You lay back in bed, watching Levi get ready for the day. He dressed methodically, practice having worn away the challenges of missing fingers and a blind eye. He glanced into the mirror, smoothing his bangs into place, but suddenly stopped.
His hands dropped and he gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles flaring white. You sat up quickly, worried that he was having a flashback- a rarer but still present remnant of the war.
"Levi?" He couldn't hear you. You quickly slid out of bed and moved beside him, edging into his peripheral vision. You raised your voice, careful not to startle him. "Levi, I'm here."
At your voice, his rigid posture fell. He broke his gaze away from the mirror. To your surprise, a sheen of tears glistened in his eyes.
"What's wrong?"
He made a low, dismissive sound, hating the way he'd let emotions spring up and choke him so suddenly. But the shock of it hadn't given him time to process, to shove anything back down where it belonged.
He gestured roughly at his hair. You leaned in, squinting- and noticed a feathery patch of gray threading through his dark locks at the root. You couldn't help smiling. Was that all?
"You're getting older, Captain. There's no shame in that." You ran your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp. "I think you'll make quite the silver fox."
His lips twitched, but he didn't take the compliment. "Tch. It's not that." He caught your hand in his and roughly ran his thumb over your knuckles, staring down at your hands as if they were easier to bear than your face.
"I've never… she didn't…” His throat worked as he swallowed, searching for the words. You waited patiently. "I'm older than my mother," he said at last.
Oh. There was nothing to say, then. That was why it had startled him, his own body renewing grief. You gave him space to think, to keep talking if he wanted, keeping your hand in his like a tether.
“I don’t remember her face, have I told you that?” His face sharpened into something pained, guilty. “But I remember her hair was dark. I imagined the night sky was like that, as a kid.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t at all.”
Levi’s hands trembled. You gently maneuvered him back to the bed. He tipped backward and lay there, frowning at the ceiling. Frustration and grief blended in his voice. “I didn’t expect to get old.”
You curled against his chest. His heart beat against your cheek, soothing the ache in your own. “None of us did, huh? But here we are.”
“Here we are,” he echoed. Another silence fell. When Levi spoke again you almost missed the words- the two of you pinned under the weight of them.
“She would’ve liked you. I know it.”
“Levi,” you started, throat tight, but he shook his head.
Content: Levi reminisces a life with you in it. Canon universe, post-rumbling, angst, talks of death and grief, (implied) major character death.
Word count: 1.3k
A/N: this was originally a prologue of sorts for a story that I lost interest in writing, but @atruewarrior inspired me to pick it up and rework it a bit, so here it is! Thank you endlessly for being my biggest supporter since day one, Dee. Idk if I would’ve started sharing my stuff on here if it weren’t for you <3
crossposted to ao3
dividers by @/strangergraphics
“You want to know about them?”
Gabi and Falco stare up at him with wide eyes from their spot on the floor, kneeling over a box which they’ve already proceeded to dig through (unprompted, of course).
Levi found them just like that, upon crossing the threshold. It’s nothing he isn’t used to; the two kids have been spending more and more time at the little house he has settled into. He might grumble about it, but he secretly finds that he doesn’t mind it all that much.
He isn’t familiar with the box, however. A delivery of some kind, he guesses, but its contents—what looks like memorabilia—don’t make much sense to him.
Until his eyes land on a fragment of the past that he’s suddenly compelled to pick up, that is.
Until the two brats sitting in front of him utter your name. And, as if that wasn’t enough to make him dizzy, they just have to start asking about you.
He supposes he can’t blame them. They must’ve heard of you in passing, here or there. Nothing but fond words, he’s sure.
He’s also aware of how he must look right now. They might be young, but Gabi and Falco aren’t clueless; the lovestruck look on his face only fuels their innocent desire to know more.
“Please, please, please!”
Levi wouldn’t often consider himself a talkative man. And yet, with his eyes stuck on the small object in the palm of his hand (the mediocre looking pendant you’d wear everywhere because he’d gifted it to you; a useless thing, really), the words seem to flow out of him as easily as a river in its own bank—perhaps because he wants the kids, the world, the galaxies and the whole goddamn universe to know how good you are.
…were, he catches himself. Truth is it’s been difficult to run from the thought of you, but he should have known it was going to find him on a beautiful day like today.
Finding a way to begin is the hardest part. There is so much to say, and not nearly enough words. The kids would have loved to spend even just a day with you—and you with them—and maybe he can give them the illusion that you really are here for a moment. Maybe he’ll end up believing it for half a second, too.
He wants to do that without fault, to allow them to know you as you were.
And though he never was one to wear his heart on his sleeve, he tries his best. For you. Despite his best efforts not to, he lets himself remember.
Because there are corners of his mind that are yours and yours alone; letting them collect dust simply won’t do.
So he tells them how you’d fall asleep anywhere. He never understood how someone could sleep that easily, but you did. Against trees or on a chair with your forehead pressed to a stack of reports you swore you’d finish before dinner. He got used to waking you up; a touch to the shoulder was all it took, and you always looked like you’d wandered back from somewhere far away. Then you’d smile—that small, shy smile he’d give anything to see one more time.
Levi has to let out a shaky breath. When did his voice stop being steady?
He’s not going to force you to wake up into a broken world anymore. You’re free to rest for as long as you like, now.
He tells them that you used to leave him notes. Stupid reminders and bad jokes, on his desk or tucked away in his coat pocket. Your handwriting was a mess, probably because you thought faster than your pen could follow. He used to complain, and, if you were feeling particularly annoying, you’d find a way to make him read it out loud just to watch him struggle.
There were days when you couldn't get out of bed. Still, you moved through the day. You probably thought no one noticed; he always did. He’d find you in the mess hall, food untouched, staring through the wall.
But most days you were bright, and maybe that’s why, with the sun so high up in the sky, today is the perfect day to remember you and the way you used to hum when you cleaned your gear. Hange would try and guess the tune, but they never got it right. Quite the pair, the two of you.
Your voice would go up half a note when you lied. You didn't lie often, but when you did, it would be something small: "I ate," when you hadn't. "I'm fine," when you weren’t. He let it slide more than he should have, just like he does now when the kids hide their giggles behind his back, thinking they’re so clever.
He remembers your hands, always warm and always busy and how they shook sometimes. He can feel them sneaking their way around his neck, only to find their rightful place on his chest as you place a tender kiss on his shoulder. Relax, you’d say. Just relax.
You bruised so easily. You’d always end up hurt one way or another during training, and he’d always take care of it (no one else could do it right). You’d tell him ridiculous stories about your scars while he worked, laughing at yourself. That’s how he remembers you: bleeding, and still trying to make the room feel lighter.
People changed around you.
He changed around you.
You made them believe things could be good again. You made him believe it, at times.
You used to keep lists of things people loved, of places you’d been and the ones you wanted to see. He wonders if he’ll find them in that box, among other pieces of you he thought were lost forever.
Maybe he could go sightseeing, one of these days. You’d like him to.
You said it helped you believe there was something waiting for you, after everything. When he asked you what that after looked like you told him to imagine coming home tired, cold and warming his bones beside the fire. You’d spoken those words like you truly wanted to be the one he came home to.
Levi could hardly believe it, but each day he spent near you it felt all the more possible.
He never believed in home either, and yet you were his, weren’t you?
…so where is he supposed to go now?
You had a way of noticing the parts of him he didn't think were worth seeing, and you never asked him for more than he could give. You’d look at him like time had taken pieces, but never all of him. Like there was still something worth holding on to. He still doesn’t understand how you did that.
He thinks he loved you before he even knew what it meant.
You probably knew, just like you knew the right time to bring him his tea, or that he’d often need to rest his head on your lap, just for a moment. You were insufferable like that.
He never told you; what a waste of a perfectly good chance to make you smile.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
(With the look she’s giving him, Gabi probably agrees.)
Most of all, he hates the silence you left behind. It is deafening, which is rather confusing; it seems to him that your presence has never been louder. You like to make yourself known whenever he least expects you to.
The space you filled is all but empty. The love you wore like a second skin is there in your stead: he can see it now, feel it—touch it, if he reaches for it.
It’s like you’re daring him to forget you.
As if he ever could.
You were just... you. The one who made him feel like there was nothing he should face on his own, who’d whisper sweet words onto his skin, words that had no business patching up his ugliest scars. The one who’d hold him oh so tight.
Perhaps tonight you will. Perhaps his nightmares will grow tired of tormenting him and, for once, you won’t become dust slipping through his fingers.
Instead, your hand will settle into his. Softly, surely, perfectly—like it should, like it always did.
I commissioned @reeking-rook to illustrate Levi from my postwar fic, North Star, and boy did they deliver! I am so in love with everything about it. 🤍🖤
excuse me but i cannot be the only one thinking about the fact that when postwar!levi would eat you out, you would be able to feel the slightly rough sensations of his stitched and perfectly healed scar on his bottom lip against your wet cunt? And once Levi finds out you're enjoying it, he would feel a surge of confidence and would totally use that to his advantage uhdugirgihfrirgficbrswhsswhhsss
You're preparing for the event, which requires formal clothes.
You're watching how Levi is trying to fix his white ascot. He's been fighting with that piece of fabric for a few minutes now, still not satisfied with the result. You can almost sense his frustration in the air. You always can. And you also know that he won't ask you for help. His pride will never allow him.
You're getting up from the chair and coming closer. You look at his mirror image, your eyes meet, and you smile a little before speaking:
“Let me help you.”
Levi doesn't say a word, but he turns to you, giving you a free hand. You focus on the task, and slowly take care of this, everything must be perfect, the way he likes it.
You feel his eyes on you, focused the same way on your beauty as you're on the ascot. You're almost blushing; even after all this time, his gaze makes you feel weak on your knees.
When you've done, you look at him, putting your hand on his cheek and tracing his scars with your thumb.
“You look really handsome,” you whisper.
“Tch...” You know Levi resists the urge to roll his eyes.
“I mean it!” You assure him, and to confirm it, you give him a sweet kiss. You feel how he relaxes at the touch of your lips.
And when you pull away, you see he's even more handsome than before. His skin gains some color, and he has happy sparkles in the eyes.
“We should go,” he says. “We can't be late.”
You nod. Levi takes the cane in one hand, and he gives you the free arm. You grab it, and both of you leave the room, looking like the most beautiful couple in the world.
