Chapter Text
Levi Ackerman has never been in love.
He had no time for flings or attachments in the Underground. Being in the Scouts gave him no time nor desire to seek companionship. He thought it was foolish to get attached in a world that tore love apart. He’d seen it firsthand over and over again, soldiers who devoted themselves to each other, only for one or both of them to end up wrapped in a cloth and burned.
But when Levi notices that strange feeling for the first time, he notices it in the worst possible moment.
The air still smells like blood and rain. The horses are restless and when he looks up at the sky, it feels too wide and too empty. You’re standing a few paces away with your shoulders squared, talking to another soldier. He doesn’t know why he keeps staring, but he does.
You’re not the strongest. Not the fastest. Not the most experienced. There’s nothing about you that should stand out in a field of soldiers trained to survive.
And yet, upon seeing you for the first time, he felt more at ease than he did in his entire eight years of service.
He watches you more than he should. He watches the way your hands tremble slightly, only after everything is over, not during. He watches you checking on others before even considering yourself. He watches your hair become tousled in the wind. He acknowledges the fact that you’re still standing.
His attention on you is inefficient for the mission. It’s distracting. It’s dangerous. Because the moment the thought forms—What if you weren’t standing here?— he feels his gut twist in fear.
Levi sighs quietly to himself, already irritated with himself for it, already trying to bury it where it belongs. Attachments get people killed. He knows that better than anyone. Which is exactly why, when you step closer without thinking, when you brush past him with a muttered apology, he hates himself for reaching out before he can stop himself and grabbing your wrist. You freeze. He does too. Neither of you move for a second. He tells himself to let go, but he doesn’t. He didn’t realize how warm and soft your skin was.
“Your straps are loose,” he says instead, lifting his head as his eyes latch onto your waistband. “You’ll get yourself killed like that.”
You blink at him, a little startled, a little confused. Your straps are just fine—you should know, because you checked them three times and Levi himself had done a quick check himself. Still, you don’t argue with your superior.
“Right,” you say. “I’ll fix it.”
Levi doesn’t give you the chance. He clicks his tongue and steps in closer, already moving to fix the worn leather cinched around your waist. He tells himself not to think about your warmth, not to notice how you’ve gone completely still, or the tiny hitch in your breath that you really hope he hasn’t caught. He finishes quickly, but his hand lingers for half a second, hovering at your waist before he forces himself to drop it.
“You already checked them,” you say, speaking more meekly than you’d like. “Earlier.”
“And?” he says.
You pause, then say, “And you usually don’t repeat yourself.” Levi knows you’re not saying it accusingly, but more as a passing observation. Which to him, is worse. It means you’re watching him too.
Levi’s jaw clenches, irritation sparking at the fact that you’ve seen through him so easily, that you’re standing here looking at him, waiting for an answer he doesn’t even have the words for. He needs to say something useful. Something that makes sense, something coherent, something that won’t give him away more than he already has. He steps closer. Close enough that you have to tip your chin slightly to meet his gaze. Close enough that leaving now or stepping back would be obvious and feel too much like surrender.
“You’re acting reckless,” he says. It doesn’t explain anything, but he continues anyway. “You’re getting distracted. Sloppy.”
You furrow your eyebrows faintly. “I’m not—”
“You are.” The words come out harsher than he means them to, or maybe exactly as harsh as he needs them to be, because anything else would be too close to the truth.
You hesitate, then sigh, easing your posture a bit. “Then what do you want me to do, Captain?” you ask.
Levi knows what he’s supposed to say. Be better. Stay sharp. Don’t die.
But he can’t imagine the thought of you dying. Of seeing your open eyes on the field, drained of all life. Of having to carry your body back to a family he doesn’t even know you have. Of having to burn you with other soldiers, some nameless. He doesn’t want you to be reduced to just ashes.
“Stay close to me.”
The words come out before he can stop them, then silence. Your eyes widen just slightly, surprise and confusion flickering there, and Levi feels his gut clench just a little. Idiot. That was unnecessary and stupid to say. He should correct it or rephrase it, turn it into an order, but he doesn’t.
“Got it,” you say quietly.
You don’t question it. You just accept it. And somehow, that has his heart jumping in ways it shouldn’t be. Levi looks at you for a long moment. He has no business holding onto you in a world like this. This is how people lose everything. He knows that. He knows how this ends. He knows what it costs. But he imagines the sight of you in the mess hall. He remembers running into you at the stables. He recalls seeing you on a rooftop, watching the stars in silence. He had wished he could have joined you then.
His thoughts wander. He imagines himself sitting next to you on the rooftop. He imagines asking you out when this war is over. He imagines your first kiss shared in secrecy. He imagines making tea for you late at night before you come to bed. He imagines nights where the only thing that exists to you both is each other.
But he knows it’ll remain a dream.
Levi’s fingers twitch at his side, wanting to reach for you. Reluctantly, he steps back to his horse, petting its nose. He doesn’t look at you immediately, but when he glances from the corner of his eye, you’re still staring at him. Heat flushes his face and he looks back at his horse, clearing his throat.
You don’t know what Captain Levi wants, but you have an order, and you’ll follow it.
Even if the reason is far more intimate than you realize.