The first time you stitched Levi Ackerman up, he glared at you like you'd personally offended him.
"This is unnecessary," his voice was as sharp as the needle in your hand.
"Really? Because the gash on your arm says otherwise," you didn't bother looking up as you tightened the suture. He scoffed but didn't pull away. That was the only permission you needed.
Levi had a bad habit of brushing off injuries. Being Humanity's Strongest meant that basic self-preservation didn't apply to him. If a wound wasn't outright killing him, he ignored it. This meant that you, as one of the few medics brave enough to stand up to him, spent an unfortunate amount of time stitching him back together.
Not because of the wounds themselves — you could handle those in your sleep. But because Levi Ackerman, despite his constant scowling, his clipped words, and his general aura of "stay the hell away from me," had the most unfairly attractive hands. Which was a ridiculous thing to notice.
Every single time you treated him, you couldn't help but glance at them. The contrast between his strength and the way he kept them clean, his precise movements, the way his fingers curled slightly when he was trying to keep still.
You shook the thought away and finished the final stitch, "All done, Captain. Try not to rip them open again in the next twenty-four hours."
"Tch. No promises,” typical.
A week later, Levi showed up in the infirmary, uninjured but suspiciously hovering. You arched an eyebrow, "I don't see any gaping wounds on you. Did you finally learn the meaning of caution?"
Levi's expression didn't change, but his fingers flexed at his side as if suppressing the urge to cross his arms, "I need you to teach me.
You blinked, "Teach you... what?"
His jaw tightened, “Stitching.”
You stared at him for a full five seconds before bursting into laughter, "you? Want to learn suture?"
Levi's glare intensified, “Is that funny to you?"
"A little,” he huffed and looked away.
You bit back your grin, "Wait, wait, hold on. I'm just surprised. Why the sudden interest?"
Levi was quiet for a moment. Then, almost reluctantly, he muttered, "If we lose a medic in the field, someone else should be able to handle wounds.” The words were practical and logical, but you caught something else in them.
Warmth bloomed in your chest, but you kept your expression neutral, “All right, Captain. I'll teach you." He gave a short nod, but his ears were slightly pink.
Training Levi was... an experience. You had expected him to be competent — he was Levi Ackerman, after all. But he was almost annoyingly good. His hands were steady, his technique precise, his focus absolute.
You had never seen someone pick up sutures so quickly. Except —
"Too much pressure," you murmured, standing behind the guy, slightly leaning forward so that your chest almost touched his back and your cheek almost touched his.
Your hands gently guide both of his, reaching out to adjust his grip on the needle, showing how to maneuver such a delicate operation for him, and a simple one for you.
"You're strangling it,” Levi's hands twitched under yours, but he didn't pull away. You guided his fingers into a gentler hold, your hand lingering just a second longer than necessary.
"Better," you said softly. Levi didn't respond immediately, but you could feel the tension in his posture.
Then, barely audible, he muttered, "Your hands are warm," your breath hitched.
You glanced up, but his eyes were fixed on the practice dummy. A little too intently. You swallowed a smile, "Yours are steady."
Something flickered across his expression, but he just hummed in acknowledgment.
You didn't comment on how his grip remained exactly where you placed it.
A month later, you found yourself in the field, wounded and short on medics. Blood dripped down your arm, your vision wavered, and for the first time, you understood why Levi wanted to learn.
Then, suddenly, he was there, "Knew I'd need to use this sooner or later,” Levi muttered, kneeling beside you. You blinked up at him.
"Be quiet,” his voice was gruff, but his hands were gentle as he pulled out a suture kit. You were too exhausted to argue. Instead, you watched as Levi threaded the needle, his movements precise and practiced. He worked quickly but carefully, just as you'd taught him.
Your lips curved into a weak smile, "Look at you, applying yourself."
"Tch. Don't get used to it."
You chuckled, then winced as he tied the last stitch. Levi exhaled sharply. "Idiot,” he muttered, but there was no heat in his words. Only something softer, something quieter. You felt the warmth of his hands linger on your skin even after he pulled away.
And maybe, just maybe, you'd find an excuse to let him practice again. Just for the sake of training, of course. Right?
