Discover Top Posts Tagged with #levi x gn!reader

BETWEEN THE LINES

For @levievent's Levi Month '26! | Day 3: Captain/Civilian

SUMMARY: Rising through the ranks is a double-edged sword— on one hand, Levi finally gets his own room, an office and most importantly, the respect of the soldiers who once spat at his feet. The flipside? Reading countless reports, transcribing papers and managing correspondences from his superiors. But how can Levi fulfil his duties when he doesn’t even know how to read or write?

Or, alternatively— Levi goes to the library to work on his reports when you offer to teach him his letters.

PAIRING: Levi Ackerman/gn!Reader TAGS: Canon Universe, Post-No Regrets, Fluff, Humour, Light Angst, Flirting, Tension, Mutual Pining, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Domestic Fluff, Librarian Reader, Gender Neutral Reader, (you also have a cat!!), Strangers to Lovers, Slow Burn (kind of) WORD COUNT: 20.6k

Read here on AO3 | Event Masterlist

Finally, Levi thinks, some goddamn silence.

The double doors to the library close behind him with a gentle click, muffling the lively bustle of the street outside to a low murmur. As he crosses into the main space, an older man - hair spun a milky white with thick-rimmed glasses almost comically large - glances up from behind the main desk, acknowledges him and the authority the green trench coat carries with a small nod. For the sake of upholding social niceties (of which Levi has learnt a great number of and struggled to keep up with since coming to the surface), he returns the gesture.

The space itself is silently impressive: rows of desks stretch across the floor, books neatly ordered on shelves that tower to the full height of the room. A mezzanine serves as the second floor where more tables lie, but despite the open-plan vastness of the space, there’s a welcoming warmth about it that lures Levi further in.

It’s definitely one of the grander buildings he’s been in, but most importantly— it’s quiet. A space where talking is actively condemned is the closest thing to heaven for him after enduring the whole communal aspect to everything in the Survey Corps’ headquarters for the past few months.

Communal bedrooms. Communal bathrooms. Communal eating spaces. The circumstances wouldn’t be so insufferable if the people he was sharing these spaces likened him as something of an equal at the very least.

But reality is not so forgiving, and despite Erwin’s vocal endorsement and the worthiness of his belonging proven repeatedly in the training grounds, there’s a select stubborn few who refuse to accept his permanence in the Corps. The talk of his upcoming promotion to Captain only seems to stoke this spiteful flame, and whilst Levi could hardly care for their opinions, he’d rather spare himself of any unnecessary fights.

Still, if there was one good thing this promotion gave him, it was privacy.

His own bedroom. His own bathroom. His own working space— though the latter brought with it one glaringly major inconvenience that he initially overlooked. Because whilst crowning his name with the title of Captain blessed him with his own place to withdraw to when he wanted to evade Hange’s endless rambling or the childish antics of the younger recruits, it also brought with it the bane of every senior officer’s existence.

Paperwork.

Meeting transcripts, budget ledgers, mission reports and a stupid number of letters— he’s heard Mike and Hange complain about it all, calling it painstakingly tedious, and now, with this promotion looming over the horizon, Levi knows it’s only a matter of time before he’s subjected to the same mountain of papers.

So when Erwin summoned Levi to his office and slid a stack of papers across the desk towards him, Levi knew he shouldn’t be surprised. But apprehension bloomed in his gut regardless, his expression crafted to be meticulously neutral despite his heart thundering against his sternum.

“Consider it an early start,” Erwin said, words delivered with a casual edge that implied the decision was final, “Once your promotion is fully processed, you’ll find yourself behind your desk more often than you realise. I’d rather you find your footing with the responsibility now with lower stakes.”

“Lower stakes,” Levi repeats, eyeing the papers with open suspicion.

“Meeting notes, requisition logs, the odd budget summary,” the Section Commander elaborates, “Nothing that requires my direct signature or judgment— just documents that need to be transcribed into something legible enough for the archives.”

Levi scowled at that, “So you’re demoting me to your errand boy.”

“You’re a soon-to-be Captain,” Erwin corrects mildly, “And if my suspicions are correct, I’m the soon-to-be Commander.”

The announcement is made with a measured calmness that catches Levi off guard, the surprise temporarily eclipsing his dread.

“Shadis is retiring?”

About damn time, Levi’s mind supplies. Whilst he was still leagues away from ever warming up to Erwin, Levi had long recognised the spine of steel that man had. And fucking hell was Erwin Smith audacious. It was partly because of that audacity why Levi was still convinced to don the Wings of Freedom everyday, why he hadn’t left the Corps despite the two freshly gaping wounds in his heart.

“Allegedly,” Erwin emphasises carefully, “He’s had me accompany him during his last few trips to Mitras and I more or less handle his correspondence with the Interior for now. Budget proposals and defending our strategies to the brass now lie in my hands. You see why I ask for an extra hand to deal with the slighter bits of admin work?”

Goddammit. He had a point.

“Fine,” Levi bites, “But don’t come crying to me when your papers aren’t organised the way you like them.”

“Rest assured, that won’t happen,” Erwin dispels the idea, the ends of his lips twitching, “And like I told you, everyone starts somewhere.”

But Levi wasn’t smiling when he begrudingly snatched the documents off Erwin’s desk and he sure as hell wasn’t smiling when he darted out the room and glanced at the papers to be met with the same unintelligible mess of scribbles he faced everytime he tried to read something.

Everyone starts somewhere.

Except, Levi wasn’t like everyone. Whilst everyone readied themselves at the designated start line, Levi found himself shoved several miles back with shoes a size too small that peeled at the soles and a bottle half-filled with muddied water. The race was never going to be fair and once again, Levi was reminded of just how much further he has to crawl to catch up with the privileged majority.

Because back in the Underground, physical documents equated to having a target plastered across your shoulders, a literal paper trail that could be traced back. Transactions were verbal exchanges, handshakes sealed contracts in lieu of signatures and whilst nothing was ever written down to prove such illicit exchanges existed, a few thinly veiled threats always ensured that these agreements would be upheld.

So no, Levi never learnt how to read, nor did he know his letters or how to preserve a sentence in ink. He was already a man of few words, preferring to let his strength speak on his behalf, but he knew that punching the papers in his possession wasn’t going to magically help him understand them.

He spends thirty minutes in his own newly-appointed office trying to decipher the records when his exasperation reaches its limit. In his hands lay Erwin’s notes from several meetings, and if the fact that Levi shared the same number of years of literary schooling as a damn stray wasn’t infuriating enough, then the bastard’s stupid cursive was sure to have him prematurely greying.

Clearly, they were written in a rush, likely to capture every word of what was said in these meetings— not that Levi thought whatever those representatives from each noble house had to say was anything worth wasting their ink over. He knew where their priorities lie, favouring lining their pockets than ever giving two shits about the Walls’ most deprived. He would’ve been out the Underground years ago if that wasn’t the case.

And speaking of getting out— Levi feels himself growing exponentially restless the longer he stares blankly at the thin loopy letters of Erwin’s writing, gaining nothing but a pulsing headache when the rowdy chatter of several young soldiers bleeds under the door and interrupts his focus.

Levi shakes his head, tries to herd his thoughts together when laughter erupts and his frustration boils over. He can’t stay here; not with the noise, the distractions.

Which is how he finds himself in a library he stumbled across a good twenty-five minute walk away from headquarters. Unwilling to stand around like an idiot any longer, he picks a seat at one of the longer tables, careful to maintain a socially acceptable distance from the other visitors. Thankfully, with either their heads buried in books or hands scrawling away, they don’t pay him any mind.

Levi fishes out his own papers, tries to resume his work on summarising Erwin’s notes into something actually legible on a fresh sheet of paper. But as the hands of the clock complete half a cycle’s journey, Levi finds himself no less confused than before and his paper glaringly blank, the silence only amplifying the mental turmoil in his head.

In fact, his thoughts are so loud that he doesn’t register the figure approaching him from the side, doesn’t sense the hand that reaches for him until it’s tapping against his shoulder and he violently flinches.

The imprint of his knife burns from where it’s wedged in his boot, but Levi drives the urge to grab it away when he sees that the touch belongs to no threat.

You recoil with the same suddenness that he does, the stack of books in your hand sliding over each other with the motion. Levi catches the handwritten name pinned on the knitted pull-on you’re wearing, realises that you must work here.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” you hastily apologise, clearing your throat.

“It’s fine,” Levi mutters, fist clenched atop his thigh to quell the spike of adrenaline coursing through him. Six months on the surface and his instinct to turn straight to violence has yet to be crushed.

“I just wanted to let you know we’re closing in twenty minutes,” you inform him, and for a moment, Levi’s confused that you’ve traded the whispering expected in a library for a conversational volume until he realises that the seats around him are empty. He’s the last one left— even that old man behind the desk is gone. Fuck.

He works his jaw, fingers pressing into the side of his scalp as he glares at his empty sheet.

“Alright,” he says tersely.

“I’ll be around until then. Let me know if you need anything.”

He sees you shift in his peripheral, gives another short reply, “Thanks.”

Levi expects you to leave after that, but he feels you lingering for a beat too long, sees you take a step forward.

“I—“

His eyes flick from his paper to you, spots the way you swallow nervously.

“Could I ask what you’re working on?” You manage to get out, “It’s just— I noticed you’ve been sitting here with the same papers for a while, so I was wondering if you’d like any help.”

“These papers are for the Survey Corps. It’s confidential,” Levi states bluntly, uncomfortable that you noticed him struggling. Was it that obvious?

“Ah,” you say, understanding passing through your eyes as you give a small smile, “In that case, I’m sorry for prying. I’ll leave you to it.”

Adjusting the books in your arms, Levi watches as you take your leave and file between tables, collecting any volumes carelessly discarded as you pass. It’s only when you reach for your keys, about to head into a side room, does he jump from his chair and speak up.

“Wait.”

His voice carries louder than he anticipated it to in the open space. He suppresses a wince.

“Hm?”

Turning around, you stretch your neck past the stack piled in your arms.

“You’re a librarian, right?”

“Technically, an apprentice,” you supply, hauling the books to the surface of the main desk to temporarily relieve yourself of their weight, “Mr Braugher is the library’s curator. I’m currently training under him.”

“But you can read? And write?” Levi presses, skin crawling with a feeling that vaguely resembles a mixture of impatience and discomfort.

“I can,” you say slowly, a curious lilt to your words. Levi hesitates, feels the question he wants to ask lodge itself in his throat. But he’s left with very few options and Erwin needs these notes cleaned up and finalised as soon as possible.

“Could you teach me?” He grits out. Surprise flashes across your expression.

“To read and write?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Levi warns weakly, deciding that he can worry about the curtness in his tone later when he’s finished with picking up the pieces of his broken pride. He’s never felt more out of his element until now. The Underground was a lawless vacuum where hostility could be worn like armour. But the surface was built by laws and propriety and was so different. What was once solid ground had crumbled into sand and more often than Levi would like to admit, he keeps losing his footing.

“I’ve never taught anyone before,” you start, brows furrowed, “I don’t know if I—“

“I’m not asking you to help me write a damn book,” he cuts in, “I just need you to teach me enough so I can transcribe these damn notes.”

You perk up, “When do you need those done by?”

“The end of next week.”

In other words, with the days only just beginning, he had just under two weeks at the latest. It’s not a lot of time— Levi knows that, so when he sees your lips press together, mulling it over, he finds himself holding his breath.

A beat. Then—

“Are you free right now?”

He blinks. That was not the response he was expecting.

“What?”

“I mean— other than these reports, do you have any commitments this evening?”

“No?”

“Then we can start right now if you’d like,” you propose. Silver eyes narrow at you warily.

“Didn’t you just say you were closing?”

You give a half-shrug.

“Technically yes, but only to the public. Since I’m the one with the key, the building’s only fully locked once I leave.”

Levi regards you for a moment, scrutinising your stolid expression, the causal slouch in your posture and feeling awfully unnerved when he fails to detect any ill-intent. Still, deceit was a well-crafted mask people liked to wear and Levi knows that people on the surface were not beyond the same cruelties they condemened in the Underground.

He thinks of Lovof and his arrogance, how he forced Levi’s hand into a conspiracy that was doomed from the start. Levi casts the thought away and for his own peace of mind, imagines that insufferable bastard rotting away in a cell.

“You’re being awfully generous,” he eventually tells you. You quirk a brow.

“I’m just being consistent. I’ve been offering you my help from the start.”

“Why?” he asks directly.

“Because it’s my job,” you state like its obvious. Your own eyes narrow slightly back at him, something assessing in your gaze.

“You don’t get paid past the closing time,” he points out.

“That’s true. But this isn’t about the money.”

“Then why?”

“Because I think that everyone deserves to know their letters,” you say, and the honesty with which you speak with is unmistakeable, “That, and I have nothing better to do with my evenings anyways.”

Your eyes glance at the large camber window spanning across the back wall, rays of light projecting soft beams of gold across the space. The sun was partway in its descent; Levi doesn’t have to return to headquarters for at least another couple hours.

“The offers still stands if you want it,” you say gently, almost as if you could hear him sift through each of his reasonings in his minds.

“Okay,” Levi says quietly. You smile.

“Okay?”

“Fine,” he concedes, his pride long shattered and bleeding. Despite his disgruntled tone, the curve of your mouth only widens.

“Perfect,” you chirp, lumbering your books back into your arms, “I need to put these away and grab a few things, but make yourself comfortable in the meantime.”

And then you leave, the door closing behind you with a click! that echoes as you disappear into that side room. Bewildered, Levi stares at where you were standing just a moment ago before dropping back in his chair, directing his focus back at his papers and wondering what the hell it was that he just got himself into.

“Uh…”

His head snaps up, spots you peering around the door with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier.”

He pauses.

“Levi.”

“Levi,” you repeat slowly, like you’re testing the feel of its sound in your mouth. It’s weird— hearing his name wrapped in something other than distaste or the firmness of an order, “Would you like some tea?”

For what Levi suspects won’t be the last time today, you’ve completely shattered his expectations.

“What blends do you have?” He asks without thinking. Damn— is he really that easy?

“Usually it’s whatever Mr Braugher buys,” you reply, sliding past the door and propping it open with your foot. You reach for something beyond his view, procuring a small tin that you briefly scan before turning it to him, “Is black tea alright with you?”

Perfect, actually. Levi nods.

“Milk? Sugar?” You offer.

“No, I’m okay,” he declines. Then, after swallowing the shards of his dignity and finding that they hurt less than he thought they would as it goes down, he adds, “Thank you.”

With another smile, you slip back into the room from which you emerge again several minutes later with two steaming cups in your hand. Tucked between the crook of your elbow and your side is a notebook, a pen slid behind your ear.

You take the seat beside him, and again, Levi shouldn’t be surprised, but your proximity and the calmness with which you lessen it between you both disarms him more than he’d like to admit. He doesn’t know how to navigate himself in your space when all he associates with this level of closeness is fists pulled back into punches, knives nicking the skin of throats and the taste of blood in his mouth. People never breached his space unless it was to size him up and start a fight that always ended in their loss.

But Levi never felt like a winner. Not when the circumstances that gave him this strength ripped so much away from him that it felt more like a curse than a gift, a power that was nowhere near enough to save the two people he thought would always be by his side.

His throat feels unnaturally tight. Shit. He doesn’t shove the thought of Isabel and Furlan away with the same malice as he did with Lovof earlier, just neatly folds the feeling into the left side of his chest where an ache seems to permanently reside nowadays. He’ll revisit it later when it’s long past curfew and the night coaxes his grief out.

For now, he chooses to watch as you open the notebook to a blank page and pluck the pen from behind your ear. Then, with the lid balanced between your teeth, you write out what Levi counts to be 26 pairs of symbols— one larger, one smaller.

“This is the alphabet,” you explain, capping the pen, ripping out the page and sliding it over to him, “There’s 26 letters in total, each with a lower case and upper case version of itself— this becomes important when you’re looking at names of places or people, but grammar is a whole other can of worms that we’ll tackle another day. For now, if you copy the letters underneath, I’ll sound them out for you. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah,” Levi replies, uncertainty written in his form as you pass him the pen. His fingers grip it with none of the usual confidence he’d have with a blade as he tries to recall the way he’s seen Erwin and Hange hold it before.

“Oh!” you exclaim, jolting up, “Sorry, I didn’t even consider you’ve never used a pen before. Can I?”

Levi blinks, “Sure.”

Sliding the pen from his hand, you adjust your fingers to a point above the nib and hold it up for him to see.

“Different people hold the pen in different ways, but this is what I find most comfortable,” you demonstrate before returning it to him, “If you pinch it here, then— sorry—”

Warm hands suddenly encompass his and Levi freezes at the contact, tries to relax as you carefully guide each of his fingers to the correct position.

“How does that feel?” You ask once you pull away and lower yourself back into your seat.

“Fine,” Levi manages to get out, skin prickling from where your hand brushed his.

“Good,” you say with a satisfied smile, “Then we’ll start with the first letter, A.”

And so, you work him through each of the 26 letters and its pair, showing him the correct order of the strokes to write each symbol and its corresponding sound. His first attempt results in a shaky scrawl of characters, a vague resemblance to the precise script you wrote as an example if he squinted.

And Levi waits— waits for the other shoe to drop, the moment where that patient front finally breaks and you scrutinise him with the same judging look he’s gotten accustomed to seeing. But the moment never comes and as he rewrites the alphabet again, and again, and again, not once do you show any sign of boredom or exasperation, even going as far to provide him a refill when he finishes his tea.

He doesn’t know how long he spends drilling each letter, only that it must’ve been a while when you had to retrieve an oil lamp from behind the main desk and place it where you both sat. By the time you conclude that you’ve covered enough for today, the sun had fully set and Levi’s writing saw a clear improvement in its consistency, his letters straighter and in proportion with each other.

“I hope that wasn’t too much information for you,” you say as you both leave the library, “But you’ve made a lot of progress today. You seemed to get a hang of it pretty fast.”

Levi hums, unused to receiving such a blatent compliment. He watches as you lock the double doors to the building behind you, the evening chill sending a small shiver running through you despite the overcoat and scarf you were wearing. When he’s hit with a gust of wind himself, he buries his hands deeper into his trench coat.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Levi states. Then, in a voice less certain than before, “If that’s okay.”

“More than okay,” you assure him, “Same time?”

He nods, “Same time.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Levi,” you say, giving him that same smile that Levi has now accepted to be genuine. He simply nods again, watches as you adjust the strap of your bag and turn to walk away. His eyes linger until you disappear around the corner before starting his own walk back to headquarters.

And for the first time in a while, Levi feels significantly lighter.

-+-

Levi returns the next day.

He traces the same steps as he did yesterday— he walks in, mirrors the nod of the old man (who he now recognises as Mr Braugher) and finds his seat. Some of the faces he saw last night are here again, and whilst they pay him no mind as they had done before, you break the routine when you spot him whilst you’re tidying the shelves, shooting him a smile. Unsure of how to respond, Levi simply nods back.

He passes the time by practicing the alphabet, the silence leaving him little to focus on other than steadying his hand with each line he writes. He’s still not used to the feeling of his hands having this much precision in something other than fighting, is surprised when a cramp ripples through his fingers and he has to take a short break to flex the ache out the joints.

With his mind in a significantly calmer headspace than yesterday, Levi finds himself more attuned to the library’s quiet rhythm— the shuffle turn of each page, the occasional scrape of a chair and the muted thud of a book being slid back to its place on the shelf. He notices when the people around him begin to pack up, coats and scarves shrugged on as they slip out the double doors, sees the way you help Braugher gather his things before the old man himself departs.

When the clock reaches the new hour, he’s filled his eighth sheet with letters and you’re heading towards him before the double doors can even fully close behind the last person leaves.

“I’ve got a plan,” you announce, smacking your notebook onto the table in front of him with a firm thump. Levi raises a thin brow.

“You do?”

“I know how you’re making that two-week deadline,” you declare, and he must be pulling a face because you add, “You don’t look convinced.”

“You underestimate the amount of notes I have to get through. Two weeks is hardly enough time.”

“Not if we stick to my plan,” you say undeterred, sliding out a loose sheet from your notebook and hand it to him. It’s a calender— and whilst L evi can’t yet read everything that you’ve written under each day, he gets the general idea of what you’re trying to achieve.

“We’ll dedicate this first week to actually learning the basics of reading and writing, that way you can fully focus the whole of next week to your reports,” you explain, “Since you picked up the letters quickly, I was thinking we could work on writing today.”

“Sure,” Levi responds, returning the paper to you. He has to admit— it’s not a half-bad plan and something about the level of organisation you were managing this whole thing with is the final push needed to convince him that you were serious about this.

“Is that a I-think-your-plan-works sure or a I’m-only-agreeing-for-the-sake-of-agreeing sure?” You quip, lips twitching as you seat yourself beside him.

“I didn’t realise there were different types.”

You give a small shrug, his words only pulling your smile wider, “You learn something new everyday.”

“The plan’s fine,” Levi answers after a pause, “Works for me.”

“Good,” you say, satisfied as you open the notebook to a fresh page, “Then we can start with writing your name.”

He watches as you pen four letters at the top, finds himself mildly surprised that the symbols that once seemed so foreign to him suddenly piece together into something coherant once you spell it out.

L-E-V-I. Levi. His name stares back at him for the first time in his life, filling him with a rush of determination.

“And your surname?” You continue.

Your pen stills as you wait for his response, but Levi doesn’t have one for you, that lightness in his chest slowly petering out. His silence stretches for a beat too long.

“I don’t have one,” he eventually reveals, locking his expression into an impassive front. You lift your head, perplexed.

“What do you mean?”

“I just don’t have one,” he repeats.

“What does it read on your birth certificate?”

Levi calmly shrugs, holding your gaze.

“I wouldn’t know,” he says, “Those don’t exist in the Underground.”

Pools of silver sharpen as he watches your reaction, catching the moment you register the meaning of his words and several emotions flash across your face. Despite his even tone and slackened posture, his fingers tighten around the armrest of his chair, nails digging into the wood.

“You’re from the Underground?” You ask.

“Is that a problem?” Levi retorts. This is it, he thinks. Whilst he recognised the honesty in your efforts to teach him, he knows that the Underground was a shadow he could never run from, a stain on his profile that would shatter this sense of normalcy he found here.

“No,” you quickly say, “No, it’s just— working here means I meet a lot of people from different places. You’re the first one I’ve met from the Underground.”

“And?” Levi presses, jaw clenched like he was daring you to prod the proverbial wasps nest.

“And nothing,” you push back, a brow ticking upwards, “I was just going to ask you what it was like, if it’s not too personal.”

Levi regards you for a moment, glaring with open scepticism because of all the reactions he was bracing himself for, it wasn’t this— this civility, this attentiveness like you want to get to know him regardless of what he’s just told you. And yet, you’re still sitting there with the same placid look, and Levi wants to know if there’s a limit to how much patience you could cram into a single person’s body because this was getting fucking ridiculous.

But he has an answer. And despite himself, he finally tells you.

“Dark,” he starts quietly, staring at no particular spot on the table, “Cold. Sure as hell didn’t have any fancy libraries like this down there.”

“What about books?” you ask with a small frown, “Surely you must’ve had some stories read to you when you were younger?”

“All shared via word of mouth. Barely anyone down there knows their letters, let alone how to read or write.”

And there’s the reason— why he’s sitting here in the first place, why he lied to both Hange and Erwin about where he was going, because the humiliation of admitting that he was struggling with something that was second nature to the both of them drenched him hot with shame. You give a small sigh.

“It’s the same up here,” you say, fingers brushing over the pages he filled, “Most people know their letters, sure, but unless you attended a well-funded school or live close to the Interior, that’s the extent of it. People come in here all the time to work on their literacy skills. It’s not just you,” you reassure him.

“Are all of them also working to a two-week deadline?” Levi asks cynically, surprising even himself as he wonders where the hell that sort of wit came from.

“Unfortunately not,” you answer with a graceful smile, “But if we keep up with the pace you set yesterday, you’ll get through those notes easily.”

“You’re very optimistic,” Levi dryly remarks.

“You managed to leave the Underground,” you point out, “Learning to read and write hardly holds a candle to that.”

Your observation has him pausing, the realisation that you were, in fact, right renewing his motivation.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” you continue, “When did you get out? I heard the stair fee doubled over the past year.”

“Six months ago.”

“And you chose the Survey Corps?” You ask, and whilst it’s not exactly judgement in your tone, there’s an incredulous edge that Levi can’t even blame you for. You sound more stunned that he was in the Corps than learning about the Underground and Levi feels zero offence to that, would even agree with your disbelief if he considered how he sounded from an outsider’s perspective.

“Chose is a strong word,” Levi corrects, lips threatening to pull into a wry smile, “I wasn’t exactly spoilt with my options.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was either the Corps or my execution,” he says with that same casualness, and this time, there’s no mistaking the surprise that passes your features, “Obviously, you can see what I went with.”

Your brows pull together, “What happened?”

He doesn’t know what it is that convinces him. Maybe it’s the way his instincts - usually so quick to distrust - stay quiet around you, or the fact that he wanted to believe your sincerity, but he decides to tell you everything. The gang, the missions they colluded on, the enemies they made.

You become the first person outside the Corps to learn about his mother and Kenny— how them leaving, despite having done so in different ways, crushed him with an anguish that tore him apart all the same. He tells you about Isabel and Furlan, how their presence carved a small pocket of light in the Underground’s endless dark, a hope he foolishly believed in without realising the danger ahead.

He recounts how their deaths shattered that fragile refuge, devastating him to the point of mindless slaughter. He can hardly recall the moment when he faced that abnormal; his rage had consumed him entirely, narrowing the world to only heat and noise as he slashed his grief in sprays of blood across that monster’s body.

What remained at the end was nothing but a steaming heap of flesh and offal, his body trembling with a fury that burned away the remnants of his restraint when Erwin found him. He tells you exactly as it happened, doesn’t try to veil his actions by forging redemption.

And you listen— quietly, raptly. You don’t shriek at every other thing he says like he’d expect Hange to or spout some flowery rhetoric in a way that Erwin would. You just sit there, brows pulled in thought as you take in his every word. The notebook lies forgotten on the table, the pen untouched, but for a man whose words were usually far and few between, there’s something strangely cathartic in unloading the baggage of the past few months into a room that bears no judgement.

Even when he’s finally done, and he gives a comment that’s equal parts a joke as it is an apology about how he’s eaten into your time, you shake your head, even going as far as to thank him for telling you. Levi doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve your gratitude, his hesitance only deepening when you take the pen and notebook into your hands.

“Your friends,” you say gently, “Remind me of their names.”

“Isabel Magnolia,” Levi swallows, “And Furlan Church.”

He watches as you write underneath where his name was and before you even sound the words out, Levi can read what you’ve written. Grief and appreciation strike him at once and he doesn’t know how to deal with this strange mesh of emotions. His throat feels impossibly tight, eyes straining to ward off the heat building behind them as he copies the three names on his own sheet, committing each letter to memory with every careful flick of his pen.

Levi. Isabel Magnolia. Furlan Church. His script is far from perfect and his eyes have to drag over the words several times to fully understand how each letter work with its adjacent to give it its pronunciation, but he’s filled with a fierce sense of pride when he sees the three names he wrote with his own hand.

Because for the first time in four months, even if it was just on a page, it felt like the three of them were together again.

-+-

The first week pass in a blur.

The library becomes as much of a home as headquarters is with every evening being spent with a pen in his hand, a cup of tea on the table and your presence beside him. The frequency and timings of his absences from the barracks doesn’t go unnoticed by Erwin and Hange, and so, when the pair ask Levi where he disappears off to every evening, he supposes it was about time they caught on.

So he tells them the truth— that he goes to the library every evening to complete his paperwork because his office has its distractions. His transparency seems to satisfy them both as neither of them press him about it any further. But he doesn’t mention his illiteracy, the lessons or you. Especially you.

You— who taught him his letters, who showed him how to string together words and sentences and paragraphs. You— whose voice never sharpened, not when his mind blanked at grammar, not when he mispronounced a word, not when his drafts came back bleeding red with errors. You— with your endless patience, kindness and a smile that Levi recently learned could break into a laugh.

The first time he heard it was on one of the library's quieter days, the building cleared of the other occupants a whole hour before closing. You had gravitated towards him where he sat whilst you made your rounds organising the shelves, like it was second-nature for you to slot yourself in his space.

Levi doesn’t even remember what he said specifically that made you laugh - something about how Erwin’s piss-poor cursive was a pain in the ass to construe - but the remark had the sound bubbling out regardless, a bright and genuine thing that left his chest tight with warmth.

It was hard to resist the own pull of his lips, his hand shielding his smirk when you had failed to realise Braugher approaching behind you. The old man whacked your head lightly with a pile of papers, scolded you to finish your closing tasks instead of distracting the visitors and hobbled away grumbling fondly about how you had to leave before it got dark.

And it was then that Levi realised— Braugher didn’t know about the lessons. He didn’t know that you were teaching the new regular at the library how to read and write, that you’ve been locking up the building and leaving long past sunset for the past two weeks.

There’s something satisfying knowing that this arrangement was something of a shared secret between you both, the library the only space where he allows his gaze to soften and his voice to lose the bite each hardship drilled into him, a space where you perceive him and he lets you perceive him, faults and all.

It was something the two of you built for yourselves, a refuge away from the Corps, its demands and all its rough edges. It was why Levi never mentioned you to Erwin or Hange, why he found himself returning every evening, even though he had become literate enough to work in own his office without losing his focus.

The Corps gave him a routine he could steady himself with. The library gave him the respite it couldn’t.

And whilst the old man’s concerns for your safety were very much warranted, Levi made sure that he had nothing to worry about when he offered to walk you home at the end of each day. It started out that night he told you his past— an apology, he told you, for keeping you for much longer than he intended.

Because even when he was done with telling you everything, you remained adamant in sticking to the schedule you wrote, teaching him how to spell not just names, but words he’d need for his paperwork— expedition, budget, formation, squad, you taught it all. And not once did you fault Levi when you both left the library to a barren street, the sky black and starless as the silence settled like a blanket for those fast asleep.

It was dark. And late— stupidly late. And despite your insistence that your place wasn’t far and that you’d be fine, the offer was out of Levi’s mouth before he could stop himself, his tone leaving no room for negotiations.

So he walked you back, nodded when you gave him your thanks and goodbyes and waited for the soft glow of an oil lamp to appear behind the curtains of your one-bedroom flat before he turned to make his way back to headquarters.

The next day he did the same, the words “I’m walking you back,” falling out as you finished up for the session and he slipped the notebook into his bag. He was telling you more than asking and again, you refused with the same grace that you carried yourself with in everything you did.

Because Levi knew he couldn’t use the same excuse he had the first day. The sun had yet to fully dip behind the horizon, the sky bright with orange hues with people still mingling in the streets. Objectively, you would be fine walking alone. But still—

“Grammar’s a bitch,” he countered your assurances with, “Run me through it again whilst we walk.”

It’s a half-lie. You had spent the past two hours throwing around concepts like homophones and the difference between gerunds and infinitives, and quite frankly, Levi’s brain has had enough for the day. But a part of him wants you to stay in that space beside him, if only to hear you talk for a little while longer.

He tells himself it’s for your safety. He tells himself it’s nothing more than that.

But when you finally concede and the air you exhale rises in the cold evening air in a swirling mist, Levi finds that what his focus settles on isn’t your surroundings to check for any risks or listening to whatever grammar concept you were trying to explain, but the light in your eyes that shone with the passion you spoke with and the sound of your laugh when you tease him that he’s not paying attention.

Levi had only buried his face deeper into his trench coat at that, hoping it would hide the heat rushing to his face as he mumbled out some shitty excuse that he was just cold. Fortunately, you spare him the horrors of any more grammar and switch the subject.

And every time that Levi walks you home, the more he learns about you. You tell him that you’ve loved reading since you were a child, that all your time was spent with a pen in your hand or your nose in a book. Your parents always scolded you for always living in your head and Levi learns that they had never been more disappointed in you when you exchanged your comfortable life in Wall Sina for an apprenticeship in the outskirts of Wall Rose at the library.

That detail in particular surprised him the most. The thought that you and Lovof were cut from the same cloth of wealth and privilege was almost disturbing to him; you were nothing like that piece of shit and all his selfish intent.

Even when the first week had passed and he moved onto tackling the first of Erwin’s notes, you allowed him to stay past the closing hours, even going as far as to sit with him in case he needed your help.

You had waved away his protests at that, your mind firmly made when you dropped a large stack of documents on the table and took a seat opposite his. Apparently working in a library meant more than stacking books on shelves— you transcribed documents, preserved the originals of ancient texts, wrote letters to academics and other libraries in a barter of knowledge. It was only recently that you took charge of closing up the building to ease the strain off Braugher’s aging shoulders and Levi found himself unsurprised at this news of your altruism.

And whilst it was initially strange to have your presence shift from his side, Levi didn’t mind it when this new seating plan let him see how your brows furrowed with concentration, the way your tongue poked at your cheek as you read through a passage and the satisfied look that settled on your face whenever you finished writing up a section.

The second week brought a new flow to your arrangement— you and Levi work on your own papers, a pot of tea and a comfortable silence shared between you both. Occasionally, he’ll lift his head to ask you to double-check the spelling of a word or, when Erwin’s rushed script is particularly atrocious and he’s left with no other options, he’ll ask if you could decrypt the scribble of ink.

More often than not, you’d stare at the page with the same perplexed look that Levi had before shoving your reading glasses up and squinting in a way that would almost be comical were he not as irritated with the Section Commander as he was.

The two of you would then spend the next however many minutes trying to interpret the word using the surrounding context of the notes. By this point, Levi was long past caring about confidentiality and he knew that realistically, you wouldn’t use the information maliciously— not that you could do much with the details of their ration supplies due next month.

Still, what Erwin doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And despite the occasional blips of stress, the routine of it all was simple, efficient and uniquely yours and his.

That is, until, a third party invites themselves into your arrangement unprompted.

It happens just as he makes a start on his papers; the meeting transcript he’s supposed to draft into a tidy summary lays flat on the table, his mouth silently mouthing each word his eyes scan over when something long and freakishly bushy sweeps past his vision.

He jerks back in his seat, knee knocking against the underside of the table when whatever the hell that was gives a small yip of equal surprise. His eyes dart up, having no clue what to expect when he meets the stare of—

A fucking cat.

The animal gives another meow in complaint, its downy tail swishing behind it as Levi merely blinks at it. Its fur is a soft brown, white spilling down its front like a tucked-in napkin. Two large balls of amber meet his apprehension with curiosity. He doesn’t know how to react to this - whether he should shoo the thing away or coax it closer - when the door to the side room swings open and you walk in.

“Lucia,” you call sweetly. Taken aback, Levi watches as the cat hops off the table, snaking between your legs with a loud purr as you approach with your usual teapot and mugs.

“You have a cat,” he deadpans.

“I took her in just over a year ago now,” you reply, sliding him his mug, “She used to be a stray so she doesn’t like dwelling in one place for long. Some days she’s at mine, other days she wanders the streets, but she likes to visit me here at the library every now and again.”

The cat in question leaps back onto the table, bumping her head against his arms. The ends of her fur tickle his hand which Levi raises gingerly to let her sniff it.

“She’s very… affectionate,” he observes when the animal fully leans into his touch, practically diving into his hand with a satisfied purr. Cats in the Underground were prickly, guarded things, all sharp claws and raised hairs. For a stray, this was completely new, even to him.

“It’s usually just me and her at this hour. She’s just excited to see another person,” you say, clearly amused by his bewilderment as you take your seat opposite him.

“You don’t think she could help me decipher Erwin’s bullshit?” He tries. He decides to entertain the eager thing when she meows at him again, scratching experimentally under her chin. You smile sympathetically.

“I’m afraid not.”

The rest of the evening wears on as the previous ones had: quiet, productive and familiar, now with an extra addition. Lucia leaves you to work as she roams the expansive space, slipping past tables and hopping between bookshelves before deciding that the optimal place to laze around was right in the middle of Levi’s goddamn lap.

He grunts when the fluffy mass suddenly lands on him, shooting you a glare that borders on someting dangerously close to a tired fondness when you snort at his reaction.

The end of the week looms over him. For him to have sufficient time to proofread and submit the papers, he needs them done ideally by today. So when the cat shows no sign of moving, he gives a small sigh, yields to its whims and rests his free hand atop her head as he writes away.

In a time much shorter than he’d ever admit, he finds himself welcoming the weight of the animal and its warmth. He almost misses its company when it hops off him two hours later when you both decide to call it a day, an arm pulling into a stretch behind your head as Levi tucks the now-finished papers into his bag.

Lucia leads the way on the walk back to yours. She paces several metres ahead with the confidence of a nomad who’s sauntered down these roads a hundred times before, pausing every now and again to glance behind her to check you were still following.

“You’re in a good mood,” you point out, words slightly muffled behind your scarf.

“I’m always in a good mood,” Levi replies with a small frown.

“Yeah, and I hate reading,” you return with a small laugh. Something in his chest flips, “Come on, you’re telling me that having Lucia by your side didn’t have anything to do with it?”

He gives a shrug, “Partly.”

“Partly?” You repeat, raising a brow, “What was the other reason?”

“I finished the last of my paperwork today.”

That stops you in your tracks.

“You did?”

The words echo in the empty street, uttered much louder than you intended if the way you wince and glance hastily around was any indication.

“Levi, that’s huge!” you exclaim, dropping your volume as you catch up to him, “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Another shrug, “I was just doing my job. That doesn’t call for much celebration.”

“But it was a job you had no idea how to do two weeks ago,” you counter, shaking your head, “I can’t be the only one excited for you about this.”

“Why not?”

“Because you need to learn how to recognise your own achievements as they come.”

Levi scowls, “I am excited.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

“I am,” he insists.

“Sure you are,” you say, rolling your eyes with mirth, “You better savour the feeling until Erwin dumps another mountain of paperwork on you.”

Levi scoffs, “If the bastard has any sense about him, he won’t. We’ve got an expedition coming up soon. My time would be better spent training for that running around like his personal assistant.”

“When is it? The expedition?”

“Just over month from now.”

“I’m guessing we won’t be seeing you at the library for a while then,” you gather, glancing to him at your side. If Levi wasn’t so close, he would’ve missed it— the uncertain flicker across your face, gone with a speed so quick he almost chalks it up to a trick of the dim evening light.

“No,” he says slowly, “Not until the expedition’s over, at least.”

“Mr Braugher will be pleased to hear his tea supply will be spared for a while then,” you huff amused, your usual smile having returned.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Levi counters with no real bite, “The tea at headquarters is shit. I might swing by just to steal what's left of the decent stuff.”

“Oh, so this was never about me— it was the tea all along.”

“Obviously,” he deadpans, and you laugh, shoving lightly at his shoulder. Levi doesn't so much as sway, but something in him settles at the contact anyway, easy and warm in a way he's still not used to.

A loud meow sounds from below and it’s only once Levi looks up does he recognise the familiar shape of your building. Sighing softly, you scoop Lucia up, fumbling your keys from your pocket to unlock the front door. The cat wriggles out your grasp, grazing against both yours and Levi’s legs before padding inside.

“She’s warmed up to you,” you muse, eyes tracing the flick of your cat’s tail as she disappears around the corner before looking at him, “She’ll be disappointed when you don’t show next week.”

Levi raises a brow, “She told you that herself?”

“No, but…” You avert your eyes, almost nervous, “I know her well. You know they say pets are a reflection of their owners.”

Levi raises a brow, “That from one of your books?”

You give a half-shrug, “Maybe.”

“And do you believe that?”

You swallow, “I know how I feel.”

“And how do you feel?” He asks, taking a slow step forward. He sees the way your breath hitches, the hesitance written in your posture before you relent.

“Selfish,” you confess, voice thin as he nears you, “Because I’ll miss you for being gone for so long. And scared— for you, the expedition.”

“It’s only a month,” Levi tries to reason, but he finds himself equally breathless at your admission, “And I’ve survived worser odds.”

“I know,” you whisper ruefully, like you’re almost frustrated at yourself for worrying regardless. Levi wants to clear the concern from your face, to smooth the crease between your brows. His hand moves before he thinks; he cups your jaw, guiding your gaze upwards towards him.

“I can’t make any promises,” he starts, forcing the words past his pounding heart, “But I’ll try and visit before we go.”

“To steal the tea, of course?” You ask, amusement dancing in your eyes.

“Of course,” Levi agrees, fighting his own smile as his thumb brushes absent-mindedly over your cheek.

“Anything else?”

“To coddle your insatiable cat.”

“And?”

You draw the word out, your lower lip pinched lightly between your teeth as your eyes drop down before returning to his own. The truth falls from his lips in a steady exhale.

“To see you.”

“Sounds like someone’s just as selfish,” you tease and Levi can’t refute that— not when he’s holding you like this and your pulse races just as fast as his under his fingers.

“You asked me,” he murmurs. You hum.

“And I’m satisfied with the answer.”

“Yeah?” He breathes. You’re so close that his air is yours, that he can catch whatever nice-smelling scent you’ve sprayed yourself with. His feels his heart bruising with how hard it hammers against his ribs when your hand trails to his shoulder, resting there. The nod of your head is imperceptible.

“Mhm.”

You’re all that consumes his vision and as his hand shifts at your jaw, slowly tilting your head towards him, he burns it all in his memory— the heat of your touch, the way the street lamps soften your features, how your lashes flutter as your eyes close. He feels his own slide shut, ready to surrender to the feeling when—

“Meow.”

You startle back in alarm, eyes darting around before landing on the cat peering around the door, the animal bristling with restlessness. Levi releases the air he was holding, feels the absence of your touch sting colder than he expected when you pull away and mumble something that sounds suspiciously like, “Goddamit Lucia.”

Ushering her back inside, you close the door. Levi watches as you straighten up and turn to him, that uncertainty from before returning to your stance. He knows that the moment has passed, that the small window of just you and him had been slammed rudely shut in his face, the key to unlock it tossed away with no hopes of retrieval anytime soon.

“Sorry about Lucia,” you start, flustered, “It’s nearing the time I usually feed her.”

“Someone’s impatient,” Levi comments, trying and failing to stave off the hollow feeling swallowing his insides. He’s never felt more disappointed in his life.

“Yeah, she’s like that usually,” you answer with a small disbelieving laugh. The humour doesn’t quite fill the sound, “She won’t stop crying until I fill her bowl.”

“Sounds you shouldn’t keep her waiting,” Levi says gently. It’s his way of mercy by giving you both an out, even when his fingers itch to reach for you and his lips tingle with the pressure of what was almost there.

“Yeah,” you say, drawing in a sharp breath, “Yeah, I— I’ll go and feed her.”

He nods, the words lost in his throat. Your hand rests on the door handle, but you make no further moves to turn it.

“I guess this is goodbye for a while then,” you say quietly, and something in the way you look at him - steady, searching, like you’re trying to commit the details of his face before he disappears beyond the Walls to your memory - crushes his chest.

“For a month,” Levi corrects you.

“Just a month,” you further amend.

“You’ll survive.”

“I will,” you agree, features breaking into a small smile— the expression easier, more genuine, “And you’ll be careful.”

“I always am.”

“Levi.”

“I will,” he promises sincerely.

“Good,” you murmur, shoulders easing. The handle turns, the door opening with a soft click, “Goodnight then, Levi.”

He swallows hard, “Goodnight.”

Your eyes meet his one last time before you slip inside, but Levi doesn’t move from where he stands. Even when your lamp flickers to life behind your curtain, he stares at your window with a longing he knows better than to openly show but the street is empty and he can’t subdue this ache forever.

It’s only when the wind picks up, hitting him with a breeze that sweeps away the remnants of your touch, does he finally allow himself to turn, hands tucked deeply into his coat as he traces his steps back to headquarters.

-+-

The package comes almost a week later.

By now, he’s used to Hange bursting into his office to bother him about God knows what— new breakthroughs in their experiments, their concerning obsession with titans, complaints about paperwork that he can finally relate to. What he’s not used to is them lugging in a box that he suspects is deceptively heavier than it looks from the way the Section Commander collapses on his sofa.

“What the hell did you order?” Hange pants, their chest rising and falling dramatically as their limbs sprawl everywhere. Levi would berate them for streaking their muddy boots all over his furniture if he wasn’t busy staring at the package they dumped on the floor.

“Nothing,” he says truthfully.

“Doesn’t feel like nothing,” they snort, “Did you buy out a whole tea shop or someting?”

How he fucking wishes. After two weeks of consistently drinking high-quality leaves brewed by your hand, the blends that come in the Corps’ monthly provisions taste like straight up pig piss in comparison.

“I didn’t buy anything,” he reiterates.

“Well, it’s addressed to you,” Hange shrugs, sitting up to verify the details written on the side. Levi frowns.

“From where?”

It should frighten him how quickly his pulse picks up when Hange reads out the return address, the street name striking him hard with recognition. He knows the route to it like second nature, the letters greeting him from where they were plated on the corner of a building that was always his end destination.

He needs to get Hange out of here— now. Shooting up from his chair, he crosses his office and swats the Section Commander’s prying hands away from the box with dizzying speed.

“Hey!”

“I don’t remember your name being written on here,” he snaps, sliding the package behind him and out of their reach.

“You said you didn’t order it!” Hange protests, “I thought we could open it and see what the surprise was!”

“It’s not a surprise, it’s the cleaning supplies I forgot I ordered,” he lies quickly, “Now, get out.”

“Cleaning supplies?” Hange repeats, “But we have plenty of those here!”

“Yeah, and they’re all water-downed knock-offs that make more of a mess than clean.”

“What products are that heavy?” Hange questions aloud, reaching for the box.

“Out!” Levi interjects, kicking the box further back, grabbing the Section Commander and shoving them towards the door. But Hange doesn’t look any less determined, a wide grin splitting their face and boding nothing but trouble for him.

“I’ll find out your secret one day,” they chirp, propping the door to his office open. Levi stiffens.

“Are you threatening me?”

“Oh no, not at all!” Hange laughs, “But you went two weeks disappearing every evening, only now to come back in a permanently sour mood! What's so special about the library anyways?"

“It’s none of your goddamn business.”

“Aha!” Hange juts a victorious finger at him, “And there’s my second point— you always get super defensiveness whenever I ask! That alone is enough to tell me you’re hiding something.”

Levi opens his mouth before snapping it shut, lest he dig himself into a deeper hole.

“I’ll spare you the hounding for now,” Hange says, their words anything but reassuring, “But I’ll get it out of you one day.”

“You won’t,” Levi deadpans.

“I will!” They sing, their body halfway out his office before they add, “Have fun with your new cleaning supplies!”

The door closes behind them and Levi wastes no time in turning the lock, face burning. Once he’s certain Hange’s disappeared down the hallway after several seconds, he whirls back to the package, kicking his boot up to catch the small knife tucked inside.

He drags the blade down the seam of tape to peel it off, folding over the flaps of the box to reveal several books inside.

Well. That explains the weight.

But all that Levi can focus on is the small envelope resting on top, the four letters he first learned to ever pull together into a word written deftly on the front.

His name. In your writing. Sealed with a wax stamp bearing your initials.

Pulse roaring in his ears, he slides the blade with more caution under the wax, carefully retrieving the letter folded inside.

Levi, the first line reads and it’s stupid how his breath catches, how his thumb swipes over the letters, but there’s something strangely intimate about seeing his name in your script.

He’s pathetic, he tells himself. First line in and his anticipation is already spilling over like a pot of boiling water. Lowering the flames on his emotions, he gathers his composure and steels himself with a deep breath as he continues reading.

I hope this dictionary can be of use to you— don’t worry about returning it, it’s yours to keep. Any words you encounter that you’re unsure of the meaning or spelling of, you can find here.

The other books here are ones I loaned out under my name for you to read. You do have to return them in three months time (there’s a slip inside each book that should tell you specifically when), but if you wish to extend the loan period, just let me know and I’ll update our records. I do hope they’re to your taste— I picked them out based off what I thought you’d like and tried to match the difficulty to suit your reading ability.

You mentioned the Survey Corps has an expedition approaching soon. Although this might not mean much, I wish you only the best and good luck for the mission. Again, please be careful out there.

Whilst I know you’ll find yourself busy with preparations for the mission, it goes without saying that you’re always welcome here at library whenever you ever need it. Lucia and I would love to hear what it’s like beyond the Walls if you have some time afterwards.

Take care, you finish the letter with and Levi echoes the action from before, his thumb skimming over your name written at the bottom in your elegant cursive.

You wrote him a letter. And left him books— books which he finally gets a better look at. The dictionary you mentioned is the largest of the pile, a thick, heavy-bounded volume printed in text so small Levi’s convinced he might need glasses to even make out the individual letters.

But it’s his. A gift from you— not to share or give away, but something he can keep entirely for himself. The other books fill him with a similar rush of gratitude when he flicks through them and he sees you’ve kept your word (though when have you ever led him astray?). The prose of each story is written in a way that is digestible for him to read, a challenge to expand the extent of his abilities, but nothing too difficult. The thought behind it all is almost overwhelming.

And as he opens one of the books to its first page, allowing himself to immerse himself in the chapter, Levi decides that what you’ve given him here is far better than any set of cleaning supplies.

-+-

Your name stares back at you in a penship that’s grown increasingly endearing in seeing.

Thank you for the dictionary. I’ve now learnt several new words to call Hange. Deranged doesn’t even begin to cover there temperament.

I finished one of the books you gave me— River’s Crossing. I thought the story was interesting overall, but the ending was one of the most disappointing things I’ve read. Given how I learnt how to read a month ago, I believe that’s saying something. At the very least, the book gives purpose to the bookshelf in my office, rather than letting the dust collect.

We leave for the expedition in two days. Your concern is appreciated, though I should tell you it’s not my safety you should worry for, but my new squad’s. For some reason, I’ve been asked to assemble a small team to command out there, despite the fact that the paperwork for my appointment as Captain hasn’t even been fully processed yet.

I suspect Erwin’s doing. He’s a overzealous bastard and the gossip from the soldiers only fuels his enthusiasm. I’d be surprised if you haven’t yet heard what people are calling me. It’s infuriating, though not as much as the state of the tea here. Three years in the Training Corps and not one of these brats knows how to brew a decent cup. I’m half-tempted to go through with my word and visit the library just to steal some of Braugher’s leaves.

Hope you’re well,

Levi

-+-

Levi,

I’m glad to hear the dictionary is being put to good use. Yes, I have heard the talk about you, Humanity’s Strongest. You’ve made quite a name for yourself, although I have a feeling that you are less than thrilled at having this many eyes on you. My condolences, for your peace and quiet.

I’m glad we share similar views on River’s Crossing. The ending is famously a point of contention amongst its readers: most, if not all of us, agree that Jannis’ death was written more for shock value than a means to benefit the narrative. There was definitely enough room on that plank of wood for both him and Rosa to fit on. I hope you find the other books I left you more satisfactory.

Moving on, as your teacher, I hope you don’t mind me pointing out a few small fixes in your letter. With regards to your first paragraph, ‘there’ is used to describe the position of something, whereas ‘their’ is a possessive determiner and is the word you intended in your writing. For the sake of being thorough, ‘they’re’ is a contraction of ‘they are’. These are examples of the homophones we talked about previously— be mindful of the different spellings despite all three sounding the exact same when spoken. Annoying, I know.

Similarly, when discussing the Section Commander, note the difference between ‘a’ and ‘an’. ‘An’ is used before a vowel sound, whilst ‘a’ is used for all other instances. So whilst Erwin is ‘a’ bastard, you specifically described him as ‘an’ overzealous bastard.

And before you start beating yourself up, I should highlight the impressive amount of progress you’ve made in such a short amount of time. Grammar, as you’re fully aware, is a pain in the ass and takes a while to nail.

I’m aware that by the time you read this, the expedition will have already passed. Let me know how it went and if you and your squad are okay. I hope the books and attached leaves are able to be a source of comfort, regardless of the outcome.

You sign off the letter with warm regards and your name as usual, but what Levi’s mind fixes on is your final line— attached leaves?

Retrieving the envelope again, he’s confused as to what you’re referring to until he tips it over and what lands on his desk, wrapped and sealed in a layer of wax paper, are several tea bags— the same type you always brewed for him, plucked directly from Braugher’s supply.

In the privacy of his office, Levi allows himself a small smile.

-+-

Levi’s next letter comes accompanied by a small parcel.

You find it tucked beside the door to your flat, twine tied cleanly around the cream envelope to secure it to the box. Lucia paws at the string when it falls from your kitchen table to the floor as you unravel it, your jaw hanging in shock when you open the parcel and see its contents.

Nestled in a bed of shredded paper is a small rectangular frame— the kind that people patient enough to sit unmoving for hours would display the drawings of themselves and members of their loved ones in. But what steals your breath isn’t the obvious care that the frame was packaged with, nor the intricate hand carvings in the wood, but the small bouquet of dried flowers arranged behind the glass.

Levi got you flowers. He got you goddamn flowers and the closer you look, the more you notice that several of the types he gathered were of a species you had never seen before. Wide, vibrant petals cluster in the middle, their stems gathered into a neat bundle below whilst smaller, more delicate florets alternate with fern fronds around the central clutch like a wreath.

It was easily the most touching gift you’ve ever received, prompting heat to rise rapidly behind your eyes. But as you turn the frame over, you just about catch it— writing, penned by a familiar hand on the back.

From the 39th Expedition Outside the Walls.

You had practically ripped open the envelope after that, fighting the tears building in favour of reading Levi’s letter for a reason, a motive, anythingthat would explain the meaning behind all of this. As always, his letter began with your name.

For the sake of discretion, I can’t disclose any details of the expedition. My squad are fine— they still have a lot to learn, but they’re tough and full of promise. Petra and Oluo are the youngest and have a tendency to bicker like children. Thankfully, Gunther and Eld’s maturity balances out their idiocy. The outside world is as unforgiving as it always is, but we push forward as we’ve trained to.

By now, you must’ve spotted the frame. Sorry I couldn’t get more. I had picked a handful on our first day out there and they all died the following morning. What you see in the frame was collected on our final day camped out there. I dried and pressed them inside a book once I returned to headquarters under Hange’s recommendation— hopefully they last much longer than a day now.

According to them, some of these species I gathered are native to only the land we explored out there. In other words, you’re not finding this bouquet anywhere inside the Walls.

You previously mentioned you wanted to know what the outside world was like. Although I’m currently unable to detail it to you in person, consider these flowers proof of the land beyond the Walls and my thank you for everything you’ve done. I wouldn’t have survived the nightmare that is paperwork without you, though, much like my own squad, there is plenty for me to improve upon.

Speaking of Hange, they’ve grown irritatingly curious about our correspondence. They interrupt me as I write and try to catch glimpses of your letters over my shoulder. Whilst harmless for now, I would recommend filtering your future letters in case they manage to find something to use against me should they intercept it. They’re already a royal pain in my ass as it is and more ammunition is the last thing they need.

You will be pleased to know that your tea leaves have been well-received. I suppose I owe some thanks to Braugher. Tell the old man I’ll replace the leaves I’ve taken from him soon.

Winter is steadily approaching and the streets are getting darker. Take care when walking home,

Levi

-+-

Levi,

Or should I say— Captain Levi? Congratulations on your official promotion! I saw it in the paper a few days ago and do hope that by the time this letter reaches you, you haven’t passed away from the embarrassment from all this attention (or Hange’s antics— hi Hange if you’re reading this! It’s a shame we haven’t properly met yet.)

You have truly outdone yourself with these flowers— the arrangement is gorgeous! Don’t worry about the quantity of them; I’m grateful you even bothered to gather these during an expedition, though I should ask that in the future, you source your gifts from somewhere less… risky.

Nevertheless, I’m deeply touched by your thought and generosity. The frame and its flowers sit on my writing desk and are a welcome sight whenever I pass it. In fact, I’m looking at it right now as I write this letter to you. You really do have an eye for these things and I find that the same can be said for your penmanship. For someone who is so quick to downplay their own accomplishments, your prose is nothing short of eloquent.

As such, your thanks is hardly necessary— you give me too much credit with your progress when you’ve been plenty skilled from the start. You’ve always been well-spoken; you just didn’t have the tools necessary before to formalise your words into ink. These letters are physical proof of your own growth. Be proud of it.

With regards to your closing line, I hope it eases your concern to let you know that Lucia accompanies me on most of the closing shifts now. She’s no Humanity’s Strongest, but she makes for welcome company on our walks back home. As for actual defensive measures, I always leave a small paper knife tucked in my coat pocket. Fortunately, I have found no use for it beyond opening letters and intend to keep it that way.

Mr Braugher - or the ‘old man’ as you seem to fondly refer to him as - has asked me to pass on the message that he would appreciate you restocking his supply, otherwise he’ll start buying only the same type of tea supplied to the Survey Corps— the tea that you hate.

He’s joking, I think. In the instance that he’s not, I’ve managed to track down where the brew is from: a woman named Moira makes the blends herself and sells them in the market near Yarkell every weekend.

I hope things are going well for you in the Corps. Take care as always.

Your end your letter with your name like usual and Levi’s fingers find themselves tracing over the familiar shape of it before he’s even aware of it— a habit that’s crept in between your first letter and the one now in his hands, as if the action of touching the ink would somehow close the distance between you both.

He rereads your message after that. Then once more, like he always does, committing your lines to his memory that he could probably recite them with his eyes closed. Only once he’s satisfied does he fold the paper back along its worn creases and tuck it into the wooden box that keeps every one of your other letters— a secret that the left drawer of his desk securely holds.

-+-

Levi’s response arrives one week later, the quickest it’s ever done. It opens with the same inked rendition of your name.

Unfortunately, I am still alive. The humiliation of a promotion, nor Hange’s insanity, apparently isn’t enough to kill me.

Whilst we’re on the topic, I should let you know now that there’s no need for you to do that Captain bullshit— you’re a civilian and far removed from the formalities of the Survey Corps. Between the two of us, call me Levi.

The espionage you conducted to deduce Braugher’s tea origins is much appreciated. I’ve ensured your efforts have not been wasted by making plans to buy a new tin for the old man and myself this weekend.

I’m fully aware that the three month loan period for the books you lent me is almost nearing its end. I’ll be passing through the area sometime next week with Erwin and Shadis for a meeting in Mitras. It’s been in the works for a while, but the asshole is finally relinquishing his title to Erwin.

Whilst I doubt the decision will face much opposition from Zackley, these meetings always somehow drag on far longer than they have to. At the very least, I’ll be able to visit to return your books and give Braugher his tea.

Wait for me. I’ll see you soon,

Levi

-+-

At Levi’s request, you wait for him. You organise the volumes, copy the records and respond to every academic with the same level of duty, professionalism and thoroughness you’ve always conducted yourself with.

You’ve waited longer for things less pressing. You can absolutely wait for this.

But you’re not perfect— every movement of the double doors, every glimpse of a man who vaguely resembles the Survey Corps Captain passing between the shelves has your head jerking in its direction, the expectation you held in the left of your chest faltering slightly when you find yourself mistaken. A trick of the light, the wrong identity, your imagination gone rogue.

Still, you hold onto your hope as time continues its steadfast passage, knowing that each day that goes by brings you steadily closer to finally seeing him again.

But when the week that Levi promised his return rolls over, Wall Maria falls and the world that you two had carefully crafted for yourselves is swept away in the chaos that follows.

-+-

Defeat was something Levi knew well.

He felt it first when his mother died and he finally understood the misfortune of being born in Underground, tasted it in his mouth as blood when those men beat him for retrieving what was rightfully his.

He heard it when Isabel and Furlan died, the hiss of the slaughtered titan steaming behind him feeling more like a mockery than a trophy when the brutality of its execution hadn’t brought them back.

And now, as he trudges through the ghost town that the entirety of Wall Rose seems to have made of itself, defeat has never felt so fierce, rushing past the cracks of his fragile composure to lay waste on every man, woman and child.

Houses stand silent, shutters drawn over shop windows. No one else walks the streets. Clouds gather in a dark mass above like a funeral procession, ready to mourn the sacrificed with an onslaught of rain.

The Survey Corps were no less fortunate when it came to evading defeat. It followed the regiment like it was written into the division’s very existence, a certainty to be expected than something to waste one’s time trying to completely avoid. Damage control was the objective, so it came to no surprise when Erwin Smith was handed the reins.

If there was anyone who knew how to find the silver lining within the blood-rust pool of losses and charge forward, it was him.

But no one - not even a man like Erwin Smith - could ever justify the outcome of today. There was no conceivable way, no possible angle that anyone could view the orders from the Royal Government as anything but an organised massacre, a ploy to twist their negligence into a noble cause concealed behind empty promises of humanity’s redemption.

When Wall Maria first fell, the rush of people seeking refuge into Wall Rose’s territory stretched both morale and resources thin. Full plates of food turned to scraps snatched from the bins, whilst water became something that caused fists to fly and wounds to bleed. Order quickly collapsed into anarchy, the two remaining Walls now a bomb with a fuse of indefinite length. All it would take is one small spark to set everything alight, humanity’s miserable death brought upon themselves without further titan intervention.

Reclaim Wall Maria. Who were they fucking kidding? When the order first came through to headquarters, Levi had never seen emotion sit so strikingly on Erwin’s face until then. It was nothing like his typically stoic veil and as he read through the letter, the darker the newly-appointed Commander’s expression grew.

Reclaim Wall Maria. Use the civilians to boost your manpower.

No title or set of shoulders would ever be broad enough to carry the weight of conducting a mission that was essentially suicide when you stripped it down to its bones. Levi doesn’t know how Erwin did it, how he grit his teeth and formulated contingency plan after contingency plan for an operation intended to condemn the masses rather than deliver them their salvation.

In the end, the whole thing fell apart before it could even fully begin.

The people died, just as the higher ups wanted, plucked off horses they barely knew how to ride, limbs and faces frozen in horror strewn across the blood-soaked grass. No amount of ODM or swords thrusted into their hands would give them a winning chance against the horde when those very hands trembled with inexperience and terror.

Levi tried. Godammit, he tried.

But with every titan he felled, several others took its place. He swung until each of his blades dulled or shattered, until every gas canister he salvaged had nothing more to give. He doesn’t know how he stumbled out that bloodbath with only a set of bruised ribs and mere cuts and bruises littered across his body, only that he could say with full certainty that he had been dragged from one hell only to be thrown right into the jaws of another.

And now, he was a broken compass, wandering aimlessly in a bid to burn away the adrenaline surging through his body. His fingers still tremble, breathing rough in his own ears. He does what he’s been doing the entire day and entrusts his instinct to guide him, feet dragging him down the only path he knew like the back of his hand.

“Levi?”

It’s like the string keeping him tethered had suddenly snapped and his body gives out, crumpling like a house of cards as he stumbles through the threshold to your flat. A pair of arms quickly catch him and as his senses are flooded with the smell and warmth of you, he can only imagine what he looks like— dazed and hurriedly bandaged together, still wearing the uniform that reeks of smoke and death.

He vaguely registers your voice as you speak to him, distantly processes the meow that Lucia gives in dissent when you urge her off the spot where she was lounging. He lets you slide his bag from his shoulders as his body sinks into something soft; not the rough bark of a tree or the unforgiving solidness of the ground, but the cushioned backing of a sofa. There’s a cup in his hand and a damp rag wiping gently at his face where blood has crusted over, your voice a quiet hum from where you crouch in front of him.

“…bleeding, but it doesn’t seem you’ve hit your head too hard,” you murmur, wearing a small frown. Your hand gently cradles his head, tilting it slowly to scan for any further injuries. The weight of your touch is what finally brings him back, vision sharpening into the piercing silver you’ve come to know well.

“Hey,” you say softly, “You with me?“

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. After spending the day carrying a blade and watching the corpses pile up before him, all his body knows right now is how to kill, how to take all this anger and channel it into a violence that was promised to him since the day he entered the world kicking and screaming.

He’s been fighting from the moment he was born. And he was going to fight for as long as he lived.

So when Levi feels that fury swell inside him, he doesn’t stop it— he embraces it, lets it seep deep into his marrow. When he speaks, it isn’t assurance or vulnerable professions that he utters, but a single word he rasps out, said with the same bark he delivered his orders with earlier.

“Scapegoats,” he manages to get out. Your brows pull tighter together.

“What?”

“They made scapegoats of the people,” Levi hoarsely accuses, jerking up to his feet. You jump back in surprise, watching as he paces, knuckles white as they clutch the glass cup, “The desperate, the hungry, the poor. They sent them out there like lambs to be fucking slaughtered!”

He slams the cup on the table, uncaring of the water that sloshes over the sides as he resumes his pacing. He rakes a hand through his hair, pulls at the roots.

“How many titans did you kill?” You whisper, your own expression devastated as you watch the tension stretch across his back.

“Hundreds,” Levi spits viciously, “I don’t know, I didn’t count. It doesn’t matter anyways, most of them are dead. Do you know how many of us they sent into that hell?”

Nails digging into your palms, your eyes fill with tears as you shake your head. You had heard the rumours, the numbers when the operation was first announced, but the scale of it had been so absurd, you couldn’t believe it.

“Two hundred and fifty thousand,” Levi hisses, “Culled to two hundred under the pretence of a goddamn recovery operation!”

His words explode with his wrath, his hand shooting towards the table. Before he even realises what he’s doing, he seizes the cup and launches it out to the side, glass smashing into hundreds of shards against the wall.

Silence follows like a wary eye-witness, his heavy, rugged breaths filling the space. Levi doesn’t turn around, doesn’t let you see beyond the frigid plane of his back where your stare sears into his skin. Instead, he leans over the table, two hands gripping the edge. He lets his eyes slip shut, swearing softly under his breath.

You know everything. You know about his past, his ruthlessness, what his hands are capable of, but knowing and seeing are two different things.

He never intended to ever show you this part of him, doesn’t want to know what emotion that’s twisting your expression right now. Is it shock? Fear? Or an anger that rivals his, one that would rise as a demand for him to leave and never return?

When your footsteps approach him from behind, he feels that tension winding back in his muscle as he braces himself.

“Levi,” you say softly, and fuck— it’s so much worse. You’re worried about him, his name loaded with the same patience and concern that he’s never understood.

He sees the hand reaching tentatively for him, flinches when your fingers skim his arm, but you’re undeterred by his trembling. You don’t say anything when your hands hold him steadily by the arms, each of your movements slow and measured as they drift up his shoulders, round his neck and into a hug.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, pulling him in.

Inhaling sharply, Levi wraps his arms around you, pressing himself closer to you because your warmth, your heartbeat, the feeling of another living, breathing person in his hold is enough to ground him, the last of his defences falling apart.

“They never intended for them live,” he says in that same hushed tone, words strained, “They were sent out there to be killed like they were nothing.”

He’s rambling now, shaking hands fisting your shirt. He wants to cry, he wants to scream, he wants to punch something and prove every single person who condemned him for his background right to spite them— that yes, he was the feral dog they all feared, that he could bite and ensure that it hurt.

“There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom,” you start quietly, the words brushing against the shell of his ear, “Some soap too and a first aid kit. I can find you a change of clothes as well.”

And just like that, his anger fizzles out to make way for confusion. He pulls back from your hold, his hands at your sleeves as his brows pull in.

“What are you…?”

“You don’t have to stay,” you clarify, “But you’ve just been through hell and back and I’m offering you a place to clean up, have some food and sleep.”

Three months apart and Levi had almost forgotten how easily you could disarm him, how perceptive you were when it came to recognising what he needed without giving it more attention than necessary. And right now, he’s exhausted, his body weighing him down like bags of sand. He can feel every bruise starting to smart, the sting of each gash, the throb of a headache pounding at his temple.

“Levi?”

“Okay,” he gives in. Your lips twitch.

“Okay?”

“Fine,” he agrees, just as he’s struck with a dizzying wave of déjà vu, “To all three.”

Then, after a small pause, “Thank you.”

The curve of your lips widen at that, but you say nothing more when you show him the bathroom. The first spray of water draws a low groan from him as he scrubs away the layers of blood, dirt and sweat. Grout crumbles under his fingers as he presses his hands against the tiled wall in front of him, his head hanging low under the shower to watch the grime swirl down the drain.

He finds the first aid kit you mentioned in one of the cabinets, spends the next ten minutes treating and dressing each of his wounds in places he didn’t even think were possible. It’s a mindless, repetitive task and gives him something for his hands to do.

You’ve left him a plain shirt and comfortable trousers to change into and Levi tries not to think too hard when he pulls the items of clothing on, finding himself engulfed in the scent of fabric softener and something distinctly you.

Instead, he emerges from the bathroom into the kitchen where he’s met with the smell of food searing away. You greet him with a small smile, gesturing to one of the empty chairs around the table with a wooden spoon.

“Sit. I’m almost done, just give me a few minutes.”

With the table already set and the food left to your hands, Levi complies, lowering himself into a chair when he feels the weight of a stare prickling across his skin.

Lucia sits on the sofa across the room, large, owlish eyes blinking at him. When he takes notice of her, she pads over to him, but there’s a vigilance about her stance, her gaze fixed on him like she’s tracking his every move.

It’s only when he lifts a hand and she shrinks back does he understand.

Lucia saw everything. She was there when he broke the glass.

Sighing gently, Levi relaxes his movements, mindful to keep himself still when the cat timidly approaches. Part of him can’t believe that he’s let the animal worm its way into fondness, but he leaves his hand there regardless to let her pass her judgement.

A small bump with her nose. A tentative lick of his finger. Then, after a beat, she launches herself at his arm, rubbing her head against him with same fervent enthusiasm he’s gotten used to receiving.

Levi scratches under her chin, lets her climb into his lap where she purrs away contentedly. He runs his fingers through her fur, but his stare inclines to where he threw the glass, the jagged shards and water cleared away without any traces left.

He looks away only once you near, two plates in your hand. It’s a simple dish— some sort of vegetable stew with slices of bread as a side, but after facing several ration cuts in only two weeks and the shitty excuse for food that the mess hall serves in general, it’s the best damn thing he’s ever tasted.

The meal passes in a comfortable silence. Unable to resist himself, Levi sneaks a chunk of carrot to Lucia. The cat happily accepts his offer, jumping from his lap to eat her winnings in the corner of the room.

“You’ll fatten her up if you keep spoiling her,” you warn, but only amusement dances in your voice. Wiping his hands, Levi returns to his own meal.

“It’s a vegetable,” he reasons.

“I fed her already.”

“It’s a treat.”

“She gets plenty of those.”

“Then consider it bribery.”

You raise a brow, “For what?”

“The glass.”

Your fork falters to your mouth.

“You don’t need to bribe anyone, Levi,” you say gently, lowering the utensil, “It was just a glass.”

Levi gives you a knowing look.

“I came here without warning and unloaded my baggage on you,” he says bluntly, “I’ve imposed on you already as it is.”

“Levi, the Wall was just breached,” you stress, making a vague motion at him with your fork, “And your baggage was surviving a mission that the cowards in the government ordered to avoid any sense of responsibility. You have every right to be furious.”

“I know,” Levi says, shoulders slumping, “I just… You’ve done so much for me since we first met. And I know that you are inherently just that selfless, but I don’t want to keep dumping my problems onto you when I can hardly give anything in return.”

“You don’t have to give me anything. Your company’s always been more than enough for me.”

Levi pauses, stares at you for a moment before shoving a piece of pepper into his mouth and shaking his head.

“You’re insane.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to teach you if I wasn’t,” you return easily, smile growing when you feel a light kick at your leg under the table. You nudge Levi back, making the conscious decision to leave your foot there. You don’t move away. Levi doesn’t either.

“I’m serious, though,” you press before you can dwell on the contact, “You can’t live the life that you fought so hard for in service of other people as repayment.”

“I’m in the Survey Corps,” he says dryly, “My whole job is to serve humanity.”

“You know what I mean, Levi,” you say with a soft huff, “When you return from an expedition, do you expect the people in the Walls to shower you in gifts?”

“Well, that sure beats being called a tax-wasting piece of shit.”

“Levi.”

“No,” he concedes, hiding what looks suspiciously like a smile behind another bite of food, “I don’t.”

“Then what do you expect of them?”

He gives a shrug, “I don’t know, a thank you?”

“And?”

“That’s it, I guess. I don’t need more than that.”

“And the same applies here— there’s no debt to be paid, no score to even out,” you state, washing your last bite down with a sip of water, “The fact that you’ve used what I’ve taught you to build a name for yourself is all the gratitude I need.”

“You say it like it was nothing,” Levi says, words touched with disbelief, “Two weeks worth of your evenings, gone. And you’re acting like I did you a favour.”

You rip off a piece of bread and pop it into your mouth.

“I told you when we first met, didn’t I? I had nothing better to do during my evenings. And sure, Lucia’s cute and all, but she doesn’t exactly make for a good conversationalist.”

Levi scoffs, “Like I’m any better.”

“Do you need me to prove it to you?” You ask, quirking a brow, “Because I have a box filled with three month’s worth of letters where you talk at great length.”

“Don’t show those to Hange,” he groans.

“Only if you stop being so stubborn,” you respond, then, in a softer tone, “Be more selfish. Let people care for you unconditionally. You don’t owe me anything.”

“So, you’d rather me keep the books you loaned out?” He casually asks. Your fork pauses halfway through its route to your mouth.

“You brought them with you?” You ask, stunned. Though it hardly counts as a smile, Levi can’t help the smirk that crosses his face.

“And the tea,” he adds and finally, finally after three months, Levi hears your laugh again— a bright, delighted noise that bounces pleasantly through your small flat. He knocks his foot against your leg that never left his, feels his heart trip when your return the gesture.

The rest of the meal passes with a new lightness over it, like you had taken every one of his burdens and locked them outside. When your plates are empty and your stomachs are full, Levi retrieves his bag slumped at the end of your sofa and pulls out the books.

“Sorry,” he grunts, cautiously lowering them onto the table, “I know they’re long overdue. Don’t tell me Braugher was on your ass because of me.”

Thanking him, you give a small snort, “I mean, he was a little annoyed, but he was gracious enough to let me dodge the fine.”

“There’s a fine?” Levi repeats, aghast, nearly knocking his head on the underside of the table as he shoots up from his bag.

“Relax,” you assure him, clearly entertained by his reaction, “Before you panic, Mr Braugher just asked me to organise the archive room we’ve been neglecting to make up for it. And even if I did have to pay, it’s hardly an amount you’d have to worry about.”

“You make it very hard not to feel like I’m in your debt,” Levi mutters, half-serious.

“If it’s any reassurance, the tea should redeem you,” you say, holding up the tin of leaves, “But if you insist on doing something, you can help me with the dishes. How about that?”

“Already on it,” Levi says and before you can protest, he sweeps up both your plates and heads to the sink. He’s rolled up his sleeves and turned on the tap by the time you join him, resigning yourself to drying each polished dish he hands you. Your fingers brush his with a frequency too often for it to be considered a coincidence. Neither of you say anything about it.

You head to take a shower yourself after that and Levi’s left alone in the main living space, your cat and his curiosity a proxy for your presence. As the muffled patter of water sounds behind the bathroom door, he allows himself some surface-level prying.

Lucia shadows his steps as he leisurely covers the perimeter of your flat. Whilst the space is generally tidy, it’s cosy, lived-in. Several pillows are strewn across the sofa, a blanket that looks lovingly worn thrown over the armrest. He notes how well-kept the few plants you own are, their leaves glossy and a deep shade of green as they stand proud in each of their pots.

He lingers at your writing desk, a hand skimming over its surface as he records each item organised neatly on top: pots of ink, rolls of parchment, several fountain pens of the brand that Levi noticed you favoured and— propped in the corner just as you had promised in your letter, was the frame he gifted you, the flowers just as vivid as the day he picked them.

He remembers how hilariously pitiful his first bouquet went, the bewilderment he woke up to when the flowers he collected just the night before had wilted into a shrivelled up clump. Turns out flowers were far more frail than he ever imagined, but you had asked about the outside world and once the idea was in his head, there was no getting rid of it. After all, Levi was never one to go back on his word.

And so, for your sake, he laid his pride aside and approached the last person he ever thought he’d ask help from— Hange fucking Zoe.

To say the Section Commander was ecstatic was an understatement and just as Levi had feared, he found himself bombarded with questions that escalated with alarming speed— who was the lucky person? Was it the same one who sent the cleaning supplies? Have you held hands? Kissed? Had se—

Levi wasted no time in smacking them over the head to cut them off and it was only when he threatened to turn Hange’s latest titan captive into a puddle of steaming flesh that they finally reigned in their meddling to share their advice.

They recommended him flowers based on their longevity once picked, detailed how to immortalise their colour and shape using just wax paper and the weight of books. And whilst Levi bitched and moaned at their loudness, their over-enthusiasm and tendency to spiral off into a tangent, mentally, he was cataloguing their every word, soaking in every bit of information so he didn’t mess up a second time.

Every ounce of effort and frustration was worth it when your thesis of a letter arrived, your appreciation practically bled into the ink. The fact that you keep the frame here— on the desk where Levi’s sure you spend most of your time when you’re not at the library, fills him with a feeling that he’s been struggling to pin down.

It’s not nervousness, nor is it excitement. But it’s enough to reach some small part of himself, buried deep past his self-preserving habits, to leave him secretly hoping that you think of him everytime you see it.

Before he can unpack that thought any further, he turns to the main feature in your living space— your bookshelf, a tall, crowded piece that spans across most of the wall. Silver eyes slide over the assorted trinkets that fill what little space remains and the hand-drawn portrait of a couple Levi deduces to be your parents before his fingers brush over the spines of the books crammed into the space.

He chooses a book at random, mildly intrigued by its title and design of its spine and cracks it open to a random page, flicking through it at random.

“That one’s from Mr Braugher,” your voice comes from behind him. Levi turns, watches as Lucia bounds over to you from his side, “It was his welcome gift for me after I was accepted as his apprentice.”

“What’s it about?” He asks. You approach him slowly, your everyday wear swapped for something looser, more comfortable. The intimacy of it all makes his head spin.

“It follows a traveller who’s stranded far from any civilisation when he encounters a prince from another land. The prince tells him stories about all the places he’s been, the people he’s met and the things he learnt along the way. It’s very profound.”

“So it’s a story…” Levi starts, “About several other stories.”

“It’s a classic,” you correct, rolling your eyes with amusement as you slide the book from his hands, “I can read you an excerpt, if you’d like.”

Which is how Levi finds himself seated on the sofa next to you, your legs tucked close to your body as you read a passage aloud. Lucia curls herself up at the junction of his knee, purring lowly at his hand that strokes her fur. He catches tales of foxes and roses, of time and patience, but finds himself distracted by the closeness between you.

The only place you’ve ever been is by his side— whether it’s sitting together on chairs that the rest of the library silently agreed were yours to walking you home under the orange light of the oil lamps, you were never in front of him, never behind, but level with him like equals.

And right now, as his arm rests over the back of the sofa, your body tucks itself into the small space it makes. You’re the closest that you’ve ever been to him, each point of contact making Levi feel like a goddamn furnace with your back pressed against his arm and your leg leaning against his.

The last time the both of you had gotten this close…

No, he banishes the thought as the heat rises to his face, not the fucking time.

Even in the library, your chairs never once touched and every walk was done so with a small gap between you. He has no clue how you’re able to keep your voice steady as you read or how your eyes never once deviate from the printed text. But your focus gives Levi the chance to take his fill.

His eyes trace your side profile, quietly making note of the dark shadows under your eyes. He wonders if you’ve had to stay late at the library, then supposes that the past few weeks haven’t given anyone much of a reason to warrant a good night’s sleep. Either way, what becomes an increasingly apparent fact is that he’s spent far too long staring instead of listening when he belatedly realises that you’ve stopped talking and your eyes meet his. Levi blinks.

Shit.

“Sorry, I know it’s getting late,” you say, closing the book.

“No—” he says far too quickly, clearing his throat, “No. It’s fine. I was listening.”

“You don’t have to be so polite, Levi,” you smile, slipping the book onto a small side table, “You’ve endured more in a day than most would in their entire life. I know you’re tired.”

“A little,” he admits.

“I can go and set up the bed for you, if you’d like.”

“What about you?” He frowns and you pause halfway through getting up.

“What about me?”

“Where are you sleeping?” He explicitly asks, because as far as he’s aware, your flat only has one bedroom.

“The sofa,” you say, sinking slowly back into your seat.

“Like hell you are,” Levi straightens up instantly, the sudden motion prompting Lucia to hop from his leg with an unimpressed look, “I’m not kicking you out of your own damn bed.”

“You’re a guest here, Levi,” you insist.

“Yeah, so I should take the sofa.”

“Need I remind you that I’m not the one who felled hundreds of titans out there?” You counter, “You need proper rest in an actual bed.”

Levi shrugs, “I’ve gotten better sleep in worser places.”

“The Survey Corps cots can’t be that bad,” you say with a half-incredulous laugh.

“They are. That’s why I don’t sleep in them.”

Your eyes narrow, “Then where do you sleep?”

“My office.”

“On a sofa?”

“No, my chair.”

“A chair?” You exclaim, “Levi, what the hell? Are you crazy?”

“I’m used to it now. It’s fine.”

“Not until your back pays the price for it. I can’t believe you— a chair?” You repeat, and it’s the closest Levi’s ever heard your tone edge into exasperation.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he tries to reason, “I used to sleep on the floor in the Underground.”

“That was back then, Levi. And right now, I’m offering you a better option which, quite frankly, you would be stupid not to take.”

“Maybe,” Levi agrees because he knows that - like with many things - you’re right. But if he’s being honest, he’s hardly paying attention, struck with the domesticity of everything— your proximity, your change of clothes, the fact that you’re both bickering like your names are one and each of you have a metal band wrapped around a finger.

The observation leaves him stunned and he mentally smacks himself for even thinking such a thing. What the hell was wrong with him? But then a second, more dangerous thought enters his head that shoves aside all his inhibitions and makes Levi realise that he’s a weaker man than he initially thought.

Just as your mouth opens to shoot off another valid argument, a hand slides to your jaw and Levi presses his lips to yours.

He feels you tense against him, a small, surprised noise catching in your throat, and for a moment, dread and panic slam into him at once.

He’s fucked up, he thinks. He’s fucked everything up, but then your fingers find the fabric of his shirt and before Levi can fully pull away, you’re tugging him closer, sealing that space once more as you kiss him back.

He gives a small grunt as he gently pushes you back against the sofa to lean over you, lets the warmth and smell of you mix with his as you melt into him. Your hand finds his shoulder, fingers trailing to the back of his neck where your touch sends a thrill up his spine.

Weeks, months, he’s wanted this. Ever since that night - the last time he saw you before the expedition - he had wrestled with the regret of wasting that opportunity, of letting you slip away. He refuses to make that same mistake again, and as his lips slide past yours, he hopes that you can read between the lines of his affection to hear his thoughts— I’ve missed you, I care for you, I’m so glad that we met.

When you finally draw away, your lips are slick and swollen, your chests heaving for air.

“Let me take the sofa,” Levi hears himself say, breathless. His pulse, though significantly calmer than before, still thuds in his ears.

“Okay,” you say, eyes wide and glossy as you stare up at him. Levi scowls slightly at how quickly you concede, says your name to wave away whatever of that post-kiss haze remains.

“I heard you,” you say, laughing as you sit up and brush the invisible dust from his shoulder, “The sofa’s all yours, Captain.”

The way you say his title sends another shiver through him and now, it’s his turn to be left there dumbfounded as you rise from the sofa. You reappear several moments later with pillows and a blanket and the next thing Levi knows, he’s staring up at the wooden slats of your ceiling, the moon serving as the only source of light as it filters through the thin slit between the curtains.

Even after facing everything the day threw at him, there’s barely a pull at his eyes, his nervous system still buzzing and refusing to give into the physical exhaustion. He blames part of it to his hopeless insomia and the other to the completely unexpected turn today took.

How has he simultaneously had one of the best and worst days of his life? He feels like he’s lived through a thousand lifetimes in twenty-four hours, can barely recover from the mental whiplash that the contrasts of today has given him.

The heat of exertion; the heat of your touch. The smell of smoke and bodies; the smell of your clothes. The sound of fear and orders; the sound of your voice. The taste of sweat and blood; the taste of you.

Somehow, in everything that you’ve said and done, you managed to neutralise every drop of his rage like an antidote to poison, a salve to a wound. Levi knows he shouldn’t be surprised, not when it feels like you’ve always known how to lower his walls since the beginning.

He knows full well what he’s feeling. He’s heard soldiers gossip about each other in the barracks, read about it in that goddamn book you loaned him with the shitty ending. But what Jannis and Rosa in River’s Crossing had between them was described as something explosive, something so strong and all-consuming that it felt powerful enough to change the world.

Levi thought that the prose was rather melodramatic in comparison to his own experiences. Because with you, what he feels is something quiet, gradual, a consistency that crept up on him over the course of these past few months.

It developed in the way you always had two cups of tea at the ready, grew into something greater when your company went beyond the chairs in the library to the peaceful streets in the evenings. It takes up his being without imposing too far, never demanding a single thing from him— no pressure to prove himself or expectations on who or what he should be.

Your presence doesn’t shatter the earth or change the laws of the universe, but simply keeps him in orbit, a constant that he knows he can depend on. There’s a pull he can’t explain, a compulsion that draws him towards you and it’s this same feeling that prompts him to throw the blanket off his body and sit up from where he lay across your sofa.

He rummages for a match in one of your kitchen drawers and lights a candle which he places in the corner of your writing desk. He’s mindful to keep his noise to a minimum as he sits down and retrieves a sheet of parchment, lest he accidentally wake you in the room over.

It takes him significantly longer to start than usual, but once he remembers how receptive you were to his honesty, he gets the first sentence down and the rest naturally follows. When he finishes writing, he rereads it once, twice, then another six times before officially signing it off, sealing it in an envelope and penning your name in clear letters on the front.

He places it on your kitchen table where you’re guaranteed to see it in the morning and extinguishes the candle. But where his feet lead him next isn’t back to the sofa where the blanket waits for his return, but to the closed door that he knows leads into your bedroom.

Stealth honed from years in the Underground leaves his footsteps silent, the door making virtually zero noise as he slowly pushes it open. His eyes can make out your rough shape under the blanket where you sleep, the soft sound of your breathing filling the room.

What the hell is he doing? Some part of him - still reeling from the kiss and the words he left for you in the kitchen - wants to wake you.

But then what?

What would he say? What would he do?

Realising that he came into your room with no plan at all, Levi swiftly aborts the idea and moves to close the door with the same caution that he opened it with. But then that oddly-shaped lump that he previously dismissed as a pillow on your bed shifts in place, hopping from the covers towards him.

Lucia, Levi realises. He could recognise the eagerness with which the cat brushes herself against his legs with even if he was blindfolded, a pair of wide, curious eyes staring up at him.

Nudging her gently with his foot, Levi tries to close the door, but the animal senses his departure, wedging herself in the remaining gap.

“Meow,” she protests loudly. Levi closes his eyes, swearing under his breath.

Fuck.

“Levi?” your start, voice thick with sleep. He sighs as a warm glow suddenly fills the room from the lamp that you stretch blindly across for, a hand rubbing at your eyes.

“Sorry,” he grimaces, silently cursing the cat oblivious to his annoyance at his feet, “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

He hopes that you’ll let him leave it at that, that he could return to the sofa and stare at your ceiling until sunrise, but then you sit up properly, back leaning against the headboard.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” he says quickly, wanting to dispel your concern, “No, it’s nothing. I…”

He fumbles for his words, mind suddenly blank. How does he even explain what he was even doing when he has no clue himself?

“The sofa not all what you hyped it up to be?” You prompt, smile coy despite having just woken up and with you like this - in your sleepwear and hair sticking up endearingly - that feeling Levi’s been holding for the past few months swells in his chest.

“It’s not the worst place I’ve slept,“ he swallows, shamelessly taking the line you’ve cast him. You raise a brow.

“But?”

“It’s different without you,” he settles with, and it’s the most roundabout way he could ever word the truth.

“Well, the other half of the bed is usually Lucia’s spot,” you muse lightly, your eyes trailing up from the cat purring at his feet to meet his gaze, “But I think she can survive a night away from it.”

His lips twitch, “Yeah?”

“The space isn’t going to fill itself, Levi,” you tell him directly and that’s all the permission he needs to close the door behind him and lower himself onto the other side of the bed.

You move over to give him room, but as the both of you settle under the covers with your heads turned to face each other, you reach an arm out towards him to bridge that small distance. Your fingers play with the ends of his hair before sliding to cup his face, his eyes closing when you give an experimental scratch at his undercut, nails grazing the shaved skin.

He lets your hand map the surface of his face, silver eyes peeling open when he feels the soft press of your lips to the tip of his nose. You’re closer now— close enough that he feels the air you exhale tickling his cheek, your eyes watching him with a depth of emotions that he wants to learn and unpack with you together.

With the same relaxed motion, Levi guides the hand that rests in his hair to thread his fingers with yours. He presses a firm kiss on top and then to your wrist, his gaze never once leaving yours.

“Can I hold you?” He whispers, letting the night swallow his words. Wordlessly, with your hands still joined, you shuffle across the remaining space, both of you releasing a small sigh when you your back settles against his chest.

Just like the sofa, you fit perfectly like you always belonged there, your breathing syncing with his as your heartbeat slows.

“How are you feeling?” you ask after several minutes. His fingers have loosened their grip from yours only to trail over your hand, rubbing small circles across your skin.

“Better,” comes his faint reply, “Thanks to you.”

“I just did what anyone else would,” you counter, your smile audible in your voice.

“You’re not like anyone else,” he says as he intertwines your fingers with his again, resting them over your stomach. Your palm squeezes his, an acknowledgement to his words.

“I need to leave before sunrise,” he speaks again after a pause, “They’ll need me back in the Corps.”

“I know,” you whisper back. Levi feels your body press harder against his, uses his arm to pull you in closer.

“I wrote you a letter.”

Shifting in his hold, your neck cranes over to look at him.

“You did?”

“It’s on your table,” he tells you, “Open it in the morning— preferably when I’m gone.”

“Why?” you say, turning yourself fully over now. Even in the dark, Levi sees the mirth creasing your eyes, finds himself grateful that the night covers the slight blush gathering on his cheeks, “What did you write?”

“Something important,” he answers vaguely.

“Such as?”

He huffs, the sound short, amused, “You really want to know?”

“Give me a hint,” you compromise.

“Then come here.”

Your lips find his and this time, the kiss is slower, unhurried, a quiet promise that passes between you both. The world is not kind enough to exempt him from his duties or to undo the losses of the day, but it is merciful enough to give him this moment to savour.

“That a good enough clue for you?” Levi murmurs once he pulls away. Your face eases into a smile.

“I think I got the idea.”

-+-

Just as he mentioned, Levi was gone by the morning. And just as he promised, he left you a letter, your thumb rubbing the cursive that spelt your name.

At the risk of sounding stupid, you made these past few months more bearable. You were the first person outside the Corps to accept me, to see past the ugliness of the Underground and my actions. You never once looked down on me and instead gave me a chance by teaching me without judgement. That is a kindness that I can never forget.

All of this is to say that a certain affection has taken hold of me and I am left helpess in its grasp. Whilst this is something that I’ve only fully realised as of recent, I think some subconscious part of me has accepted your place in both my life and heart for a while now. I think you know what I’m on about.

The tea, the walks, even those moments of silence — I’d like to keep sharing those with you, for as long as you allow. You told me to be more selfish, so I’m asking you to let me make the plans this time.

I’ll be in the area this weekend. You’re under no obligation to follow this, but if you’ll have me, I’ll be waiting on the bench by the town hall around lunchtime. Wear something nice. I intend to make it a whole afternoon.

Yours,

Levi

-+-

Sunlight warms the paved stone as clouds drift across the blue sky. Levi watches as two young children chase each other, shrieks of laughter echoing in the square as they run around the central statue. Distantly, their mother calls them over as she pays the vendor for her produce.

Life begins its slow return within Wall Rose. Whilst the consecutive fatalities of the breach and the recent operation leave a fresh wound that will take years to scar over, the sun continues its cycle and the people fall back into routine.

The markets open. The children play. The parents scold.

The Survey Corps charges on with its mission as the hope of mankind, spearheaded by Commander Erwin Smith and his strongest remaining soldiers.

And Levi—

Levi’s trying his best to pull himself together.

The bench digs into his back as if he’s sat against the wood for hours despite the mere minutes that have passed, his legs crossed to avoid restlessly bouncing the limb. He keeps his eyes from flickering around by fixing it to a single point, briefly wondering if a tree could self-combust from a glare alone.

He’s nervous.

Goddammit, he was nervous.

He knows how irrational he’s being, how misplaced his emotions are. He’s faced titans ripped clean from nightmares without so much of a stutter in his breath, having stared death in the face enough times that he barely registers it more than an inconvenience. And yet, here he is with clammy palms, his heart refusing to relent in its vicious hammering against his ribs.

He’s so preoccupied with the knot in his chest that he doesn’t register the presence beside him until something brushes against his hand— light, deliberate and unmistakebley not the wind.

Levi glances down where resting beside him on the bench is an envelope, his name written across the front. A hand nudges it towards him and his head snaps up to find you sitting there, a smile playing at your lips with an expression that dissolves all his anxious energy back into something that is familiarly softer, warmer.

"You're here," he says, making a poor attempt at curbing the relief in his tone.

"Well, you did ask nicely," you reply, sliding close enough that your shoulder bumps against his, "Though I should mention that you're setting a dangerous precedent with these letters. I might start expecting one every week."

Levi scoffs, the sound edged in humour as one hand tucks the letter into his pocket and the other finds yours.

"I can manage that," he says.

Your smile widens and for the first time, Levi openly smiles back.

-+-

[A/N]: We’re starting Levi Month off strong with a 20.7k long oneshot, because the longfic lover in me couldn’t help but make an entire plotline for what was supposed to be a wholesome standalone story LMAO

I had way more fun that I expected to working on this and would even go as far to say that this is up there as one of my favourite pieces I've written— I hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Let me know your thoughts below <3

TAGLIST: @adreamingsinner

@dont-rainonme do not copy, translate or feed my work into ai

#levi x gn!reader

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#levi x gn!reader