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The wind is quiet tonight. That, more than anything else, is what Levi notices first as he stands alone on the rooftop of headquarters while the rest of the building falls into an exhausted silence below him. The mission had ended hours ago, and yet the tension of it still clings to his muscles. His blades are already cleaned and stored. His gear has been inspected twice. There’s nothing left for him to do. And yet, he doesn’t go inside.
He stands there with a cup of lukewarm tea, watching the dark line of forest beyond the walls and listening to the distant sounds drifting up from the courtyard. He hears someone laugh too loudly followed by the creak of stable doors.
Another successful mission. Another day no one under his command died.
Levi exhales slowly through his nose. He should feel relieved, but he feels as if he’s just waiting for the next loss to happen.
He doesn’t have to turn to know when the rooftop door opens behind him. The hinges are quiet, but Levi has spent too many years surviving by noticing the smallest disturbances in the world around him. Your footsteps are careful as you step onto the stone. You always move like that around him, with respectful distance and the caution of a soldier approaching their captain.
Levi takes another sip of tea and doesn’t look back right away. He already knows it’s you. He’s known since the door opened. You stop several paces away, the silence stretching just long enough to confirm what he already suspects—you hadn’t expected him to be here.
“Captain,” you say finally. Your voice carries softly across the rooftop, warm from the adrenaline and edged with a careful restraint that you’ve always used around him.
Levi looks over his shoulder. You’re standing in the doorway in your civilian clothes, the fabric fluttering slightly in the breeze, hair damp from the shower everyone takes after returning from a mission. There’s still a faint cut near your temple, already cleaned but not fully healed. He noticed that earlier.
You’re a veteran. That’s what they call anyone who’s made it back from at least one mission alive. This will be your third. You’ve done quite well for yourself.
Levi turns back toward the wall and gestures vaguely with his cup. “You should be in your quarters,” he says.
Your footsteps approach slowly until you stop beside him, leaning your elbows on the stone ledge as you look out over the sleeping compound below. The two of you stand close enough that Levi can hear your breathing, but not so close that your shoulders touch.
“I know,” you say. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Levi snorts quietly. “None of you ever can.”
He hears you huff a soft laugh under your breath. He pretends not to notice. The night air carries the scent of grass and rain-soaked stone, and Levi watches the faint lantern lights flicker across the courtyard while his mind drifts in the way it only does after battle. He can feel you looking at him. He doesn’t ask why.
After a moment, you say, “You always hide away after missions.”
Levi lifts one shoulder. “Quiet.”
That’s the truth of it. Up here, anywhere hidden away, there are no reports to review, no recruits asking questions, no Hange bursting through the door with another insane theory about Titan physiology. You’ve seen him run away from them more than once. There’s just wind up here. Just the quiet existence of the world.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees your hands shift slightly on the stone ledge. Your fingers are scraped raw from the ODM gear grips. You hide it well, but Levi notices the way your shoulders loosen slowly, the strain leaving your posture now that the danger is over. You’re always like that after missions—alert until the last possible moment. Your body refuses to believe survival until hours later.
Levi looks at the courtyard below. You’re a good soldier. Better than most. He’s known that for a long time. But that isn’t the problem. The problem is that somewhere along the way, his attention stopped lingering on you because of your skill and started lingering for reasons he doesn’t like examining too closely.
He’s spent most of his life carefully controlling the distance between himself and everyone else. That distance exists for a reason. People die. And captains who forget that become weak. He knows that. He’s always known that.
So why does he notice your smile when you laugh with the other soldiers? Why does he take note of the way you respond to certain commands and cues like it belongs to him? Why does he remember the exact tone of your voice when you argue with Hange during strategy meetings? Why does the thought of losing you sit in his throat like something he can’t swallow?
Levi exhales slowly. “You did well today,” he says.
You blink slightly at that, clearly not expecting praise, and the faint surprise on your face is almost irritating to him. You’ve been under his command for how long now? And you still look startled every time he acknowledges your skill.
“Thank you, Captain,” you say, your voice quieter now.
Levi taps his fingers once against the side of the teacup. Something about the way you say Captain tonight makes the word sound too formal. Too distant. He’s the one who built that distance, and now it suddenly feels inconvenient.
You shift slightly beside him, resting your chin on your arms as you watch the lights below. “I was thinking,” you say after a moment, “about what you told us before the mission.”
Levi glances sideways. “Which part?”
You smile faintly. “The part where you said the only thing we could do was choose.”
Ah. That. Levi remembers the speech clearly—the one he gives when soldiers are about to walk into something that might kill them. It isn’t really a speech, just the truth. Choose. And accept the consequences.
You watch the courtyard for a long moment before speaking again. “When you say things like that… it makes the fear easier to handle.”
Levi studies your expression. Your eyes are calm, but he can see the exhaustion behind them. The weight of responsibility that comes with surviving. You’re not a recruit anymore. You’ve seen enough death to understand what he meant.
He sets the teacup down on the ledge. “You’re still afraid,” he says flatly.
You shrug. “Of course.”
Levi lets out a quiet breath. Good. Fear keeps soldiers alive. But that isn’t what’s bothering him. What’s bothering him is the realization creeping slowly into the back of his mind—that somewhere along the way, you stopped being just another name on his roster. You became a name that he’s afraid to write the death certificate for. The name he always looks for first on a mission. The name that rests on the tip of his tongue during danger.
He glances at you again. The lantern light from below catches in your eyes, and for a brief moment, you look almost peaceful. That shouldn’t affect him. It does.
Levi folds his arms loosely. “You’re not just another soldier.” The words leave his mouth before he fully decides to say them. No turning back now.
You blink. “What?”
Levi looks at the courtyard, refusing to look at you directly now that the sentence is hanging between you. You deserve the truth. Even if he hates the implications.
“You’re reliable,” he continues. “You think before you act, unlike half the brats here. And you don’t panic.”
Your fingers curl slightly against the stone. Levi can feel the shift in the air around him, the emotional weight of what he’s saying. He finally looks at you.
“You’re one of the few people I trust in the field.”
You stare at him for a moment, clearly trying to process that statement coming from him of all people. You and the Captain aren’t exactly close—not by any means. It would be inappropriate, all things considered. You thought you were just another soldier to him. But now he’s saying you’re not.
You smile. It isn’t the polite smile you usually give during briefings. This one is softer—and Levi immediately regrets looking at you directly because now he can’t look away. Your expression changes slightly as you study him in return. Levi wonders briefly what you see. A captain. A weapon. A man who has spent years pretending emotions are inefficient. But right now he suspects you see something else too. Something dangerously human.
You push away from the ledge slowly. “I’m glad,” you say quietly.
Levi watches you turn toward the door. For a moment, he thinks you’re going to leave without saying anything else. Then you pause halfway across the rooftop and glance back at him.
“Goodnight, Levi.”
Levi freezes. Not Captain. Just Levi.
You look almost startled by your own choice of words, as though you hadn’t planned to say it. For a long moment neither of you moves. Then Levi lets out a quiet breath. He doesn’t correct you. Instead he picks up his teacup again and watches you disappear down the staircase, the door closing softly behind you.
The rooftop falls silent once more. Levi stares up at the stars for several minutes before finally muttering under his breath, “They’re trouble, that one.”
He doesn’t want to admit how much he liked hearing you say his name, and only his name.