful of books threatening to fall, a cup of coffee somehow balancing in the other, their lab coat half on, half off, and glasses slightly crooked. Their ponytail looked like it had survived a hurricane.

“It had to be you, Four Eyes,” Levi muttered bitterly.

“So rude of you, shorty,” Hange shot back without missing a beat, giving Erwin a one-armed hug. “Small campus. Big chaos.”

You watched as Erwin gently took some of Hange’s things from her arms, fixing her hair like it was something he did often. The way his fingers moved—careful, familiar—made you pause.

Then Levi’s voice snapped you back to reality. “Hey, Red. What do you want from me?”

“Rude,” you said, adjusting your posture, feigning offense. “It’s Y/N.”

“I like Red better.”

You shrugged. “Touché.” You leaned forward slightly. “I have a proposition.”

Levi narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

“Come with me, and you’ll find out.”

He sighed, already half-annoyed. “I have—”

“He has absolutely nothing to do,” Hange cut in. “He’s going home to read Emily Dickinson and pretend she’s the only one who understands him.”

“Hange,” Erwin chided gently.

“You know it’s true,” Hange grinned. “Someone has to help him.”

You laughed. “Come on, meanie. Just trust me for an hour.”

Levi sighed like the weight of the world had just been placed on his shoulders. “Fine.”

He stood, muttering under his breath, and you grabbed your bag, giving a little wave to Erwin and Hange as you followed him out the door.

Levi found himself standing in a patisserie surrounded by desserts and pastries.

The faint smell of fresh baked goods curled around him like a welcoming embrace.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he scanned the place—chic décor, soft lighting, and far too many options. He looked… mildly threatened.

The menu was written in elegant script above the counter. You leaned in, eyes shining.

“I’ll take the pistachio tart, strawberry shortcake, two lemon madeleines, that chocolate thing with the gold dust—yes, that one—and the biggest milkshake you’ve got,” you told the cashier with a grin.

Levi blinked. “You planning to feed a small country?”

You turned to him, grinning. “Nope. Just a girl trying not to burn out.”

He stepped up reluctantly. “Black tea.”

The barista, cheery and sunlit, offered him a smile. “We only sell iced tea, sorry!”

Levi froze like someone had slapped him with a wet sock. “That’s not tea. That’s betrayal in a cup.”

You laughed, biting your knuckle to keep it quiet. “Live a little, Levi.”

He sighed like it physically pained him. “Fine. One iced… betrayal. And a croissant.”

When you sat down, you watched as Levi picked apart the croissant like it had personally wronged him. The iced tea sat untouched beside him, sweating slowly in its plastic cup like it knew it was unwelcome.

He finally took a sip—hesitant, suspicious—then immediately winced.

“It tastes like regret,” he muttered. “Like someone brewed disappointment and poured it over ice.”

You were already halfway through your milkshake, grinning behind the straw. “You always this dramatic about drinks?”

“Only when they insult centuries of tradition,” he replied bitterly, giving the iced tea another withering glance.

You chuckled.

“You always lure people into bakeries with cryptic invitations?” he asked.

“Only the ones who insult my reading habits,” you replied sweetly. “Welcome to my Wednesday evening ritual,”

“You really come here every week?” he asked, watching you curiously.

You nodded. “Strict routines keep me sane. School’s intense. Math doesn’t leave much room for softness, so I make sure to find it myself.” You stirred your straw around slowly. “It’s how I don’t lose the parts of me that feel like me.”

Levi didn’t say anything at first. Then, softer: “That’s not stupid.”

You smiled.

“High praise, coming from you.” You said cutting into the tart.

He looked out the window. “So what’s this proposition of yours?”

You leaned in slowly, serious. “It’s… important.”

Levi squinted. “If this ends with you asking me to join a cult, I’m out.”

“Tempting. But no.”

You grinned. “If I actually read one of your tragic, soul-wrecking book recommendations—and I mean really read it—you have to do whatever I say. For a whole month.”

Levi blinked. “What.”

“Nothing life-threatening,” you added quickly. “Just… live a little. Try things. Like iced tea.”

Levi gave you a long stare. “I hate how persuasive you are.”

“I learned from the very best!”

He looked at you like you were made of glitter and chaos. Then, reluctantly:

“Fine. But only because you need to build some intellectual capacity.”

You smirked. “Charming.”

“I need to drop by my place to grab a book. It’s just behind the café.”

Before you both left, he watched you buy an extra slice of cake to take home. He didn’t say anything, but the way his eyes narrowed slightly told you he had thoughts.

Later that evening, the café was already glowing with soft gold and deep shadows when you returned. Levi had gone to get the book, so you ducked inside to wait, idly browsing through the romance section.

You barely got through the first paragraph of something vaguely tragic when the back door creaked open and Levi’s voice rang out:

“Still gravitating toward filth, I see.”

You snapped the book shut, caught red-handed.

From behind the counter, the boy with Farlan on his name tag grinned. “Well, well, well. Who’s the girl Levi brought home?”

You turned to see a mischievous smile and a pair of curious eyes. A girl with wild auburn hair and more energy than sense appeared beside him, nudging his side.

“You’re cute!” she beamed. “Didn’t think Levi spoke to anyone he wasn’t contractually obligated to tolerate.”

“Oi. Shut up, brats,” Levi grumbled.

You couldn’t help but laugh as Farlan and Isabel bombarded you with questions.
Did you like books? What was your type? Was Levi nice to you? Were you emotionally prepared for his taste in literature?

Levi groaned and tugged your sleeve. “Ignore them. They’re not paid to be nosy.”

He guided you out, the warm air hitting your face like a soft exhale compared to the café’s chill. Once you were outside, he handed you a different book than the ones he’d shown before.

“Since you like romance,” he said flatly. “Try this.”

You glanced at the cover. No shirtless vampires. No glowing runes. No accidental babies from the fae realm. Just a woman in a black dress and a title that felt... heavy.

Anna Karenina. 

“Tolstoy?” you blinked.

“It’s about longing,” he said. “Infidelity. Social expectations. Misery.”

“Sounds hot.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“It’s not. It’s honest. People fall in love for the wrong reasons. And suffer for it. You’ll hate every character by the end. Especially the ones you sympathize with.”

You raised a brow. “You’re not really selling it.”

“Good,” he said. “It’s not meant to be sold. It’s meant to sit with you and rot a little.”

You sighed. “Why can’t it just be a book about senseless sex and dominance?”

Levi rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” you said, holding the book a little closer. “I’ll try it. But I want your number.”

You offered your phone.

Levi paused, fingers brushing yours as he took it.

“I only use iMessage,” he said quietly. “Don’t call me.”

You smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Through the café glass, you could practically feel Farlan and Isabel’s eyes burning a hole through the back of his head.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll see you Sunday, Red.”

You flashed a grin. “You bet.”

Levi watched you walk into the fading sunlight, a flicker of something unreadable on his face.

Chapter Text

02:11 AM Red: “She knew he was there by the joy and fear that overwhelmed her heart.” ...unfortunately relatable 🙄

02:19 AM Levi: Textbook sentiment.

Chapter Text

Standing in front of Levi in the doorway made your brain hazy. His steel-grey eyes bore into yours, lips shaped with almost criminal precision. The curve of them. His hair, still damp from the rain, clung to his scalp, framing the sharp line of his undercut.

 His scent — sandalwood and something else you couldn’t quite place — wrapped around you. Your gaze flickered to his mouth and back up, far too quickly to hide.

“Lean over,” you heard yourself say.

You watched him tense, the sudden stiffness so vivid you almost slapped a hand over your mouth.

“You’re serious?” he said, voice dropping scandalously low — or maybe your smut-starved brain just imagined it that way.

“You promised to do whatever I wanted,” you said, feigning a confidence you didn’t feel. “I always wondered what it’d be like.”

“You mean those not-so-carefully written books?” he asked, stepping closer, slow and deliberate. “I’m not tall enough to lean over.”

The waft of his cologne, that maddening sandalwood, clouded your thoughts. The way he rolled the words made your heart stumble in your chest.

“You agreed to my little proposition.” You said trying to take back the power.

Immediately, he leaned in — face hovering just above yours, eye contact unbroken — one hand braced on the doorframe, the other resting loosely at his side. His lips parted slightly. Or maybe you just imagined that.

Your brain was screaming. Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs.

Panicking for distance, you shifted back — and your spine hit the wall.

This was exactly how you had pictured it: the brown-haired, full-bearded CEO pinning his helpless, curvy assistant.

Except you were the assistant, in your skimpy shorts and rain-damp hair. And your CEO... was none other than the book café’s brooding barista.

He would do.

He had to.

Your heart raced. Your breaths came too fast.

And then—

The sharp, obnoxious whistle of the kettle.

Without a word, Levi straightened, turning toward the kitchen like nothing had happened.

You could only watch, dazed, as he moved with mechanical precision, fingers deftly selecting a teabag, all while your hand pressed desperately over your racing heart.

Minutes later, you were on your bed, legs crossed, a blanket half-draped over you. Levi sat at your desk, one ankle hooked over his knee, both of you quietly sipping tea.

You watched as he held the cup by the rim, weirdly dainty, like he didn’t trust it not to bite him; and somehow, that was what distracted you from the hurricane of what had just happened.

“Oi,” he said without looking up, “I can feel your eyes drilling a hole in the back of my head.”

You flinched and readjusted yourself on the bed, cheeks heating. “Why are you holding the cup like that?”

He pouted slightly. “It’s just convenient. Don’t overthink it.”

"You’re weird.”

“You’re nosy.”

You grin, letting the quiet fall between you again. Outside, the rain had faded into a soft drizzle. You get up, checking the clothes you’d set aside for him, now just barely dry.

He finishes his tea in one clean gulp and begins pulling his hoodie on. You hesitate near the door, wanting to say something but unsure what.

“You know,” you say instead, “I finally made it past the train scene.”

He doesn’t reply right away. “You’re still reading it like it’s a romance novel?”

You blink. “It is kind of romantic—”

“It’s a tragedy,” he cuts in, flat. “She makes progressively terrible choices and ruins everything around her. It’s a critique, not an instruction manual.”

You pout. “You gave it to me.”

“To improve your intellectual capacity,” he replies sharply. “Not to watch you root for a textbook narcissist.”

You roll your eyes. “She’s not that bad.”

He opens the door and turns slightly. “When you finish it, we’ll talk. If you still think it’s romantic, I’m confiscating all your smut.”

You gasp. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He raises an eyebrow like it’s a promise. “Don’t test me.”

He takes a step. The rain outside has finally let up.

He pauses again, one hand on the frame. “Try not to lose brain cells reading tonight.”

“Night, Just Levi.”

He disappears down the hall without another word — just the soft sound of his shoes tapping down the stairs.

You stood there for a moment, the scent of sandalwood and something else lingering in the air.

-----

The classroom was unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon.

You sat at your usual desk near the window, half-curled in your seat with Anna Karenina splayed across your lap. Pencil tapping lightly against your chin, you read the same paragraph again, brain echoing Levi’s voice: “It’s a tragedy.”

You sighed and scribbled a question mark in the margin, as if that might defy him.

“Whoa,” came a familiar voice from the door. “Are you annotating Tolstoy now?”

You looked up to see Hange, looking mildly windblown, their lab coat tied around their waist like some rogue scientist on break. Her goggles dangled from their collar, a pen stuck in their messy bun.

“Didn’t think I'd catch you going full Levi.” She said his name with mock reverence. “Grumpy Book Pope.”

You rolled your eyes. “He lent it to me.”

“Oh, I know,” she grinned, flopping into the chair in front of you. “One book down and suddenly you're scribbling in margins and frowning dramatically at metaphors. I'm impressed.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the door creaked again.

Moblit entered, breath just a little short, messenger bag slung haphazardly across his chest. His eyes lit up the second they landed on you.

“Hey, didn’t expect anyone still here.” He gave a small wave, then paused. “Is that Anna Karenina?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He smiled, stepping closer. “That one wrecked my sister. She made me read it just to talk about it with her.”

You brightened. “Finally, someone who doesn’t think I’m crazy for calling it romantic.”

Moblit chuckled. “It’s sad, yeah—but also... honest? People don’t always make the best choices when they’re in love. That doesn’t mean it’s meaningless.”

You blinked. “That’s exactly what I was trying to tell Levi.”

Hange cleared her throat loudly. “Wow, Moblit. A fellow romantic in the pure math department. What a surprise.”

He turned a bit pink but recovered quickly. “Actually, I came to let you know—some friends are throwing a thing at their apartment tonight. Kinda low-key. There’ll be board games, actual food, maybe some questionable karaoke. You two should come.”

You hesitated. “Like a party-party?”

“No keg stands,” he said, laughing. “Just people blowing off steam. There'd be those weird spicy dumplings my sister found on TikTok. There’s peach soju, cider, and someone’s bringing a projector for a rooftop movie after.”

Hange whistled. “I’m sold.”

You tilted your head. “I don’t usually go to these…”

“That’s exactly why you should,” Hange said, elbowing you.

Moblit grinned. “Think about it, okay?”

You nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

Once he left, Hange slowly turned to you with a wicked smirk.

“He likes you.”

“Stop.”

“He read Tolstoy because of his little sister, and then flirted with you using literary empathy. If that’s not romance-coded, I don’t know what is.”

You groaned.

“No way are you showing up in your math club hoodie,” she declared. “We’re going shopping.”

-----

Later that day, you stood in a tiny dressing room, surrounded by chaos. Hange tossed clothes over the divider like she was auditioning you for a movie.

“Try this!” she shouted. “It says 'I calculate derivatives and look good doing it.’”

You stepped out in something bold—sleek top, jeans that fit too well—and Hange beamed like a proud parent.

“You’re welcome.”

You turned to inspect yourself in the mirror. “Do I look... like someone who has a life outside textbooks?”

“You look like someone who could emotionally ruin two men by doing nothing at all.” She held up her phone. “Time to make sure our favorite caffeine-dealer-turned-intellectual-warden makes an appearance.”

“Wait, who are you calling—”

“Erwin,” she said with a smug grin. “Levi won’t listen to me, but he listens to Blond Justice.”

You stared as she brought the phone to her ear. “Hey, Commander Clean—can you drag Levi to Moblit’s thing tonight? Don’t say it’s a party. Just say we’re testing his social battery.”

She winked at you, mouthing: He’s gonna show.

You weren’t sure if that filled you with excitement or dread.

Probably both.

-----

When you arrived, the house was buzzing with low music, the air tinged with citrusy cocktails, perfume, and the sweet burn of something vaguely cinnamon from the kitchen. A warm amber glow lit the rooms, casting everyone in soft light. It wasn’t a wild party—just a bunch of your classmates and probably their friends, shared playlists, and mismatched snacks in plastic bowls. Popcorn, trail mix, chocolate-covered pretzels. Bottled drinks were lined up near the sink, beside a cooler full of ginger beer and fruit punch spiked with rum someone’s older cousin had smuggled in.

You adjusted your halter neck crop top as you stepped through the entryway, tugging at the snug denim wrapped around your hips. Your hair was tied up, a few loose strands brushing your cheek. No glasses. Just a swipe of gloss and some mascara that you had expertly smudged into smoky rebellion. You felt...different. Bare, maybe. Like walking into someone else’s skin.

You were barely three steps in when you saw him.

Levi was standing near the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, looking like he wanted to throttle someone. Probably Hange, who was animatedly gesturing with a cup of punch in her hand. Erwin stood beside them, one brow raised, clearly amused by whatever Levi had just muttered. Levi’s jaw flexed. He looked like he was arguing over the ethics of oxygen.

Then he saw you.

His eyes snapped to yours, then dropped. Then rose again, slowly this time. He blinked. Stared. His lips parted like he meant to say something, but Hange beat him to it.

“OH. OH MY GOD.”

You flinched.

Hange turned to Levi, clapping their hands together with dangerous delight. “You are gawking. You absolute simp. Levi, blink twice if your soul just left your body.”

“I’m not—” Levi’s voice cracked halfway through. He scowled. “Shitty glasses. Shut up.”

But he was absolutely gawking.

You walked over, half-smirking, half-fighting the urge to crawl under the snack table.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound casual, despite the way your heartbeat suddenly relocated to your throat.

Levi’s eyes dragged back to yours. His stare was sharp, unreadable. “You… changed something.”

“Is that a compliment?”

He looked away, a little too fast. “You’re loud tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s your commentary? Not even a ‘you look nice’?”

“I didn’t say you didn’t.”

Hange elbowed Erwin so hard he almost spilled his drink. “I love this tension. Erwin, tell him he’s being a coward.”

Before Erwin could speak, Hange suddenly looked down at her sleeve.

“Oh, shit, this is punch—Erwin, you said this wasn’t stained—my sweatshirt—!”

“I said it’s permanent if you let it sit!” Erwin was already pulling her away, toward the bathroom. “Hange, stop dabbing it with chips!”

Levi let out a breath like he’d just been released from prison. The kitchen was quieter now. You looked up at him, then tilted your head toward the sliding doors that led to the tiny balcony.

“You okay?”

He looked vaguely murderous. “There are too many people.”

“Want to escape?”

He didn’t answer, just followed you as you turned toward the hallway.

But before you could reach the balcony, a familiar voice called out.

“Y/N?”

You turned.

Moblit.

He was smiling, a little breathless, holding a plastic cup and looking like he’d been building the courage to talk to you. His gaze caught on your face—then drifted down—then snapped back up like he was afraid he’d combust.

“Wow,” he said, completely earnest. “You look… really beautiful tonight. I mean, you always do, but… I never realized how much your glasses hide you. You’re… glowing.”

Your heart jumped in your chest. You weren’t used to being seen like this. Especially not by Moblit, who usually buried himself in math notes and quietly corrected your professor under his breath.

Beside you, Levi made a sound that could only be described as a sigh run through a paper shredder.

Moblit glanced down at the book still tucked under your arm. “Done with the book?”

You smiled. “Almost finished.”

He beamed. “I still think she’s misunderstood. Like, it’s easy to judge her, but honestly? That loneliness… that hunger for something more? I kind of admire her.”

You felt something flutter in your chest. “Yes! That’s what I said. She’s tragic, not selfish.”

“Exactly! My sister says she romanticizes her own pain, but—”

“She does, but it’s because no one listens to her—”

“Oh my God,” Levi said flatly. “She’s a narcissist with a martyr complex. Not a poet.”

You and Moblit both turned.

Levi looked absolutely unimpressed.

“She’s not in love. She’s obsessed with being the center of someone’s world. There’s a difference.”

Moblit blinked, his smile faltering.

You cleared your throat. “Moblit, this is Levi. He’s the one who recommended the book.”

Moblit shifted his weight. “Right. Well, I’ll leave you guys to it. See you around, Y/N.”

He gave you a soft smile and walked off. As soon as he was out of earshot, you let out a slow breath. The hallway suddenly felt smaller.

Levi said nothing.

You turned toward him. “You didn’t have to be so rude.”

“I wasn’t.”

You crossed your arms. “You practically growled at him.”

He didn’t look at you. “He’s an idiot.”

You laughed under your breath, exasperated. “What are you, jealous?”

His jaw twitched.

Your smile widened. “You totally are.”

He muttered something too low to catch and turned, already walking toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“The café,” he said over his shoulder. “It’ll be quieter. Just us. Let’s go.”

You blinked. “You're seriously inviting me?”

He looked back at you briefly. “I’m not letting your brain rot with his interpretation of literature.”

The night air was crisp, brushing cool against your skin as you walked beside him under the amber glow of streetlamps. The buzz of the party still lingered faintly in your chest, but it faded with each step.

Conversation picked up the way it always did—book arguments, petty insults, dramatic retellings. You called him heartless. He called you hopeless. Somehow, it made the world feel less heavy.

By the time you reached the café, you were laughing.

Levi unlocked the door and held it open. Inside, the familiar warmth hit you—coffee beans, vanilla, a hint of spice from whatever blend had been last brewed.

“You want your usual?” he asked.

“Obviously.”

He turned toward the machine, busying himself with precise movements. You leaned on the counter, chin resting on your hand, watching him work.

“Hey, Just Levi,” you said, teasing.

He glanced up.

“Pretend you’re my waiter who finds me stupidly attractive.”

He stared. “That again?”

“C’mon. Play along.”

He sighed—long, theatrical—but stepped forward anyway. One hand braced the counter beside yours. His body leaned in, slow and deliberate. His eyes caught the light just right—sharp, unreadable, and a little too close.

“Your coffee, miss.”

You tried to hold his gaze. Really tried. “Thanks…”

But he didn’t move away.

Neither did you.

The air stretched thin between you.

Then—suddenly, without thinking—he leaned in and brushed his lips against yours.

Soft. Barely a whisper of a kiss. But enough to make your heart detonate in your chest.

You stared at him.

He blinked, realization dawning like a flicker of static in his eyes.

“I—uh—bye!”

You spun around and bolted, nearly tripping over your own feet as the bell above the door jingled in your wake.

Levi stood frozen for a second, like his brain had blue-screened. Then he exhaled, rough and fast, raking a hand through his hair.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered.

He poured out the untouched coffee, wiped the counter with automatic precision, then reached for your empty cup.

That’s when he spotted it—peeking out from under the register. One of your worn, dog-eared smut novels he had tried to hide while cleaning.

He rolled his eyes, snatched it, and stuffed it into his coat pocket.

Lights off. Door locked.

He stepped out into the cool night, standing beneath the stars like they might offer a clue on what to do next.

Chapter Text

The campus café was a chaotic blend of lukewarm ambition and half-hearted lattes. The air buzzed with low chatter, clattering trays, and the faint whirr of an overworked espresso machine. Students hovered over half-open laptops or slumped in booths like war-weary soldiers. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting everyone in a pallid glow that made even the croissants look depressed. Levi and Erwin’s usual table sat tucked away at the back chosen not for its strategic distance from noise and people.

Erwin found Levi’s stark silence and the creases on his brows very uncharacteristic of him. Levi had been glaring at his barely touched chicken sandwich like it had personally wronged him.

Erwin raised a brow as he sipped his coffee across from him.

“So…” he said, casually. “You disappeared from the party last night.”

Levi didn’t look up. “Needed air.”

“Funny,” Erwin mused, “so did Y/N.”

Levi’s eye twitched. He tore a piece of crust off the sandwich and dropped it back onto the plate. “You keeping attendance now?”

“Not exactly.” Erwin tilted his head, voice light. “But it’s not every day Levi Ackerman goes radio silent after a party. Or shows up the next morning with an extra cranky attitude and a haunted expression.”

Levi scoffed. “I always look like this.”

“Not like this,” Erwin said. “You’ve stirred your tea six times.”

Levi paused. Looked at the cup. Set the spoon down with a sharp clink.

Erwin studied him. “Did something happen with Y/N?”

“Not your business.”

“True,” Erwin agreed. “Still asking.”

Levi muttered something indecipherable and leaned back, arms folding tighter. He wasn’t just annoyed. He was brooding. Really brooding. Not his usual razor-edged grumpiness, this was stormier. Tangled.

Erwin narrowed his eyes. “Still hung up on Y/N’s… creative interpretation of Anna Karenina? She’s not a literature prodigy, Levi. She’s already a genius at math—cut her some slack”

Levi exhaled sharply. “I’m not asking her to be a literary genius. But those damn smut books have infested her brain and torched half her neurons. In a desperate attempt to understand her recent, unhinged requests, I picked up one of those grotesque things.”

Erwin’s lips twitched. “You read it?”

A long, beat-heavy silence passed. Levi stared out the window like it might swallow him whole.

“It’s... disturbing,” he said finally.

Erwin blinked. “The smut?”

“The metaphors.” Levi looked genuinely pained. “The female lead compared his penis to ‘a velvet-wrapped heat rod pulsing with forbidden desire.’ What the hell does that even mean? I had to close the book and reevaluate my life.”

Erwin chuckled, clearly enjoying himself now. “So you got invested.”

“I was doing recon,” Levi snapped.

“Right. And how was the ‘research’?”

Levi didn’t answer. Just clenched his jaw and picked up his tea.

Erwin pulled out his phone, thumb flying over the screen.

To: Hange 💓💞 [1:13 PM]:

Levi’s glitching. It’s Y/N-related. You’ll want to see this.

Levi squinted at him. “You’re texting that blind bat, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Erwin said. “This is too good not to share. And don’t call my girlfriend that.”

Levi sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re all idiots.”

Erwin just smiled behind his mug. “Maybe. But at least we’re not the ones getting wrecked by velvet traps and stick metaphors.”

Levi looked like he wanted to flip the table.

-----

Stacks of notes, half-erased equations, and your battered copy of Principles of Mathematical Analysis surrounded you like a fortress. You were supposed to be mastering some equation for your upcoming exam, but your pencil had hovered above the same line for a solid ten minutes.

Across the table, Hange looked up from her quantum mechanics worksheet and squinted at you. You didn’t notice her gaze, you were too busy frowning at your paper as if sheer willpower could make ε and δ make emotional sense.

“Y/N,” she said under her breath, leaning in with the stealth of a gossiping spy. “You haven’t written anything down in—wait—what is this? Are you... brooding?”

You blinked out of your trance. “What? No. I’m trying to prove this stupid limit exists—”

“You’ve been drawing hearts around the delta.”

You slammed your notebook closed. “They’re not hearts, they’re... loops.”

Hange’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and grinned wickedly.

“Oh-ho. Erwin says Levi’s been grumpier than usual. Silent, snappy. And we definitely noticed your little disappearing act last night.”

You froze, eyes locked on your textbook.

She leaned in, voice low and gleaming with mischief. “Did something happen?”

You kept pretending to read.

“Did you guys kiss?”

Your pencil lead snapped with a soft crack. Your fingers tightened around the poor stationery, and you glared so hard at your analysis book it might’ve caught fire.

“You did, didn’t you?”

“Shut up—”

“Wait—wait. You did!” Hange gasped. “I wasn’t even sure but your face just totally gave you away. Who kissed whom? Oh my god—did you use tongue?”

“Hange—!”

Her laugh exploded like a firecracker, heads turning from all directions. The librarian shushed you sharply.

You sank lower in your seat as Hange leaned back with the kind of grin that spelled trouble, discovery, and a complete lack of boundaries. At her incessant pestering, you finally relented and muttered a brief, barely coherent account of what happened.

She gasped so loudly it was almost a shriek. “Wait. You fled? From Levi?”

“I didn’t flee. I—left.”

“In a panic.”

“No.”

“In a panic, after kissing him,” she cackled, eyes watering with laughter.

“Hange, please. And he kissed me.”

She slammed a hand on the table and whisper-screamed, “I can’t believe Shorty had the nerve to kiss you!”

The guy two tables over looked up.

You covered your face with both hands. “Can you not scream my secrets into the academic ether?”

Hange grinned like a fox with a megaphone. “This explains everything. No wonder Levi’s been out here glitching like a dial-up modem.”

“Hange—”

Too late. She spun dramatically in her chair and fake-sobbed toward the ceiling, “Levi, betrayed by lips! Oh, the humanity—”

“Miss Zoe,” the librarian snapped from across the room. “Out.”

You groaned, shoving your books into your bag as Hange gave a mock salute.

“I’m so sorry,” you mouthed apologetically to the onlookers as your chaotic, hysterical friend dragged you out of the library in triumph.

----

The ending clung to you like a ghost.

You sat in the dim hush of your room, the final page of Anna Karenina still open in your lap. The words stared back, unblinking. Unforgiving. Beautiful in a way you didn’t expect—like sorrow blooming in slow motion.

You should’ve turned the light off. Should’ve gone to bed. Should’ve been working on your math problems, focusing on your upcoming exams.

Instead, your cat, Bertholdt, was curled at the edge of your bed, silently judging you. His tail flicked with casual disdain.

You pushed your chair back, turned off the light, and slipped into bed, carefully avoiding his tail, your heart sinking like you'd just been hit by a train. The emotions from that ending washed over you, wild and sharp and unexpected. Tears welled in your eyes.

You reached for your phone. The glow lit up your face as you pulled up Levi’s contact.

Y/N [3:49 AM]:

Just finished it. God… that ending?

It wasn’t about death. It was about surrender.

About loving someone enough to be destroyed by it.

You stared at the message. Then hit send.

Three dots appeared immediately. Then vanished.

You wondered if he ever actually slept.

A moment later, his reply came:

Levi [3:50 AM]:

You’re romanticizing it again.

Short. Brutal. So very Levi.

You rolled onto your side, blinking back tears. Phone facedown. Book still warm on your reading table.

Smut never made you feel this wrecked.

And somehow, that made it worse.

----

There was a knock.

You weren’t expecting anyone that early.

You shuffled to the door half-asleep, especially after crying your eyes out last night — hoodie askew, toothbrush in your mouth.

You swung it open and froze.

You were doing a lot of that lately.

Levi stood there, eyes shadowed with exhaustion, wind-tousled hair barely tamed. He looked... unimpressed.

He held out a paperback.

The Handmaid’s Tale.

“New book,” he said curtly, pushing it into your hand.

You stared. “Levi—”

“You clearly need a course correction after that thing,” he muttered, already brushing past you into your apartment like he paid rent. “You didn’t learn a thing.”

“Why are you showing up at seven in the morning?”

He didn’t answer. He was already in your kitchen, rifling through your fridge like he lived there.

“And you brought a dystopian feminist classic as a follow-up? I’ve seen the series.”

“No,” he said, sipping from a bottle of water. “It’s about control. Identity. It’s actually smart. And the series doesn’t hold a candle to the book.”

You followed him, book clutched to your chest. “So this is how you deal with a woman you kissed? Show up with Margaret Atwood and a bad attitude?”

He glared. “That wasn’t a kiss. It was a light touching of lips. Very light.”

You grinned. “Oh? You know you’re deflecting. Why are you here?”

He looked away, clearly regretting his life choices. “Your text,” he said, voice sharp with mockery. “You are aware Anna threw herself in front of a train, right?”

You crossed your arms. “You’re mad about the text?”

“I’m mad about the text and the fact that you still think Vronsky is a good example of a perfect book boyfriend.”

“Yes. I told you he was going to do something irredeemably stupid,” you muttered.

“That’s a problem.”

You sighed. “What exactly is your issue, Levi? That I found the ending moving? Or that I felt something?”

He stopped in front of your bookshelf, glaring at it like the books had personally wronged him.

“You romanticized a tragedy,” he snapped. “You sent me a declaration of doom and called it beautiful. It’s not poetic—it’s delusional.”

You walked past him, grabbing a mug. “You’re confusing romanticism with recognition.”

“What I’m recognizing,” he said, trailing behind you, “is that you’d probably defend Macbeth if he had nice cheekbones.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

He threw up his hands. “You need better taste.”

“You need emotional range.”

Your cat darted between his feet just as he turned. Levi stumbled, catching himself on the counter with a scowl.

“Fuck. Tell your beast to stop playing assassin.”

“He likes you.”

“He has poor judgment—like someone else I know.”

You held your mug, smirking. “I’m sensing some jealousy here.”

“Jealousy? Over Vronsky?”

You shrugged. “Book boyfriend’s got you shook.”

Levi’s glare could’ve leveled cities.

“I’m assigning you something grounded. The Handmaid’s Tale. No tragic train deaths. Just structural oppression and substance.”

You took the book from the counter and flipped it open. “You really know how to pick a fun weekend read. I’m going to implode from math problems and structural oppression.”

He didn’t respond, just moved past you to you reading table and dropped into your desk chair like he owned it. It rolled slightly as he settled in, elbows on his knees. His eyes scanned the desk —open notebooks, equations scrawled in pencil, a half-solved matrix mid-page.

His brow furrowed. He reached over and flipped to another page. More math. More chaos. More brilliance.

“She’s brilliant and dramatic,” he thought grimly. “Terrifying combination.”

He let the book fall closed and leaned back slightly, eyes still on the page. Numbers and delusion. This was what she lived in, this strange blend of logic and feeling, equations and madness.

You padded past him, still barefoot, mumbling something about needing to shower before class. You paused, toothbrush now hanging between your fingers.

“You going to be here when I get out?”

He looked up. His mouth twitched — not quite a smile.

“Depends,” he said. “How long’s the speech on your tragic taste in books?”

You rolled your eyes and disappeared into the bathroom.

He stared at the closed door for a beat longer than necessary.

Then down at the scrawled formula beside him.

Then back at the door.

“She’d choose ruin if it felt like love,” he thought again.

He exhaled. Then leaned forward, running a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath.

“Hopeless romantic.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

You had been at your reading table, head sinking into your textbook as the overhead fan made lazy circles above you. The light from your phone screen bathed your face in a soft blue as you scrolled back through the photos from the exhibition. A smear of Miche’s expression lingered in your mind, the offhand charm, the warmth in his teasing, the way he made it look so easy to belong.

And then there was Levi, in that jacket that clung a little too well to his frame, his bangs falling across his face, long overdue for a trim. In the photo, he stood in front of one particular piece, his gaze fixed, his posture unusually still. He had said something about how it captured the kind of feeling that doesn’t go away, even when it should.

You swiped to the next photo.

But it wasn’t the art itself that stayed with you. It was that quiet moment in front of Northern Peace, the way Levi had looked at it like it was something he used to know. Like he’d lived inside it once, and was only just remembering how it felt.

You hadn’t been sure why you did it. Maybe it was the soft hum in your chest, or the way the silence in your room pressed in, gentle but unrelenting. Your thumbs moved before your mind could catch up.

To Just Levi [11:22PM]:
That painting reminded me of the part where Anna said she stopped caring about being right; she just wanted peace in her heart.

You stared at the message, hovering over the screen, unsure. Maybe it was too much. Maybe it was reaching, or worse, attention-seeking. You wanted to say more, maybe even send the photo of the painting, but as you fumbled through your gallery, your thumb slipped just a fraction too far.

His name flashed across your screen in bold.

FaceTime ringing.

Your heart lurched.

Shit. No no no no no—

You scrambled to hang up, breath caught in your throat. But before you could, the screen shifted.

Levi picked up.

You froze. Caught.

His face was mostly in shadow, lit only by the low orange glow of a lamp somewhere off-screen. He was leaned back against something, probably his headboard, the collar of his shirt slouched open at the neck. You caught a flash of silver chain at his collarbone. His hair was slightly tousled. You watched him run a hand through it.

You gaped. He squinted, unimpressed.

“I thought I said I don’t do calls.”

You flailed. “I didn’t mean to FaceTime! I—uh—I was trying to send the photo of the art.”

He had hummed. Not annoyed, just quiet. Almost… thoughtful. The silence had hung for a while. And then, in a low voice:

“Your text,” he’d said. “She didn’t want to be right. She just wanted the noise to stop.”

A breath had passed. His eyes hadn’t been on you anymore, but somewhere to the side, like he was seeing something else. Something old.

“You get used to carrying things alone. Telling yourself silence is peace. But it’s not.”

He had tapped his thumb once against the edge of the screen, then added, “Sometimes it’s just loneliness dressed up in quieter clothes.”

He had said it so simply, so clinically, that you almost missed the weight of it. But the words had settled deep, like they were meant to be hidden until now.

He had glanced back at you. His gaze had held. Unblinking.

“And then, once in a while…” His voice had trailed, lips quirking into something not quite a smile. “You hear something—or meet someone—that makes the silence feel… different.”

You had barely breathed. He noticed. Of course he did.

His fingers had brushed against his mouth, a pause stretching between you—like something unsaid had briefly perched on his tongue before slipping away. Then, as if shaking off a thought too heavy to carry:

“You don’t need to send the painting,” he’d muttered. “Art’s better observed in person.”

There was something about the way he said it. Almost offhand, but not careless. Like he wasn’t talking about the painting at all.

His words landed in you like a small stone dropped into still water, rippling outward. You went quiet.

His eyes never left yours, and for a moment, the silence felt less like absence and more like invitation.

There was something there. Brewing. Slow, careful, unnamed. But it was there.

And you could feel it.

Your voice had been softer when you spoke again. “Hey. Um… I was supposed to go to the aquarium tomorrow.”

He had raised a brow.

You’d continued, stumbling, “With Hange. But she just texted. She’s covering a shift. I have two tickets, and I don’t wanna waste them…”

You hadn’t quite been able to look at him.

“So what, you’re inviting me because you have no choice?”

“I’m inviting you out of panic.”

“Honest. That’s new.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “Come on. You’d like it. There’s a whole jellyfish tunnel and a massive open ocean tank. It’s beautiful. You don’t even have to talk.”

There had been a beat. A subtle flicker in his gaze.

“Fine,” he’d said. “But only because I don’t want you getting abducted on the way.”

You’d bitten your lip to keep from smiling too wide.

You’d whispered, “Goodnight, Just Levi.”

“Night, Red.”

The call had ended. You’d straightened your back, phone still warm in your hand. You stared down at the equations sprawled across your notebook, your cheeks on fire.

It felt seen.

Not by some flawless man on a page, spine bent back on your nightstand.

But by someone real.

By him.

The aquarium had its own kind of hush, not silence, but the reverent quiet of people in the presence of something vast. The overhead lights were dim, and the halls felt like a cathedral made of water. Everything glowed in gradients of blue, green, and indigo, refracted and soft around the edges. Sounds were muffled. The air was cool, heavy with salt and filter mist, and carried a faintly metallic scent, like cold sea stones and glass.

You walked beside Levi through that slow, dreamlike space. Neither of you spoke at first.

He wore a light, weathered jacket in slate grey, zipped halfway, the collar folded sharp against his neck. His sleeves were pushed to his elbows, exposing the delicate lines of veins and the tension in his forearms. There was a slight ruffle in his dark hair, like the wind had gotten to it on the way over, and his jeans tapered neatly to his boots.

You were in a soft cardigan over a tank top and loose, striped pants, a comfy ensemble meant for walking and wonder. You almost felt underdressed beside his low-effort elegance. Your fingers kept brushing whenever you walked too close, and every time, both of you pretended not to notice.

“That’s a giant isopod,” you murmured, nodding toward the display. It lay curled, pinkish and armored, beneath a rocky arch inside its tank. “They can survive five years without food.”

Levi’s eyebrow ticked upward. “Sounds like a charming date.”

You nudged him with your shoulder. “You? Please. You’d die if you went six hours without tea and righteous judgment.”

He exhaled sharply. Not a laugh, but close. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Don’t project.”

You grinned, but his gaze lingered on you a little longer than the joke called for.

Your arms were folded loosely in front of you, while his hung relaxed at his sides. He wasn’t touching you, but his presence felt warm and grounded.

You passed tanks filled with jellyfish that pulsed like breath, lionfish fanned out like ornate robes, and glittering schools of anchovy that twisted like silver brushstrokes. But it wasn’t until you turned a corner that something stopped you.

The dumbo octopus floated alone in a cylindrical tank bathed in soft blue. It looked almost weightless, ghost-pale and fragile, its ear-like fins fluttering gently. It moved slowly, with no urgency, like it had all the time in the world. Like it was dancing to a song only it could hear.

You stepped closer, drawn in. Pressed your palm softly against the cool glass.

There was something in your chest you couldn’t name. A fullness and a sorrow all at once. That strange ache of beauty when you came across something pure, untouched by anything ugly. It reminded you of quiet chapters in books that changed everything but said so little.

You stared for a long time. Chin tilted. Mouth slightly open. Unmoving.

Then you felt it, that pressure, that sensation of being watched.

You glanced sideways.

You expected Levi to be watching the creature, but he wasn’t.

He was watching you.

His expression was unreadable, but intense. His arms were folded now, his posture loose, but his gaze was razor-sharp. Fixed. Like you had said something too intimate just by existing beside him.

“What?” you asked, your throat dry.

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes swept over your face, pausing beneath your eyes.

“You look tired,” he said finally. “More than usual.”

Your face warmed. “Well, thanks.”

“That’s not…I didn’t mean it like that.”

You gave a weak laugh, but his voice was low, genuine. There was no teasing in it. He stepped a little closer, just enough that your shoulders might have touched if you leaned.

“Dark circles,” he said. “They’re new.”

You shifted your weight. “It’s just… classes. Projects. Reading.”

“You’ve been reading late.”

You blinked. “How do you know?”

He shrugged, barely. “You text me quotes at 2 AM.”

You looked away, heat curling up your neck. “Sorry. I just… I like knowing what you’re thinking. When you recommend something. It’s like a peek into your mind.”

He was quiet.

“You don’t have to,” he said eventually. “Read them, I mean. Not for me.”

You tucked your hands into your cardigan sleeves, grounding yourself. “I want to. Plus… I’m studying for finals. Need to maintain the top spot.”

It spilled out before you could stop it, half-pride and half-confession. The second it left your mouth, you froze. That wasn’t supposed to come out. Not to him. Not like that.

He watched you instead, lips slightly parted, as if he were thinking of a dozen replies and none of them were safe.

“You’re weird,” he said at last.

You tilted your head, giving a slow, amused smile. “Says the man who drinks nothing other than carefully brewed tea.”

His eyes flickered, amusement, maybe, but more. He looked like he was about to say something clever, but instead, he turned back to the dumbo octopus.

“Why that one?” he asked. “You’ve been staring at it longer than the rest.”

You breathed out slowly. “It just… moves like it doesn’t care who’s watching. It’s fragile, but it doesn’t seem scared. Like it’s living in its own little dream.”

A pause.

“Sounds like someone I know.”

You glanced at him. His tone was so neutral, you almost missed the softness beneath it. But he wasn’t teasing.

You looked down, barely whispering, “You think I’m fragile?”

“I think you pretend you’re not.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

The tank glowed softly beside you. Levi stepped closer, not enough to make it obvious, but enough that you felt the brush of his shoulder against your arm. Warm. Steady.

“You always do that,” he murmured.

“Do what?”

“Say things like you’re joking. But you mean them.”

You shifted, not quite meeting his eyes. “So do you.”

A beat.

“You pretend not to care. But you do.”

The words landed between you like something tender and dangerous. And for a moment, you both just existed. In the quiet. In the water-blue light. With the octopus drifting behind the glass like a living metaphor for all the things you didn’t know how to say.

“You should sleep more,” he said, finally.

“You should let people in,” you answered, so soft it was barely a breath.

You thought he might say something else. Something that would take the air from your lungs. But then a school group flooded into the exhibit, and the spell shattered.

You stepped back. He let you.

The dumbo octopus disappeared into a coral crevice, and the moment floated away with it.

Chapter Text

The hush of the aquarium still clung to you as you stepped back into the town’s soft rhythm, that late afternoon lull where the sky turned the color of old porcelain and the wind carried the scent of sea salt and something warm baking.

You drifted a little ahead, letting your fingers graze ivy-draped railings and the crumbling walls of art supply shops you hadn’t thought about in years. The streets here were quieter. More lived-in. As if time walked slower.

“I haven’t been to this side of town since freshman year,” you murmured, half to yourself.

Levi’s eyes followed your movements. “Why?”

You shrugged. “It reminds me too much of home.”

A corner record store still had faded gig posters in the window. A stationery shop owner recognized you instantly and waved, calling you by name. The bakery down the block offered you a sample without question, a little red bean bun you and Hange used to hoard during finals week. She asked about the rowdy and loud girl that used to follow you around.

Levi watched each interaction with a face like stone, but his gaze lingered longer than it should have.

“They still remember you,” he said quietly.

You smiled a little, awkward. “Yeah. I used to come here when I was trying to discover who I was outside my family. Hange and I met here too. She was excited to get those tasty macaroons. She bumped into me and spilled all her books.” You laughed at the memory.

As you spoke, you turned your face away to cough into your elbow. When you looked back, Levi was still watching you, a faint crease between his brows.

A silence settled between you, but not an uncomfortable one. You fell into step beside him as the conversation returned to safer ground.

“So,” you said, bumping his elbow with yours, “The Handmaid’s Tale. I read your annotations— about memories as rebellion.”

He glanced sideways, unsurprised. “What did you think?”

You exhaled slowly, perhaps closer to a sigh. “Terrifying. Lonely. But also… she has this kind of inner defiance. Like she’s keeping something sacred alive, even when everything’s taken.”

“She is,” he said simply.

You paused to look at him. “Is that why you recommended it?”

Levi shrugged, not dismissively. “No, I just thought you needed something to sit with. Something challenging. Not everything needs to be solved in the first ten pages. Or be about euphoric orgasms and velvet rods . Some stories are meant to unravel you slowly.”

You blinked, then raised your brows.

You came across a tiny street stall, and your eyes lit up. You practically skipped over to the rows of odd snacks and drinks — dried squid, mochi shaped like animals, fruit jellies that wobbled like orbs in their plastic shells. You grabbed one of everything, beaming as you paid.

“You’re going to get sick,” Levi said behind you, deadpan.

“You’re going to die of dehydration,” you countered, voice raspier than usual. “So who’s really making bad choices?”

His eyes, sharp as ever, flickered to meet yours, a hint of genuine surprise etching into his otherwise stoic expression. You’d hit a nerve, it seemed.

He scowled and, without a word, turned to stalk away. You watched him go, your gaze trailing his retreating back, a faint smile playing on your lips. He returned a moment later with a cup of iced tea, which he held like it offended him. “Only thing cold. Still tastes like disappointment.”

You laughed, though it came out thinner this time, followed by another small cough. Still, you kept grinning.

He watched you try the squid strip and nearly gag, only to finish it anyway out of sheer pride.

And then, like it was nothing, he reached into his bag and pulled out a small iced coffee, your exact usual order from the book café.

Your eyes widened. “Is that for me?”

“Don’t act so surprised.”

You grabbed it from him and took a long sip.

“You know, you’re going to choke.”

“This isn’t as good as the one you make,” you said, shaking the cup.

“That’s because there’s a secret ingredient.” He had a slight upward curve on his lips.

“What is that?” You said, hitting him slightly. “I know you’ll say something cringy like ‘my heart’.” You kept your eyes on him.

He didn’t reply, his gaze unwavering, and your heart did a strange little skip.

As you walked, he started asking quieter questions — the kind you didn’t expect from him.

There was a warmth behind your ribs that didn’t come from the sun. You bit the inside of your cheeks. “Why are you fascinated with books… classicals?”

Levi considered that. “I guess I liked things that echoed. Even when you put them down, they’ll keep talking to you. Keep resonating.”

You nodded. “That sounds so you.”

He glanced over. “What about you?”

You laughed, trying to cut the sudden intensity. “To fill the void inside of me…” You wanted to add something else.

“Smut does that?”

“And we’re back to that. You never let things go?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You read the complete series of This Man .”

“Okay. First of all, it’s a literary masterpiece. Second, Jodi Ellen Malpas is the best writer to exist.”

He actually smirked. “Shakespeare shakes in his grave.”

“But seriously…” You trailed off, eyes dropping to your hands. “Reading books like that didn’t demand too much of me. Math, for all its intricate logic, was incredibly demanding. And truthfully, I didn't know if I wanted to dedicate my life to it long-term.”

Levi stayed quiet, listening.

“I don’t know what I want to do, really. I’d been good at math forever. My family, they’ve always had this grand vision for me – accolades, fellowships, a career at some prestigious research facility, like working at a place as intense as CERN.” You sighed, a heavy sound. “I just… followed the current.”

“So smut really saved you?”

You grinned. “The only part of my life I actually chose.”

He hummed, then added quietly, “Choosing what unravels you is still a choice.”

You stopped walking for a second. It took you a moment to register how much weight that sentence carried.

You gave a small, bitter laugh, followed by another cough you tried to stifle.

“I study. I read. I get good grades. But I don’t have that thing; that passion.”

He watched you, brow slightly furrowed again.

“Math is something I do because I’m really good at it, and I do genuinely appreciate its elegant solutions and the way everything fits perfectly. But I don’t love it with that burning passion I see in others, or that intensity my parents expect.”

You tried to lighten the mood. “Maybe I’ll take reading smut seriously. Go full academic on it. Erotica analysis.”

Levi actually scoffed. “You’d have citations and footnotes.”

“And a dramatic thesis title,” you grinned. “The Rhythm of Desire: A Mathematical Approach to Fictional Orgasms.”

He coughed on his iced tea, nearly choking.

You offered him another squid strip as a peace offering. He declined.

Still, something warm had settled between you; shared laughter, quiet confessions, the easy press of vulnerability neither recoiled from. His arm brushed yours again as you passed a bakery glowing with paper lanterns in the window, and you didn’t pull away.

But before you could ask more, he changed the subject.

“When’s your birthday?”

You blinked. “That was abrupt.”

He shrugged. “We’re trading questions.”

You told him, and he nodded like he’d write it down in some invisible notebook you weren’t supposed to know he had.

“I never asked,” you said softly. “What do you want to do? After school?”

He exhaled, like it was a question he’d been asked a hundred times and still didn’t have the conviction. “I want to write the greatest story that ever existed.”

You smiled. “That’s amazing.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Says the girl who’s going to be valedictorian.”

“Touché.”

You walked in comfortable silence for a while, lost in the quiet ease of his company. You hadn't even realized where you were going until you rounded a familiar corner, suddenly seeing your own apartment building loom into view. A breeze kicked up — cool and sharp. Your throat stung faintly from talking, and you coughed into your elbow, brushing it off like it was nothing.

There was that moment, always that moment, where something could happen, but never quite did.

“Thanks for walking me,” you said, your voice quieter now. You sniffled slightly and hoped he didn’t notice.

Levi gave a small nod. “Get some sleep. And water. And maybe some proper food.”

You laughed, though it came out a little raspier than you expected. Your head felt a bit warm, but you chalked it up to the long day.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you hugged him. Quick, impulsive, warm.

He froze just slightly, and for a beat, you felt the hesitant, feather-light brush of his hand against your back – a secret gesture, barely there.

Then you pulled away before either of you could say anything more, jogging up the steps.

“Night!” you called.

He didn’t answer until you were almost inside.

“Night, Red.”

You closed the door with your heart rattling inside your chest—and a faint tickle in your throat that you told yourself was nothing.

Bertholdt, curled on the bed, stared, eyeing you curiously.

Chapter Text

It had been two full days, and Levi hadn’t received a single text from you. Not even one of those absurd, grotesque late-night comments from your reading that usually brightened his screen. 

He’d hovered over the idea of texting you back—several times, in fact—but always ended up deleting the draft, instead staring at the last thing you sent: a single laughing emoji. He even typed out a “?” once.

Erwin had been quietly watching Levi fidget with his phone. Before he could say anything, Levi stood up abruptly and muttered, “I’m heading to the library. Need to check out a book or two.”

The blonde man's full brows rose in mild surprise as he watched his usually composed friend practically bolt from the room.

After aimlessly drifting through the bookshelves, pretending to browse titles he wasn’t even reading, Levi finally accidentally made his way to the study tables.
He pretended not to notice Hange immediately, though it was hard to miss the chaos: scattered papers, open books, a graveyard of coffee cups, and a nest of tangled pens.

And of course, Moblit was there too, hunched over her shoulder like a loyal squire.
Levi’s eye twitched. For some reason, seeing him there irritated him more than it should have.

He scanned the table twice, but his searching didn’t go unnoticed.

“Looking for someone?” Hange asked, a sly smile curling on her lips as she rested her chin in her hands.

“I came to pick up some books,” Levi said flatly, holding up the ones he’d grabbed earlier. “Looks like you’re missing someone from your usual circus.”

“Or,” Hange grinned, “you could just ask about Y/N like a normal person.”

She leaned back, clearly enjoying herself. “She goes into monk mode before finals. Studying from home, total lockdown.”

“Right,” Levi muttered, eyes narrowing.

Moblit chimed in, all good intentions. “She hasn’t replied to me either. It’s kind of her thing when she’s stressed. Though… she did complain about a headache yesterday before leaving. Left class pretty early.”

“She always replies to me,” Levi muttered, arms crossing tightly over his chest.

Hange tilted her head, eyes narrowing in amusement. “Worried, Levi?”

He clicked his tongue and looked away. “Tch. Not my problem.”

But it was.

Levi did his best to walk calmly out of the library, keeping his steps measured. But the moment he stepped outside, his pace quickened, panic gnawing at his chest as he pulled out his phone with trembling fingers.

He forced himself to stay steady, to think clearly, as he tapped on your name.

It rang.

And kept ringing.

No answer.

His stomach dropped.

Without thinking, he broke into a sprint, shoving his phone into his pocket as his walk turned into a full, desperate run.

By the time Levi reached your building, the sky had turned a pale, overcast grey. The kind of cold that seeps into your collar and settles in your bones.

He didn’t know why he felt this panicked. Maybe Hange was right. Maybe you were just holed up studying, like always.

He kept replaying the last time he saw you, how pale you looked, how tired your voice had sounded. You hadn’t been yourself. Even the way you disagreed with him had felt… empty. The absence of your usual fire stuck with him, echoing louder the longer the silence stretched.

A brown paper bag swung lightly from his hand. Inside were pastries and your favorite coffee, picked up mid-sprint so he wouldn’t show up empty-handed. Or in case you’d forgotten to eat, buried under textbooks and deadlines.

He knocked once.

Then twice.

Muted sounds inside.

“Oi.” A third knock, louder this time. Still no answer.

He tried the handle. It wasn’t locked.

Inside, the apartment was too warm. The air felt heavy. Books lay scattered across the floor and table, your laptop still open, its screen blinking weakly.

And there you were.

Half-curled on the floor, one arm stretched toward your fallen phone. Pale. Shivering. Your breathing shallow.

“Shit.”

Levi dropped the bag and was at your side in an instant. His hand brushed over your forehead. Clammy. Too warm.

“Hey. Wake up.”

His voice was urgent now, tight with something close to fear.

Your lashes fluttered. Dry lips parted. “...Levi?”

“Tch. You idiot,” he muttered, but it came out softer than he meant. Rough around the edges. “You should’ve called someone.”

“Didn’t… mean to…” The words barely formed as your head lolled slightly.

He cursed under his breath, lifting you gently and carrying you to the bed. You were lighter than he expected. Fragile in a way that unsettled him.

Bertholdt, the small cat perched like a grumpy guardian on the bookshelf, glared at him with wide, judging eyes. Levi ignored him.

The blanket smelled faintly like your shampoo. He pulled it over you, tucking it carefully under your chin before moving to the kitchen.

Levi moved quickly. First, he poured a glass of water and knelt beside you, easing your head up with a firm but careful hand.

“Drink,” he said, holding the rim to your lips. You blinked slowly, dazed, but obeyed. The water dribbled slightly down your chin, and he wiped it with the edge of his sleeve.

He exhaled, barely, and set the glass down.

“Stay put.” His tone was quiet but sharp, like a command laced with worry.

Then he was gone.

The trip was fast, efficient on the outside, frantic just beneath. Cold meds from the nearest pharmacy. Ginger, garlic, scallions, tofu, broth from the grocery store—whatever he could remember from all the times he had to take care of himself when no one else did. He paid in cash. Didn't wait for the receipt.

When he returned, he didn’t speak. Just tied an apron around his waist like it was second nature and began cooking, quietly, precisely.

Your eyes fluttered open and closed, struggling to make sense of what was happening. For a moment, you were certain it was a dream, seeing Levi, hearing his voice.

Your throat burned, your nose was somehow both blocked and running, and your limbs felt too heavy to move. You couldn’t even lift your hands.

The apartment slowly filled with the scent of warm broth and simmering ginger.

Steam curled in the air as he ladled the soup into a bowl, then carried it to the bed where you lay, barely propped up under a blanket.

He helped you sit, one arm supporting your back as he settled beside you.

“Medicine first,” he said, placing the pills in your palm and handing you the water again. You swallowed weakly.

Then, he held the bowl up and blew on the spoon before offering it to you.

You tried to take it from him, but your hand shook.

“I’ve got it,” he said quietly. And he did, spoon by spoon, gently, patiently. Between bites, he watched your color return, your breathing grow steadier.

You had eaten slowly, leaning against him for support, every motion sluggish from the fever. Now, your head rested back on the bed, eyes barely open, your skin still too warm to the touch.

Without a word, he stood and disappeared into the kitchen again. You heard the faucet run, water sloshing into a basin, then soft footsteps returning. He crouched beside you, sleeves rolled up, jaw set in concentration.

He dipped a towel into the cold water, wrung it out with calloused hands, and gently pressed it to your forehead. His touch was steady but careful, almost reverent. He moved the cloth to your cheeks, then the nape of your neck, each press designed to draw the heat from your skin.

“You do everything well except take care of yourself,” he muttered, more to himself. “You really are an idiot, Red.”

Your eyes fluttered closed at the cool relief. The fever still pulsed beneath your skin, but something steadier, calmer, had taken its place.

Levi folded the towel and replaced it with another, freshly soaked. He did it again. And again. Quiet, methodical. The kind of care only someone who’d memorized your every detail would give.

When your breathing finally slowed, he stood. His movements were quiet, deliberate, clearing the soup bowl, gathering the used towels into the basin. 

But your hand shot out, weak but insistent, fingers clutching the hem of his shirt.

“Just stay with me,” you whispered, eyes barely open. “Please. Just for a little while. Just… hold me.”

He froze.

For a moment, the silence between you stretched, filled only by the soft hum of the heater and the faint drip of water from the bowl.

Then he exhaled, long and slow, like something inside him finally gave way.

He stripped off the apron and loosened the top button of his shirt. Wordlessly, he toed off his socks and crossed to the other side of the bed. Gently, carefully, he pulled you into his arms.

You stirred faintly in protest.

“Shut up,” he murmured. “You asked.”

You melted into him almost instantly, your face nuzzling into the hollow beneath his collarbone. One arm draped over his torso, your fingers still curled tightly in the fabric of his shirt, like you were afraid he might disappear.

Levi hesitated just a moment longer, then pulled you closer.

One arm wrapped around your back, the other cradling the back of your head. His fingers combed softly through your hair, slow, grounding strokes, while your breath warmed the hollow of his throat.

He felt it then.

The heat of you against him. The soft, unconscious sigh you let out as you melted into his chest. The painful tenderness pressing into his ribs like it had been waiting for this moment.

He didn’t fight it.

Didn’t analyze it.

Didn’t mock himself for caring too much.

He let it wash over him. The fear he’d felt earlier. The quiet relief now. The affection that had been building beneath every snide remark and quiet act of care.

“...You scared me, Y/N,” he said softly into your hair. “Don’t do that again.”

You mumbled something unintelligible into his chest, already half-asleep.

Levi let himself smile, barely. Just a twitch of his mouth, hidden in the dark.

Beneath the covers, he drew you closer, holding you like something precious, something he wasn’t ready to lose. Maybe something he never could.

And for the first time in a long while, Levi let himself feel warm.

Not from your shared body heat.

And not from the blankets.

But from the quiet, undeniable presence of you.

Chapter Text

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was warmth. Not fever-warm, not stifling, but steady and solid; Levi’s arm draped firmly across your waist. For a second, you let yourself sink into it, your face buried against the soft cotton of his shirt. He smelled faintly of soap and the sharper trace of tea leaves and sandalwood that always seemed to cling to him, but now there was something new: spices and herbs lingering from the kitchen, ginger and scallions woven into the clean scent of him. Comforting. Grounding. Just Levi.

When you stirred, he shifted immediately, eyes flicking open. “Tch. Finally awake.” His voice was gravelly from sleep, but softer than usual. “For a second I thought you were preparing to join your ancestors.” The dryness in his tone almost covered it, but not quite.

You groaned, pushing a hand over your face. “I feel like death.”

“You look and smell like it too.” But the faintest curve tugged at his lips, betraying the bite of his words.

You rolled your eyes, weak but playful. “Nice bedside manner, doctor.”

He hummed, sitting up but not moving his hand from you. “You need rest. And water. And to stop treating your body like it’s disposable, you damn book freak.”

You bit back a smile at his lecture. “So bossy. What are you gonna do, write me a prescription?”

“I already did. Soup, medicine, and sleep.”

Before you could reply, a soft thump came from the bookshelf. Bertholdt leapt down, tail flicking, and padded across the floor with lazy authority. He climbed onto the bed like he owned it, curling neatly against your side. You gathered him into your arms, pressing your cheek against his fur. “Were you worried too, Bertie?” you whispered.

The cat purred, but when his golden eyes shifted to Levi, the sound cut into a low growl. Levi raised a brow, unimpressed. “What the hell is this demon’s problem?”

“He’s protective,” you said, scratching under Bertholdt’s chin. “He can sense your bad vibes.”

“Tch. Figures.” Levi glared back at the cat, who bared his teeth in silent threat before settling smugly in your lap. “Disgusting little beast.”

You snorted, stroking the cat. “Don’t be jealous.”

Levi didn’t dignify that with an answer, though the way his jaw tightened told you enough.

“You heard him, Bertie,” you whispered to the cat. “He was worried too.”

Levi muttered something under his breath and finally pulled away, standing with a shake of his head. “Bath first. Cuddle later.”

You blinked. “What?”

He pushed you up, then pinched his nose with exaggerated disdain. “You reek.”

You groaned, landing a weak punch against his chest before rolling your eyes. He didn’t even flinch, just gave you that flat look and turned toward the bathroom without another word.

“Before you crawl out of bed looking worse than a corpse.” He said turning on the taps in your bathroom. By the time you dragged yourself in, he’d set out towels and even found your shampoo.

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut it and wash,” he said, arms crossed. “You smell like fever.”

Romantic. But you didn’t argue.

When you came out, feeling steadier, the living room no longer looked like a storm had hit it. Your books were stacked neatly, papers sorted, and the table cleared. Levi was at the counter, sleeves pushed up, knife flashing as he sliced ginger.

“You cleaned,” you said softly.

“You live like a slob,” he muttered, not looking up. “Being sick isn’t an excuse.” His tone dripped with flat sarcasm, like he was daring you to try coming up with one anyway.

You padded closer, catching the scent of garlic sizzling in oil. “So bossy. First a doctor, now a maid?”

“Say that again and you’re eating plain rice.”

You smiled, settling onto a stool at the counter. “Fine, fine. Chef Levi. What’s the menu?”
“Soup. Something simple.” He flicked scallions into the pan with practiced ease. “And you’re spending the rest of the day in bed, resting that overworked brain of yours.”
He snorted, resuming his chopping. “Called Hange too. Figured you’d need someone loud and obnoxious to keep you alive since you can’t do it yourself.”
You laughed, the sound cracking halfway. “Fine. But let me finish the last chapter while I wait for my meal. Don’t let me die mid-page, please.”

Levi shot you a look that said dramatic and nope. He tried to hold his ground, but couldn’t help the question sliding out: “So—almost finished, then?”

You lit up a little, despite the haze in your head. “June’s escape. Or… her attempted escape. It’s—ugh—so dystrophical.”

“Dystopian,” Levi corrected instantly.

You blinked. “That’s what I said.”

“You didn’t.” A smirk tugged at his mouth, rare and soft.

You swatted weakly at him. “Pedant.”

He actually chuckled, low and quick, before looking away like he regretted letting it slip. “Keep talking like that and I’ll shove hot sauce down your throat myself,” he said flatly.

The easy silence that followed settled warmly between you, filling your chest with a quiet bloom of comfort, like this could be any ordinary day in a life you shared. Eventually, Levi returned to chopping onions, the sound sharp but grounding.

The smell of simmering broth soon filled the room, rich and comforting, steam curling faintly from the pot as Levi worked. You watched him move, quick and exact, every motion purposeful, like even the smallest detail mattered. 

He moved with the same precision a mad scientist might, orchestrating an experiment where failure wasn’t an option. The small table beside your bed became his lab bench: bowl centered with unnerving accuracy, chopsticks aligned like measuring instruments, spoon angled with intent. Even the steam curling from the tea seemed part of his controlled setting. Only once every detail passed his silent inspection did he slide the tray toward you, as if presenting the final result of a perfectly executed trial.

You picked up the spoon, murmured a thanks, and began to eat. He sat across from you, fingers curled around his tea. His sharp eyes followed each bite as if he expected you to collapse mid-spoonful.

“Stop staring at me,” you said around a mouthful.

“I’m making sure you don’t choke. Wouldn’t want to waste the effort.” Still, the words lacked any real bite. “It’s not like it’d matter if you died.”

You rolled your eyes, body sluggish with fatigue. Setting the spoon down, you stretched toward your phone, perched neatly on its charger. You knew Hange had probably called a hundred times. You were almost afraid to look at your phone, but a different curiosity tugged at you. You wanted to see the messages Levi had sent. You wanted a measure of how worried he had been, enough to make him come crashing over. And of course your parents, too.

“Tch. Don’t even think about it,” Levi snapped. “Finish your meal first. Every last grain. Or I’ll feed you myself, and you won’t like how thorough I can be.”

You pulled your hand back to the tray, picked up the spoon, and grudgingly sipped at the hot soup. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Bertholdt stretched out on the floor, pressed right against Levi’s chair. He groomed himself with deliberate, theatrical licks, like he was only tolerating Levi’s presence rather than accepting it. The occasional sideways glare made that perfectly clear; he hadn’t forgiven him, but he’d allow this temporary truce for your sake.

You caught the way Levi glanced down at him once, brow twitching, mouth pressed into a thin line. For a second, you wondered if he was plotting revenge against a cat or if something quieter was turning over in his mind.

When you finally set the spoon down, you straightened, determined. “I’ll do the dishes.”

Levi’s brows drew together instantly. “No.” He rose, collecting the tray before you could touch it. “You’re barely standing upright.” At your glare, he relented, only slightly. “Fine. You can put them away when I’m done. That’s it.”

You knew better than to argue. He worked quickly in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, movements efficient. And even though you busied yourself with stacking bowls on the shelf once they were dry, you could feel his eyes on you, measuring your sway, the way your fingers trembled just a little.

When the silence stretched too long, he broke it.  His voice was low. “Which character pissed you off the most?”

You blinked, caught off guard, then let out a short laugh. “Oh, that’s what’s been on your mind?” You shuffled back to the bed with him, curling into the pillows. “Serena Joy, obviously. She’s…” You searched for the right word. “Complicit. She preaches, but then acts like she has no power. It’s infuriating.”

Levi hummed, settling against the headboard. You took his spread legs as an invitation to nestle between them, your back pressed to his chest. It was only then he handed you the small packet of meds, his hand brushing yours briefly. “Complicit. Seems like something finally stuck in that head of yours. Guess your brain isn’t rotting entirely on smut.”

“You’d never let that go.”

Levi’s gaze softened just a fraction, a rare crack in the iron composure he always wore. It wasn’t just a look, it was a promise.

“Damn right,” he murmured, voice low but steady. “As long as we’re both breathing, I’ll make sure everyone knows.”

It wasn’t said with bravado or flair, but with the quiet certainty of someone who had already decided that no matter where life twisted, he wasn’t going anywhere.

You elbowed him weakly, and he smirked, but the smile didn’t last long. His phone buzzed against the nightstand. He picked it up, thumb swiping across the screen. Whatever he read there carved a hard line across his face.

You tilted your head, catching the shift immediately. “Everything good?”

He didn’t answer right away. The silence was telling enough, pressing heavy between you until he finally slid the phone back down. “I have to go.”

The words sank low in your stomach. You wanted to ask why, but the look on his face made you swallow the question. He rose, tugging his jacket, that had lain idly on your coat rack, back on. You followed him to the door, standing a little too close, the kind of proximity that made the air between you quiver with something unspoken.

For a second, neither of you moved. You thought maybe—just maybe—he’d reach for you. His gaze flicked from your eyes to your mouth and back again, unreadable but heavy.

Then the doorbell rang.

Then—

 It flew open with a crash of noise.

“Y/N!” Hange’s voice boomed as they barreled inside, arms laden with half a dozen bags. “I brought snacks, books, a new blanket, and—oh, Levi! Didn’t see you there.”
She dropped them immediately and nearly tackled you into the wall with a hug.

“You’re alive!” Hange wailed dramatically, squeezing the air out of you. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again!”

You wheezed, laughing weakly. “Hange—air—”

The moment shattered instantly. You turned to look, but Levi was already slipping past them, his figure vanishing into the night without another word.