Coffee and Classicals ☕
Masterlist
☕ chapter summary: Sickness still has you pinned to bed, but Levi isn’t about to leave you to your own devices. Between lectures, soup, and unexpectedly soft care, you find yourself tangled in a version of him you never thought you’d see.
☕ a/n: Guess who’s backkk? Yep, me. That’s all I’ll say for now. 😏
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Part 11: Between Tea and Fever
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.
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