"would you like to pray with me?" is a line you've said to levi many, many times over the years. it's one of the first things he's noticed about you, your devotion to god. when he was younger and harsher, he would've rolled his eyes at you—pray? seriously? you're asking an evil man, whose hands are lathered in blood, the devil himself must knows him by name, the bastard of a prostitute, to pray with you?
but now, he prepares tea as you close your eyes, and breathe. rosary inbetween your fingers, whispering softly your words to the lord. he doesn't raise an eyebrow at you anymore, he silently sips tea instead, counting down every second of the five minutes you dedicate before bed every night to pray.
it's become a part of his routine. you still invite him to pray with you, but never does he feel pressured to, and so he doesn't. and you don't mind. that's the beauty of your relationship, neither of you chase the other, but instead meet halfway. you pray for his soul and levi makes you a tea prepared down to every sugar cube to your liking. an equilibrium that comes naturally, it's beautiful. those five minutes of each day don't last forever, but he wishes they could.
today is a day like no other. the afternoon sun shines in through the blinds, capturing levi so warmly and serenely that if you were here you would've most definitely paused to admire him boldly like you always did. "everyone deserves to feel loved," you said to him once.
there is no tea prepared. in front of him your bible sits closed on the coffetable, your rosary messily strewn about. levi sits on the couch, hunched over as the weight of it all sits on his shoulders. his fingers fumble nervously. his mind ruminates over what the doctors told him. "irreparable damage," and "you need to start preparing for the worst."
levi looks up, making eye contact with the cross that decorates the wall. two intersecting lines is all that he sees, but something so harmless seems to mock him. some beads on string call him, his scarred hands feel empty and twitchy.
levi thinks, as he reaches forward, picking up your rosary inbetween his fingers, clutching them close to his chest, he is uttery helpless. humanity's strongest soldier, and yet he couldn't protect his closest ally.
so levi gets down on his knees, rosary in his hands, forehead touching the floor as tears burn at his waterline. if he prays today, will you live tomorrow?
