Choso Kamo. A name you didn't hear much around campus, yet here, he reigned. Shift lead, according to his name tag; which also happens to be littered in little stickers from his younger brother, Yuji. This fact, among many others, is the reason you're head over heels for Kamo. 

"Latte, please." You're happy to be at the front end of the queue, face to face with your half-a-decade long crush. These minute long encounters have somehow kept you going... though now you think about it, it's pretty pathetic. Every time you tell yourself you're finally going to make a move, you just can't stomach it, scraping up any excuse your mind can muster. For a brief period, he’d dated another barista, and you felt like you’d been shot in the chest every time you saw them work together. They broke up though, you’d learned through an overheard conversation that she’d moved away for her masters and he wasn’t into ‘long distance’.

You’ve spoken quite a few times, mostly in your freshman year, when he’d lived in the same halls as you. But he had sadly moved after the first semester, and now you were stuck having to spend money to see his face, and on rare occasions, a light conversation. 

"You spend too much money here." Your total is written in small digits across the card reader and you pay using contactless, quickly putting your phone back into your hoodie pockets. A smile creeps over your face as he hands you the receipt, his painted nails brushing over your open palm. "Tell that to my overdraft." You giggle, making your way toward the collection counter. Choso moves with you, grabbing a mug and starting up the espresso machine. 

Small talk is embarrassingly all you've been able to rouse while in his presence. Sometimes, it's asking how he is, and sometimes you’re able to stray from a basic interaction to make a joke. Today seems to be on the latter trajectory, meaning the conversation will have been dead and buried for the day. You're always left wanting more, though you can't muster the words to continue a conversation. 

Watching Choso move behind the counter never gets old. Black painted fingernails contrast the white ceramic and long, vascular fingers making even the large mugs look small. Days like today, with the heaters on full blast to fight the winter air, he's rolled back his shirt sleeves, revealing pretty tattooed forearms. He pours the espresso, and then textured milk. 

"You're graduating soon, right?" His continued chitchat catches you a little off guard, breaking your usual routine of conversation. You nod with some apprehension, cautious to give any form of verbal response in fear of embarrassment. He looks into your eye, and you feel the hair on your neck start to stand. You swallow.

"There's a careers event this weekend, you going?" He puts the mug in front of you, turning the handle to face your way. There's a lump in your throat as you watch his hands leave the drink on the side. "Oh, nah. I've got like, four days to finish this assignment." It's a stupid response - you should absolutely be going if Choso is asking you, yet your idiotic mind flicks into autopilot and leaves the dead braincells to do the talking. 

"Oh, right. I'll probably be roped into overtime, anyways." His eyes drop to your drink, awaiting your departure from his countertop. The dishwasher needs to go on, and he'll have to grab another carton of milk from the fridge out back. You hesitate, but leave anyway, unable to find the spark of confidence to request his accompaniment. 

A smaller table toward the back calls your name - your usual spot. There’s a charger port nestled in behind the chair, perfect for the unknown amount of time you were going to spend here, and it’s one of the only tables that doesn’t wobble. Pulling out your laptop, you're cringing at the interaction that had just taken place, internally screaming at yourself for denying what was practically an invitation. 

You pull up the word document you've sold your soul to, a dissertation due in just a few days. Tens of thousands of words deep and you still think it's lackluster, despite the effort you've imbued. This is worth a hefty percentage of your grade, and will reflect years of your life. It's far too difficult to turn in one piece of work and act as though it speaks for all six years of your education, knowledge, and experience. For it to be torn apart and examined like some sort of lab experiment.

It doesn't help that you're completely distracted after speaking with Choso. Today is a flush, even with an empty mug, you're left with a few sentences strung onto that lengthy document. 

It's nearing five and you're left with an ultimatum: another drink and some sort of miracle, or to just accept defeat and return home. Sighing, you pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes closed. The laptop screen is reluctantly closed, and you sit back in your chair for a few more moments. 

"You're still here?" You think you've finally cracked when you hear Choso's voice from beside you. "It's been like, four hours." 

You open your eyes slowly, and sure enough you're met with Kamo, a baggy hoodie embracing his wide frame, headphones hanging from his neck. He's got a tote bag slung over his shoulder with his thumb resting over the straps, clearly leaving for the evening. Your gaze flickers over to the counter, and you can see Gojo tying his apron, before fluffing up his own hair in the reflection of the espresso machine. Choso awaits a reply, lips pressed together, gaze boring into yours. 

"I uh-" You stutter, cursing yourself for the second time today. "I'm heading off now. Gonna have to brew a pot at home." That awkward smile returns across your face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you off." 

You grit your teeth and cringe, clenching your fists under the table. "No, I know." The eye contact you usually forced yourself to return is no more as you hang your head in shame. This might be the worst interaction you've ever had. 

"Uh, I've never asked what you're studying." Choso pipes up again and you almost choke on your own breath as you glance back to him in disbelief. You rub your eyes, convincing yourself he is just a delusion stemming from exhaustion, but sure enough, when you look up he's still there. "English Lit. What about you?" A sentence left your lips that didn't make you want to scream into a pillow; progress. 

"Fine Art, part time. Graduating this summer." He clears his throat, gesturing to the door. "Hey, you coming?" His hand presses against the glass as he’s glancing over his shoulder, two loose buns moving with his head, stray hairs falling to frame the sides of his face. He opens the door and steps forward, and you gain on him, taking the door’s weight in your palm. Your hand lands just beneath his, cool glass soothing your burning skin. 

“You live near campus?” The cold air hits your cheeks, and you zip your jacket a little higher. He makes his way toward the university by turning right, and you follow. You’re not quite sure how far apart you’re supposed to stand, choosing to lag behind over getting too close. 

“Yeah, in the apartments behind the dorms.” Choso nods, slowing his steps and looking over his shoulder. He stops until you catch up to his side, and then continues to plod on. 

With winter in full swing, it’s almost dark out, the sun hidden behind buildings as the moon is sure to rise. Streetlights illuminate your path beneath a grey sky, a sheen over the concrete that you’re sure will turn to frost by tomorrow. You’ll have to dig out your trainers tonight, something grippy to offer support on route to lectures. 

“What about you?” You enquire, glancing up at him. His eyes are on the pavement, brown, and half-lidded. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around, since you moved.” He swallows, and his eyes raise, before he tilts his head toward you, making brief eye contact. You can’t read his expression, but the air feels heavy. “I live in an apartment, I had to take custody of my brother.” His voice is low. “It’s not far from where we used to be, I got a hardship grant from the university to help, so it’s not all bad.” He stops as you near your building, pointing. “I cut through here.” He speaks, and you hide your disappointment. 

“Well, thanks for walking me back.” You choke out, all too awkwardly. Choso seems a little entertained, with the side of his lip quirking up. You look at the black line painted over the bridge of his nose, then up to his eyes. You wonder if this’ll be the most meaningful interaction you’ll have before you graduate. 

Choso Kamo. A name you didn't hear much around campus, yet here, he reigned. Shift lead, according to his name tag; which also happens to be littered in little stickers from his younger brother, Yuji. This fact, among many others, is the reason you're head over heels for Kamo. 

"Latte, please." You're happy to be at the front end of the queue, face to face with your half-a-decade long crush. These minute long encounters have somehow kept you going... though now you think about it, it's pretty pathetic. Every time you tell yourself you're finally going to make a move, you just can't stomach it, scraping up any excuse your mind can muster. For a brief period, he’d dated another barista, and you felt like you’d been shot in the chest every time you saw them work together. They broke up though, you’d learned through an overheard conversation that she’d moved away for her masters and he wasn’t into ‘long distance’.

You’ve spoken quite a few times, mostly in your freshman year, when he’d lived in the same halls as you. But he had sadly moved after the first semester, and now you were stuck having to spend money to see his face, and on rare occasions, a light conversation. 

"You spend too much money here." Your total is written in small digits across the card reader and you pay using contactless, quickly putting your phone back into your hoodie pockets. A smile creeps over your face as he hands you the receipt, his painted nails brushing over your open palm. "Tell that to my overdraft." You giggle, making your way toward the collection counter. Choso moves with you, grabbing a mug and starting up the espresso machine. 

Small talk is embarrassingly all you've been able to rouse while in his presence. Sometimes, it's asking how he is, and sometimes you’re able to stray from a basic interaction to make a joke. Today seems to be on the latter trajectory, meaning the conversation will have been dead and buried for the day. You're always left wanting more, though you can't muster the words to continue a conversation. 

Watching Choso move behind the counter never gets old. Black painted fingernails contrast the white ceramic and long, vascular fingers making even the large mugs look small. Days like today, with the heaters on full blast to fight the winter air, he's rolled back his shirt sleeves, revealing pretty tattooed forearms. He pours the espresso, and then textured milk. 

"You're graduating soon, right?" His continued chitchat catches you a little off guard, breaking your usual routine of conversation. You nod with some apprehension, cautious to give any form of verbal response in fear of embarrassment. He looks into your eye, and you feel the hair on your neck start to stand. You swallow.

"There's a careers event this weekend, you going?" He puts the mug in front of you, turning the handle to face your way. There's a lump in your throat as you watch his hands leave the drink on the side. "Oh, nah. I've got like, four days to finish this assignment." It's a stupid response - you should absolutely be going if Choso is asking you, yet your idiotic mind flicks into autopilot and leaves the dead braincells to do the talking. 

"Oh, right. I'll probably be roped into overtime, anyways." His eyes drop to your drink, awaiting your departure from his countertop. The dishwasher needs to go on, and he'll have to grab another carton of milk from the fridge out back. You hesitate, but leave anyway, unable to find the spark of confidence to request his accompaniment. 

A smaller table toward the back calls your name - your usual spot. There’s a charger port nestled in behind the chair, perfect for the unknown amount of time you were going to spend here, and it’s one of the only tables that doesn’t wobble. Pulling out your laptop, you're cringing at the interaction that had just taken place, internally screaming at yourself for denying what was practically an invitation. 

You pull up the word document you've sold your soul to, a dissertation due in just a few days. Tens of thousands of words deep and you still think it's lackluster, despite the effort you've imbued. This is worth a hefty percentage of your grade, and will reflect years of your life. It's far too difficult to turn in one piece of work and act as though it speaks for all six years of your education, knowledge, and experience. For it to be torn apart and examined like some sort of lab experiment.

It doesn't help that you're completely distracted after speaking with Choso. Today is a flush, even with an empty mug, you're left with a few sentences strung onto that lengthy document. 

It's nearing five and you're left with an ultimatum: another drink and some sort of miracle, or to just accept defeat and return home. Sighing, you pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes closed. The laptop screen is reluctantly closed, and you sit back in your chair for a few more moments. 

"You're still here?" You think you've finally cracked when you hear Choso's voice from beside you. "It's been like, four hours." 

You open your eyes slowly, and sure enough you're met with Kamo, a baggy hoodie embracing his wide frame, headphones hanging from his neck. He's got a tote bag slung over his shoulder with his thumb resting over the straps, clearly leaving for the evening. Your gaze flickers over to the counter, and you can see Gojo tying his apron, before fluffing up his own hair in the reflection of the espresso machine. Choso awaits a reply, lips pressed together, gaze boring into yours. 

"I uh-" You stutter, cursing yourself for the second time today. "I'm heading off now. Gonna have to brew a pot at home." That awkward smile returns across your face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you off." 

You grit your teeth and cringe, clenching your fists under the table. "No, I know." The eye contact you usually forced yourself to return is no more as you hang your head in shame. This might be the worst interaction you've ever had. 

"Uh, I've never asked what you're studying." Choso pipes up again and you almost choke on your own breath as you glance back to him in disbelief. You rub your eyes, convincing yourself he is just a delusion stemming from exhaustion, but sure enough, when you look up he's still there. "English Lit. What about you?" A sentence left your lips that didn't make you want to scream into a pillow; progress. 

"Fine Art, part time. Graduating this summer." He clears his throat, gesturing to the door. "Hey, you coming?" His hand presses against the glass as he’s glancing over his shoulder, two loose buns moving with his head, stray hairs falling to frame the sides of his face. He opens the door and steps forward, and you gain on him, taking the door’s weight in your palm. Your hand lands just beneath his, cool glass soothing your burning skin. 

“You live near campus?” The cold air hits your cheeks, and you zip your jacket a little higher. He makes his way toward the university by turning right, and you follow. You’re not quite sure how far apart you’re supposed to stand, choosing to lag behind over getting too close. 

“Yeah, in the apartments behind the dorms.” Choso nods, slowing his steps and looking over his shoulder. He stops until you catch up to his side, and then continues to plod on. 

With winter in full swing, it’s almost dark out, the sun hidden behind buildings as the moon is sure to rise. Streetlights illuminate your path beneath a grey sky, a sheen over the concrete that you’re sure will turn to frost by tomorrow. You’ll have to dig out your trainers tonight, something grippy to offer support on route to lectures. 

“What about you?” You enquire, glancing up at him. His eyes are on the pavement, brown, and half-lidded. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around, since you moved.” He swallows, and his eyes raise, before he tilts his head toward you, making brief eye contact. You can’t read his expression, but the air feels heavy. “I live in an apartment, I had to take custody of my brother.” His voice is low. “It’s not far from where we used to be, I got a hardship grant from the university to help, so it’s not all bad.” He stops as you near your building, pointing. “I cut through here.” He speaks, and you hide your disappointment. 

“Well, thanks for walking me back.” You choke out, all too awkwardly. Choso seems a little entertained, with the side of his lip quirking up. You look at the black line painted over the bridge of his nose, then up to his eyes. You wonder if this’ll be the most meaningful interaction you’ll have before you graduate. 

As you feel the rumble of movement beneath you, the momentum causing you to sway a little in your seat, you stare unblinking at the opposite window. Flashes of advertisements and thick concrete tunnel walls speed by in a blur, and you allow your mind to wander.

Maybe you could go to that new cafe in the morning that opened up on College Street. It’s been a while since you’ve taken a moment just for yourself. Or maybe you could take a book to the park after cleaning your apartment. The weather was supposed to be nice, and that used to be your favorite thing to do before…

The train slows to a stop before you continue down that line of thinking. With a droning chime, the doors open to signal would-be passengers to either depart or climb aboard.

A pleasant female voice erupts from the intercom system. “This is Freedom Park Station. Please stand clear of the doors.”

It’s not unheard of for others to be out so late, particularly on a Friday night, so to see a man walk aboard doesn’t immediately surprise you.

What does cause you to do a double take is the state of him.

The first thing you see is the insignia of the wings of freedom, a symbol you immediately recognize on the back of the green cloak covering his upper half from one of your favorite shows, Attack on Titan.

The second thing you notice is that he’s soaked.

That’s odd. You don’t remember it raining earlier in the day, but there could have been a brief downpour in another part of the city. But he’s clearly coming from an anime convention. Those were usually held at the convention center downtown.

The man heavily slumps forward against the railing. His back is turned toward you, but you watch him thoughtfully, admiring the impressive handiwork of his costume. From under the cloak, you see the intricately wrapped belts of the omni-directional gear, as well as the boxes along his thighs that are used in the show to store blades. When you see a reflection of an advertisement briefly glimmer off of the surface, you realize that they’re actually metal.

Those must be heavy. Did he make them himself?

The train begins to move again and your thoughts are stopped short when the man stumbles, nearly falling. That’s when he turns and you notice the blood.

His face is covered in it.

You’re on your feet before you even realize it. “Excuse me.”

He turns at the sound of your voice and you see the source: a rough cut just above his right eyebrow.

The man sways unsteadily on his feet against the movement of the train. The look he gives you is immediately distrusting, but he doesn’t back away.

You stop a few feet from him. “Sir, are you okay?” When his eyes narrow, you point to the badge pinned to your work scrubs. “I’m a nurse, see?”

You wait as his eyes study your hospital badge for a moment.

“Where the hell am I?”

Okay, that’s potentially a cause for concern. “Uh.” You try to remember what stop he got on from. “Freedom Park.” The look on his face doesn’t resemble recognition. “You’re not from around here?”

For a moment, he seems to think. “No.”

There’s a sharp jolt from the train car and you both sway a little, him more than you.

You gesture to the empty seat next to him. “Here. You should probably sit down.”

He doesn’t argue as he takes it.

Looking him over, you consider your options. It isn’t too late to take him back to the hospital, but you don’t exactly want to after spending the entire day there already. From the looks of it, it doesn’t look like he’ll need stitches, but it doesn’t feel right to leave him alone in the state he’s in either.

“Can you tell me what happened?” you ask.

The man looks around for a moment. The look on his face turns apprehensive. “I don’t remember. There was a flash… and then I just woke up here.”

You raise your brows. Something about the way he says it feels like he isn’t being completely honest, but you suppose the bleeding itself is a more pressing concern right now anyway.

“Okay,” you say. “Well, that cut doesn’t look too deep, but you should get it cleaned.” You pause for a moment, debating. “My apartment is at the next stop.”

You had meant it as a suggestion, but the man doesn’t seem to follow.

“I can look at it for you,” you add. “Maybe help you find wherever you were supposed to stay.”

He seems to consider it for a long moment, looking from you to around the empty train car and then back to your badge.

“Alright,” he says as the train begins to slow. When it comes to a stop and the doors open with their loud hydraulic hiss, he follows you back out onto the platform.

It’s quiet for most of the walk back. You go through the motions of exiting the station—swiping your pass and leading the way up the winding corridors to street level while the man follows, watching your movements and your surroundings with a puzzled sort of awe.

It isn’t until you’re pulling out the keys to your place before you turn to him again.

“So, what’s your name?”

He gives you a subdued look. “Levi.”

You smile.

“No, really…” you press, looking over his clothes again. It’s obvious that’s what he’s going for now that you see him up close—the scout uniform and his undercut. Come to think of it, he has Levi’s frame as well. And his eyes.

It’s a damn good cosplay actually. If Levi Ackerman were to magically come out of the television screen as a flesh and blood person, he’d look exactly like this guy.

But judging by his expression and the complete lack of response, he isn’t interested in giving you any sort of real information.

You turn then, your smile dropping, and lead the way into the apartment building. “O-kay.”

It’s possible, you guess, that his name really is Levi. Just a very bizarre coincidence that he happens to look and act exactly like your favorite character from an anime and also likes the anime as well. There are billions of people in the world though. Stranger things happen all the time.

Reluctant to piss him off further, the rest of the walk up to the second floor is done in more silence. You unlock your front door and lead the way inside, smiling when you hear the telltale trill of your cat greeting you at the door.

“Hello, Luna,” you greet, bending down to run your hand between the shorthair’s ears. She pushes herself up into your hand a little further with a chirp.

Still at the door, the man—Levi—watches.

“Luna?” he asks in a flat tone.

You straighten back up, noting his hesitancy to walk forward. “You’re not allergic, are you?” That would be some cosmic bad luck on his part to deal with a head wound and an allergic reaction in one night.

But thankfully, he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s affectionate but she’s harmless,” you say, sidestepping around your cat to walk further into your living room. When Levi joins you, you gesture to the sofa. “Have a seat there. I’ll be right back with some supplies.”

You don’t wait around to see if he does what you say, instead dipping down the hall toward a small office. It’s mostly just a place for all of your trinkets—a desk filled with a few figures and a computer. Some bookshelves line the walls, collecting dust. It’s been months since you’ve picked up a good book or did much of anything in this room, really. But you know exactly where to look for the supply kits you’ve managed to stock up on from the hospital.

After you find some wound wash, you grab a towel from the bathroom next door and return to the living room.

Levi is there, sitting on the edge of the sofa as if he’s afraid to get comfortable. His gaze keeps jumping around the room, taking in the layout and decor, and his fists rest stiffly on his knees. Luna is next to him, tentatively sniffing at his knuckles with a curious stretch of her neck.

You shoo her away gently and take her place on the sofa. The angle of light allows you to see the source of the drying blood on his face a bit better.

Quietly, you look him over. “How are you feeling?”

He watches as you slip on a pair of gloves. “I’ve had worse.”

You snort lightly and begin to prep the fresh towel with wound wash.

“Do you have stuff like this happen to you often?” you ask, now reaching to press the towel to his face.

At your question, he pulls his one uncovered eye from you, surveying the room again. “Nothing quite like this.”

“What happened?”

Levi is quiet for a moment before he says, “It was nothing. I fell.”

You pause your movements, frowning. “This doesn’t look like the kind of cut you’d get from a fall.”

“Why does it matter?”

Judging by his defensive tone, he knows more than he’s letting on, but you can’t figure out why he isn’t being honest.

But with him already in your apartment, you don’t want to do anything to unnecessarily antagonize him. Even in his current state, he looks strong and capable enough to hurt you.

“Did you have somewhere you were staying?” you ask, changing the subject.

You gently dab the towel down the curve of his jaw and watch the muscle tense beneath your touch.

“No,” he finally says.

“You came all the way here for a convention and didn’t book a hotel?”

“A convention?”

“Yeah,” you nod, gesturing to his clothes. “You’re a scout, right?”

At your words, his expression becomes a bit more relieved. He nods. “Yes. I got onto that... train thing because I hoped it might take me to headquarters.”

You blink as you listen to him. Did he hit his head hard enough for him to think that he is Levi Ackerman?

Maybe you should take him to the hospital anyway just to get him checked out. He seems perfectly lucid otherwise though, if a bit confused.

You reach forward and check his head wound again. Just like you thought, it’s too shallow to need stitches and isn’t bleeding anymore, so that’s a good sign. Maybe it could wait until morning.

“Do you feel sick?” you ask, searching his expression for any lack of focus or disorientation but find none. “Nauseated? Dizzy?”

“Other than the stabbing pain above my eye?” he deadpans, glaring at you. “No. I feel fine.”

You sigh, weighing your options.

You could finish cleaning him up and then send him on his way, but he’s already said he has nowhere to go and he isn’t from the city. But then the other option is letting him stay in your spare bedroom until tomorrow morning, potentially putting yourself into a dangerous situation with a stranger…

This is insane, considering letting a complete stranger stay in your apartment. You’d feel guilty if you just let him go and he got into trouble. At the very least, you could make sure he has somewhere to sleep. You could lock your bedroom door. He looks rough around the edges but he also doesn’t seem particularly interested in you.

You get to your feet and look over his clothes once more. “You can stay here tonight if you’d like. There’s a spare bedroom and a shower down the hall.”

He gives you a distrustful look. “You’re putting a lot of faith in a stranger.”

You raise a brow, trying not to look like you’re worried about the exact same thing. “I guess we both are. But if you have another option, then you’re free to leave.”

That seems to give him pause, and he looks around the room once more.

“Where did you say the shower was?”

“Down the hall, second door on the left,” you tell him. “I’ll get you a towel.”

You dispose quickly of the bloodied towel in your kitchen trash along with your gloves and turn back down the hall again. When you return, Levi is standing awkwardly next to your sofa. He seems to be pointedly ignoring Luna, who is still curiously sniffing him from the armrest.

“These should fit,” you tell him, patting a folded up pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt tucked beneath your arm. “Just leave your things in the bathroom and I’ll make sure your clothes are washed in the morning.”

He takes the items from you with another skeptical glance. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I have to do laundry anyway,” you wave him off. “It’s no trouble.” Quickly, you point at him. “Just don’t scrub at that cut. You’ll just make it bleed again.”

He doesn’t move immediately when you back away to let him pass by, but the promise of a hot shower seems to eventually override whatever keeps him fixed in place. Without another word, he retreats down the hall, right to the second door on the left like you told him.

What a strange man.

It takes fifteen minutes before you hear the shower turn on.

In that time, you busy yourself with finding a spare blanket and a pillow and leave them on the sofa. You tidy up a little next, grabbing leftover drinking glasses off the table and discarded socks that had been pushed under the coffee table. It isn’t much, but you’re left feeling slightly less anxious about the state of your place by the time you’re finished. You like to keep things tidy to begin with, but the place certainly looks lived in right now.

Curious, you sink into a chair and pull out your phone while you’re waiting and click on the search engine, quickly typing in a few keywords to check on any local anime conventions happening in the area.

There are no ongoing events, and the next one isn’t happening until six months from now.

Well, that eliminates your theory. So then what the hell was he doing cosplaying on the street on a random Friday? If he was with someone, he wouldn’t have been wandering around alone and he said he wasn’t staying anywhere in the area.

The thought occurs to you that maybe this is some sort of trap to lure unsuspecting women into vulnerable positions, preying on a person’s compassion. But then, that was very real blood on his face and a very real wound, and he has had ample opportunities to attack and rob you if that was truly what he was after. He might look intimidating, but there’s nothing about him that screams that you’re in any sort of immediate danger either.

Maybe you can get some real answers out of him in the morning when he’s less grumpy.

You’re feeding Luna in the kitchen when Levi reappears.

With silent relief, you note that his wound seems to still be fine. He looks healthier in general after cleaning off, but he also looks… well, even more like Levi Ackerman. It’s kind of uncanny.

“What?”

You jump when you hear his voice. He’s watching you from the living room, looking about as confused as you feel.

Shit, have you been staring? “Nothing.” You sigh and rub at your eyes. It’s been too long of a day to start questioning your sanity. “Are you hungry or anything? I have some leftovers I can heat up really quick.”

“I’m fine.”

He glances at the television on the other side of the room before looking around again, lingering at times on things like the lamps in the corners and over to the open kitchen.

His hands fidget in his lap.

“I’ll be out of here first thing in the morning.”

The sound of his voice surprises you.

“Where are you going to go?”

He shrugs. “I’ll figure it out.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek thoughtfully. He’s a grown man, so it shouldn’t concern you what he does. But his comments about not being from here, and the whole thing about him trying to find ‘headquarters’? You’d feel better knowing there isn’t anything you’ve missed.

“At least let me take you to the hospital to get that cut checked out,” you suggest. “We can go first thing while your clothes are drying.”

He scoffs but the sound is entirely devoid of humor. “I told you I’m fine.”

“So it’ll be a quick visit and you can be on your way in no time,” you reply. “One of the doctors I work with can look you over before his first patient. He won’t mind.”

“Or I could just leave in the middle of the night.”

“I guess.” You shrug. “I wouldn’t be able to stop you, but that’s your choice. My conscience can be clear as long as I’ve offered to help you. I can’t make you take it, but I think it’s a good idea.”

He glares at you from the sofa, but doesn’t reply.

You get the sense that he doesn’t want to be bothered anymore. With the night he’s had, he probably just wants some rest, and you’re more than willing to get some sleep yourself.

Now that the shock of the night has worn off a bit, your body feels heavy as you get to your feet.

Levi stays quiet as you move around the room, shutting off lights and locking your front door.

“The room you’ll be staying in is the last door on the right. I’ll get you up in the morning,” you tell him. This prompts him to get to his feet, following you down the hall with his blanket and pillow. “Get some sleep.”

That earns you little more than a grunt of acknowledgement.

When you get into your room, you make sure to lock the door and find a baseball bat from the depths of your closet to sit by your bed. You’ve always been a light sleeper, so you hope that you’ll be able to hear if he decides to try anything.

You go through your nightly routine and climb into bed, then send off a text before closing your eyes—a message to one of your friends and fellow co-workers at the hospital.

Hey, could you do me a huge favor tomorrow morning? It’ll be quick.

He watched you a lot. Enough to know that you were always late for breakfast, trained yourself to the bones even on your off days, volunteered to help around with anything you could, and were particularly good at mending clothes. He knew you liked eating with Hange almost every night, and it was the part of your day he enjoyed the most. On each of those nights he followed the two of you into the mess hall, sitting far enough that Hange wouldn’t get the idea of asking him to join, but still giving himself the appropriate distance to observe you. To commit to memory every little detail he could, how you ate, how you sat, what you talked about, if your nose also scrunched up at the disgusting taste of the tea everyone but him was subjected to; any information he could gather before the sound of your laugh warmed his chest enough to make him leave.

Truthfully, he could have kept that stalker-ish routine going for ages, and he fully intended to; being able to keep his distance while still getting the smallest doses of you seemed like an ideal arrangement in his mind.

It wasn’t until one damning night that he decided this restrictive mindset had to change. He saw you walking with another recruit, late, and alone. He couldn’t properly hear whatever wildly amusing conversation you were having from where he stood; regardless of that, he could still clearly make out the faint sound of your laugh accompanying it. 

The small scene was enough to break him from his ridiculous self-imposed prison. Levi didn’t want to allow himself to indulge in his desires for you. He didn’t feel he deserved to be with you in any capacity further than working alongside each other. Despite that, the idea that someone else could come in and take from him the possibility of a chance with you was much more mortifying than his own insecurities and concerns.

From that alone, he made the decision to allow himself a sliver of your time. And so, the very next day you were graced with your first private conversation with the captain, if you could even call it that.

He approached you after you were done with training, standing against a wooden beam trying to steady your breathing, hair messy, and sweat coating your forehead. 

“Your stance was horrible today.” The abruptness of his presence and his comment caught you off guard.

“What?” You looked at him with a puzzled look, processing whether he was actually addressing you or not.

“During training. You were terrible.” He explained, his tone maintaining its harshness despite your confusion.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so, I’m out of my element today.” You explained plainly, a half-smile tugging on your lips both at the bluntness, and the fact this was probably the first time he came up to you alone.

“And yesterday as well.” 

“Right.”

“You’re not sleeping well.” More of a statement than a question, the dark circles you've been sporting this week probably gave it away.

“I've been having a hard time with it, yes.”

He gave you a firm nod, pursing his lips together in thought. 

“I’ll come find you tonight, I have a tea for that.” He turned around the moment he finished without a second look, not giving you an actual chance to accept or refuse.

Since then, the two of you started a small routine. He’d look for you after dinner and guide you on a brief walk to the top floor of the main building. A teapot and two cups already placed on the window ledge in the back of the room, with a singular candle lit close by; he hoped that the minimal amount of light would make his intense gaze less noticeable. 

It was supposed to last only for however long you were struggling to sleep but continued far past those days. Most times he wouldn’t talk, only listened; he’d let you rattle on about the day if you pleased, indulging you by participating in idle gossip.

“I can reprimand them for that. I trust you’re aware.” He’d slip in when you shared a little too much about the escapades of some recruits, forgetting for a moment he had recently become your superior. 

“Well, this is all alleged. Maybe I didn’t hear it right. This tea is great by the way; is it a different kind?" A blush creeping up your cheeks while you attempted to change the subject, looking at him with a sheepish smile that begged him to forget your prior information.

It took a few weeks, but he started contributing with topics of his own little by little. An opinion, a small anecdote, a complaint. Slowly chipping away at the facade of mystery and harshness that used to be all you got from him before. A part of Levi worried that the more you learnt about him, the less interested you’ll be, but the enjoyment he got from your small interactions vastly outweighed that concern.

A year into meeting you, Levi had grown accustomed to having you near him, even if for brief moments. He enjoyed your company and physically couldn't continue hiding it from you. He still kept enough distance to make his ever-growing feelings unknown to everyone else, and didn’t properly confess anything to you, but his advances grew slightly bolder. 

Your nightly routine changed a lot from how it originally started. Moving from ten minutes of sipping tea in a semipublic space to secluded meetings in the dead of night. Going as far as sneaking you in his private quarters when he came back from travels you were not part of. 

Being away from you became the key that pushed your connection forward. Every time he came back, he wanted to have you around for the night, and he needed the certainty that you wouldn’t be interrupted; the reassurance of it enabled him to make these encounters last for hours.

He sat in a wooden chair next to his desk, beckoning you closer with a simple command. “Show me what happened.”

“You can’t see the bruise with my uniform on.” You argued with a stifled laugh; you had complained to him about a minor injury you sustained recently, something insignificant that happened while he was gone.

“Then change.”

You stared at him bewildered.

“Do I have to do it for you?” His stern tone didn’t falter; it would’ve seemed like an order more than playful teasing, if it wasn’t for how relaxed he looked.

“You returned as tactful as ever, I see.” You laughed, amused at his actions. You made your way to the bedroom, missing the smirk on his face.

You returned to the room in a thin nightgown that made Levi tense at the sight, hands tucking into fists on his lap before relaxing again. His hand sprawled on the back of your right thigh without question once you stood in front of him, pulling it closer to properly view the wide bruise on the outer side of it; purplish hues going from your mid-thigh to the bottom of your glute. 

“This is nothing to you?” It came out softer than he intended. Thinking of you being hurt when he wasn’t around, no matter how little, lowered his guard. 

“It looks worse than it is.”

His hand carefully grazed the bruise, hiking up the edge of your gown in the process. You shivered at the touch. Goosebumps covered your skin, and it did not go unnoticed by him. “Does it hurt?”

“No. I think this helps.” You humored, not bothering to hide your enjoyment of his treatment. 

“I’m sure it does, brat.” He smiled, small, but enough for you to notice. His hand still caressing your leg despite his response.

It took Levi five years to make his feelings for you properly known. But it’s not like you, or others, hadn’t suspected them before that. Despite keeping the matter private, much like most things about him, sometimes he struggled to adequately hide that he had a soft spot for you.

He never outright said he cared about you, never properly held you, but all the things he did do, they proved to be more intimate and sweeter than any regular courting could ever be.

For your first birthday after joining the Corps he went out of his way to gift you a treat from a bakery in your home district. It became a tradition that he fulfilled every year since; he’d go as far as getting it for you in advance if an expedition took place around the date, just in case one of you didn't make it back after.

In your second year, after an expedition where two members of your graduating class were tragically lost, he sneaked you into his quarters every night for a week—Both Erwin and Hange knew but they didn’t say word of it—he’d lay you down next to him, let you cry out your grieve for as long as you needed to, and patiently waited until you grew tired enough to sleep to get some shut-eye of his own.

“I’ll never get used to it, will I?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. 

“No.” While your eyes were glued to the ceiling, Levi’s gaze was fixed on you. His expression was unreadable as usual, but he was completely tormented, wishing he could take this hurt away from you.

“Am I being weak?”

“You’re being human.”

“That’s a yes.” You smiled, attempting to joke, yet the humor in your voice didn’t reach your eyes. Tears fell down in a stream, and Levi had to try his hardest not to reach out and wipe them off your cheeks. “I just—” Your voice broke. To him, the sound evoked a feeling adjacent to being stabbed. “I feel I should be stronger than this. I shouldn’t be surprised over what I signed up for.”

“You’re not surprised; you’re hurt.” Levi chastised, shifting his position to look at you properly. “You did your job, you don’t have to be strong now. Now stop this nonsense of acting like it's shameful to grieve. At least don't do it with me.” 

You didn’t say anything—instead looking back at the ceiling while your hand found his arm, curling up to his side when the tears started burning your eyes once again.

He didn’t try to hold you, but he didn’t pull away. Even after you fell asleep. 

In your third year, when Erwin told him he’d be pulling you out of his team to make you a squad leader, he became sick almost immediately. The notion that you would no longer be under his supervision, that even if you went on the same expeditions as he did, he’d have to wait until the very end before he could know if you were still alive. It circled his head all morning and gave him a headache so outstanding he had to dismiss himself from training that afternoon. 

“What do you think?” Erwin ended the silence that persisted since he broke the news. 

Levi stared absentmindedly. “I think she’ll be a fantastic leader.”

“Is that it?”

“Are you asking for my permission?”

“No, I simply respect you enough to ask for your opinion.” 

“Unless you’re willing to put my preferences above what’s best for humanity, don't ask for my opinion on what you should do with her.”

“Because your preference would be to retire her immediately?” Erwin prodded, with no real expectation for Levi to speak up. It wasn’t the first time he brought you up, and it wouldn’t be the last if Levi kept refusing to trust him with this information. “You don’t have to answer that. I understand you want to avoid telling me what I already know.”

Following your change in rank, the order of retreating met Levi with a wave of asphyxiating dread rather than relief, one that didn’t dissipate until he was able to spot you on your horse, still breathing and in one piece. These concerns were never brought up to you or anyone else for that matter—despite Erwin being aware and willing to speak with him about it if he could just be honest—even if his fear of losing you and not being able to do anything about it grew stronger with every expedition, he kept his worries regarding your well-being private. You always returned; he had no reason to discuss anything he felt. If you were alive and well, he’d be able to mask his love for you for a while longer.

It wasn’t until your fifth year as a member of the Survey Corps when his ‘while longer’ ended. When he had to come to terms with his fears, and his feelings.

He kept his composure as best as he could while going through the list of those dead and missing with Erwin, watching other scouts load bodies into carriages, though he’s sure it did not go unnoticed how tightly he was gripping his gear while he waited for every name to be read. Even then, after all bodies were loaded, the trek to the walls started, and confirmation that you were not one of those lost received; his heartbeat did not return to a healthy rhythm. He needed to see you.

This was the most stressed he ever felt trying to find you after an expedition. Deep down, he could feel something about today was different, as if you not being okay was something he could physically feel. And it didn’t help the fact that it took him so long to spot you; carriages and horses already on the move to safety without him being able to catch a single glimpse of you. 

Every second that passed he could feel his body tense further, cold sweat reaching his palms, a knot tight in his throat that only got tighter the moment he saw you. That sickening feeling of dread he thought he had grown used to crashed down on him and threatened to finish him right then and there. He spotted you being carried by Miche when he made it past the wall. Your body limp in his hold, your inability to even keep your head up made Levi assume the worst and had him rush in your direction before he even realized it.

He got off the horse calm and collected, as if his heart wasn’t threatening to rip itself out of his chest. His relief upon seeing you were still breathing was immediate, yet short-lived as he paid more attention to your injuries. Your left thigh and arm were bandaged. There was blood all over you, dripping from your nose, your mouth, and the seams of the binds on your wounded limbs; you must’ve been hurt close before the order to retreat was given.

It made him sick and brought a vile sting to his eyes, a sensation he had long forgotten.

“She’s okay.” Miche assured him, smiling lightly at how Levi was frowning at you as though telepathically reprimanding you for getting to this state. “Nothing’s broken, but she’s weak. She couldn’t keep riding.”

Levi nodded firmly, not trusting himself to speak right away. He reached under your body, taking you in his arms with little protest from the other man. “I’ll take her. I don’t want her in a carriage.”

“She’d be laying down.” Miche pointed out yet still took a step back once Levi had a solid hold on you, not really wanting to interfere. 

“She’d be alone.” 

Miche nodded, holding back his reaction at what the captain was displaying, and promptly retreating to his horse; more than ready to get back and tell Erwin about this little interaction. 

You were conscious enough to hear the conversation, although far too drained to register the worry behind Levi’s tone let alone comment on it. You had half a mind to realize he carried you back to his horse, helping you on it before getting behind you. He took a hold of the handle and took off in a slow ride, while his left arm went around your waist, keeping you tucked back against him.

One of your hands went to his forearm, giving it a small squeeze to show your acknowledgement before relaxing again.

“Are you okay?” He questioned quietly. Not that anyone would be able to hear him past the sound of hooves against the ground and the many murmurs of civilians watching them pass by. 

You turned your head enough to look at him out of the corner of your eye. The concern written all over his face almost made you forget the waves of pain crashing through you. You nodded, small, before letting the back of your head rest on his shoulder; the tiny action having wasted the remainder of your energy.

“Liar.” He murmured against your hair, the touch of his lips against your scalp so fleeting you could only assume you imagined it. 

That night Levi had been more consumed in his own thoughts than he would have appreciated. You were out most of the ride back to the base; the only thing keeping you upright was his firm hold on you that didn’t falter once. He spent that time wondering what happened, how did you injure yourself, did somebody help you, did you have to drag yourself all the way to your horse and pretend you didn’t feel so bad until it was inevitable?

He imagined every single heartbreaking scenario his brain could come up with, images of you crying out while you bled in the woods flashed through his mind, torturing himself with the idea that maybe you had been near him, maybe you even called out for him and he didn’t hear it, trying to find ways to blame himself for your poor state.

He woke you gently once you made it to the base, helping you off the horse and onto your feet, guiding you to wrap an arm over his shoulder to steady yourself when you were unable to suppress your limping. Everything was a blur for you, every step you took forgotten when the next one happened.

You could remember briefly smiling at Hange when she approached the two of you, catching some of their conversation, and Levi whisking you away before you could manage a goodbye.

“You really busted yourself out there.” You chuckled at her comment and winced immediately after, a stabbing pain reaching your ribs, the mixed noise making her laugh. “You’re okay?”

You nodded, not getting the time to answer before Levi interjected. “She is.” He stated, adjusting his grasp on your hip when you clutched your side.

“Right… I’ll get one of the scouts to take her to the infirmary. Erwin wants to talk to us.” 

“No.” Levi spoke up before Hange could even attempt turning on her heel. “I will take care of it, and I’ll go to his office after. Tell him I’ll only be a moment.” He kept walking without another word, not giving her any time to make a comment on his behavior.

He took you to his quarters, helping you out of your stained cloak and muddied boots before starting to undo the soaked bandages on your limbs. He seemed unaffected by the sight he was met with, the gashes and lacerations covered in dried blood were nothing he hadn’t seen before; but the fact that they were on your body, it brought a shake to his hands he was completely unfamiliar with and he thanked the heavens you were too busy scrunching your eyes together at the stinging feel of him cleaning the open wounds to notice it.

You don’t know if you talked, if he asked you anything, you don’t think so. The only thing you committed to memory was the feel of hardened hands touching you in the softest ways imaginable, guiding you to his bed when he was done and easing you into laying down. He caressed your face before he moved away; the way he looked at you a mixture of longing and thinly veiled restraint.

He left almost as soon as he laid you down, knowing that if you said anything, if you made even the slightest sound, he’d discard his meeting altogether to lay next to you. 

Levi came back less than an hour after with a thick bag under his arm, having raided your room before coming to gather anything you might need. He was being exceedingly obvious today; he knew more than well his friends no longer needed a heartfelt confession to know exactly why he had been so special to you in the past five years with how he's behaved, but for once he couldn’t care less about that matter. 

He found you just as he had left you, now asleep with your mouth slightly agape. Your messy hair tussled all around was the only indication that you moved while he was gone. He pulled a chair next to the bed, not wanting to risk waking you up; ready to patiently wait until he could get you out of your filthy, blood-stained uniform. Your change of clothes and a clean set of sheets awaiting next to him already.

He doesn’t know how long you were asleep for, but it continued through enough hours for him to follow suit at some point.

He vaulted out of the chair when you woke up with a loud cry; the sound was completely gut-wrenching. 

“What happened? What’s wrong?!” He grabbed you by the shoulders with a desperate pull, his eyes searching for yours. The sting of tears threatening to break free he felt earlier returned with a vengeance when you coughed up blood, tears streaming down your face. 

“Talk to me, angel. Please.” He begged, hands reaching for your face, wiping your tears. You didn’t speak, didn’t explain what was ailing you, instead your cries became louder, deafening. 

Levi could feel his heartbeat hammering in his chest, and before he could do anything, more blood came out of your mouth, then your nose, then from your wounds, white bandages drowned in the crimson red liquid. He couldn’t find the words; he didn’t even know what to do. He frantically moved around the room, searching for anything to wipe the blood with, to apply pressure and stop this someway.

Before he knew it, his own eyes were welled up with tears as he desperately tried to stop you from bleeding out, the sound of your crying overwhelming him completely. 

“You’re going to be okay. You’re okay.” He repeated like a mantra, the room spinning around him when he looked at the pool of blood under you. He wiped his tears with his forearm. His heartbeat grew louder, and the sound of it seemed to echo through the room.

You wouldn’t stop crying, and God, you wouldn’t stop bleeding, it was futile to try. Your hands went to his shoulders, bringing him closer to you while you sobbed hysterically. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.” He wrapped his arms around you tightly, crying onto your hair, hopelessly clinging to you. “I can’t do anything. Please forgive me, angel. Please.” He wept, his grip tightening the quieter your cries became; your energy depleted the longer you kept bleeding. 

“Don’t leave me.” It became uncontrollable; he felt completely out of himself, the sound of his thunderous heartbeat, the feel of your blood on his hands, the pain in his chest crushing him further and further. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Levi?... Levi.” He woke up with a jolt to see you standing above him, mind completely fogged by the images his brain came up with. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the room, looking around the now empty bed then back to your fragile frame. 

The glow of the moon coming from the window was the only source of light, but it was enough to see you properly; not in tears, and not bleeding out. Instead, you were looking at him with a puzzled expression, an arm cradling your midsection as you tried your best to stand upright.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I’m—” He closed his mouth before continuing, rubbing his eyes before he looked at you again, a slight wet feeling coating his fingertips—was he crying?—it was just a dream. “Don’t worry. Is something wrong?” 

“I wanted to get out of all this blood. But I could barely make it a few steps past the bed.”

He hummed, burying his face in his hands for a moment, trying to regain his composure. “I’ll help you.” His eyes found you again, narrowed. Going over every inch of your body to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary, to prove to himself that you wouldn’t randomly start bleeding out in front of him. He debated telling you about his dream, telling you about how worried he was earlier and how the stress of his concerns was swallowing him whole right now, but that would mean delving into a conversation he’s unsure he’d be good at. Maybe he’ll need to practice it.

He walked you to the bathroom, arm stretched out for you to hold onto through every step. “You look terrible.” He murmured, helping you stand in front of the small tub. 

“Aren’t you sweet.” You laughed dryly, slowly loosening your grip on his forearm to let him stand back.

You and Levi stared at each other willfully, both waiting for the other to take the next step. 

“Can you do it alone?” He asked while reaching for the top button of your shirt, undoing it slowly, waiting for you to form a response, groggy and restless voice adding something new to his usual stoic tone. 

You wanted to object, tell him he didn’t need to continue. But you were sure you’d end up falling face first on the floor at some point if he wasn’t holding onto you. “Maybe I could.”

“Sure.” He muttered, gaze focused on where his hands started to undo the rest of your shirt, a deep frown covering his features at the side of fresh red bruises covering your left side. 

He carefully undid the bandages on your arm to slowly slide off the shirt. You didn’t care to watch his movements; you couldn’t look away from his face, how concentrated he was, how troubled he seemed over your wounds. It made you smile, both that and the pink tint of his cheeks when he exposed you further. 

If you knew him less, you would’ve asked him to kiss you right then and there, but by now you knew well his only answer to that would be questioning if you were concussed.

Levi kept himself from speaking. Too focused on the crushing weight in his heart over the sight of your bruised and battered frame, a weight that grew more draining the more of your clothes he got rid off. 

His mind also trotted over the idea of kissing you. He thought about it every single day, but now more than ever he wished he had done so before. That way he could pepper every single inch of your body with small soothing kisses now and it wouldn’t be strange, there wouldn’t be a possibility of you freaking out, because by now you would’ve been used to his affections. 

If only he had been braver about it before. 

He desperately wished to hold you tenderly in his arms, to caress your skin and kiss you senselessly, trusting that every bit of his devotion would help you forget about the pain you must be feeling.

“What happened?” He helped you stand above the drain, squeezing your hand before letting you stand on your own. He soaked a cloth before he started carefully scrubbing your arms, trying his best to not pressure the slash on your left arm into bleeding again.

“It was my stupidity. One of my scouts was kicked off his horse, and a titan was going to grab him, and I— It was impulsive. I threw myself at them and I didn’t realize another titan was coming. It was a big mess and I wasn’t thinking clearly.” You yawned between your sentences, watching him with tired eyes, following his hands whenever he bent to dampen the cloth and settling back on his face when he returned; his eyebrows furrowed at your anecdote. “I couldn’t tell you exactly what happened, I just know I flew through more trees than I would like, and when I finally got my cables to stick to something I was hanging two inches from the floor and looked like this.”

Levi stayed silent for a moment, trying to picture the situation, as if that helped him in any way. “How did you get on your horse?” 

“Miche found me. I would have only been able to drag myself until I found someone. It’s hard to lift this leg.” His grip on your waist tightened at the notion, his eyes now meeting yours to avoid staring at where he scrubbed on your chest, ever-present frown adorning his features.

Levi saw the images of your explanation vividly in his mind; he could clearly see you dragging yourself out of the woods in fear that you wouldn’t make it, as if it actually happened, as if he had been present. It was completely nauseating. “I’m sorry.” His hands stopped, both settled firmly on your hips, indifferent to his proximity and your bare skin.

“For what?”

“I could’ve been there.” 

One of your hands reached his bicep, tentatively caressing him. “Don’t do that.”

He pursed his lips together; he knew it was ridiculous to upset himself over something he had no control over, and yet he couldn’t stop. He stayed silent, instead opting to watch you get closer, your hands rubbing up and down his arms to ease him. The delicate body he’s grown to yearn for standing less than an inch away from him, laid bare for his eyes only.

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you.” He murmured, tense muscles taut under your touch as it rose up to his shoulders then back down to the front of his chest. 

“I know, but you seem to be more troubled than I am. I may need help getting up, but you’re looking at me like I’m dying.”

“I just don’t know what to do with myself.” Levi let himself get closer, his hands hesitantly moving to your back. “Seeing you like this.”

“I’ve been hurt before.” Your tone was confused, and he hated that it urged him to continue.

“Not like this. Not when I’m not around.”

“I thought you didn’t care if I was not by your side.”

“I lied.”

You couldn’t help the weak laugh that left your lips, looking away from him as you tried to retrieve your composure. 

“Are my worries amusing to you?” His gaze narrowed, not in his usual scowl—in dismay.

You shook your head, a hand coming up to caress his face, looking at him with nothing but utter reverence. “I’m more than appreciative of your worries. But I do find it humorous that I have to come back like this for you to say these things.” 

The time seemed to stand still between you. Patient, as always, you waited; letting him find the words he’s been struggling to muster. He hated how difficult this was; to expose feelings he has been certain of for years. “Sit, we need to wash your hair.”

You sighed, hands dropping from him with a small nod. He helped you sit in the middle of the tub, kneeling down on the floor next to you, holding onto a small water pitcher with trembling hands. 

You closed your eyes at the feeling of water slowly dripping onto your scalp, finally relishing in a soothing feeling. “Don’t look at me when I say this." His voice was low, unusually unsteady, despite being completely certain of his words. "I’m terrified of losing you.”

Your lips pursed together, trying your best to keep yourself from turning your head; wanting to indulge him if it meant being able to hear what he had to confess. “Why?” You asked quietly, eyes stuck to the water falling from your shoulders, bloody and muddy dark streaks slowly disappearing, becoming clearer the more his fingers helped brush water through the thick locks of hair.

Silence lingered for a moment. The only sound being the slow rush of water, and Levi’s deep breaths. He could do this, if there’s someone he could say anything to, it was you. So why did his chest ache this much?

“I’ve belonged to you from the moment I met you.” Levi’s voice came out ragged, broken. His hands softly brushed through your hair, moving back the strands that fell on your face. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. “And I don’t know what will be of me if the only reason I hold any hope for the future is no longer with me.”

You couldn’t help meeting his gaze, lips parting and closing with suppressed praises. To hear something that gentle, romantic, out of the very lips you’ve wished had graced yours long before today; it could’ve been enough to push you through every day of your life from now on. 

The way you were looking at him was his undoing, a softness he did not deserve, and that he could only ever receive from you. He watched you uneasy, his throat running dry, unsure of what he was even waiting for. “Please say something.”

Words evaded you completely, too stuck on repeating that sweet confession over and over again in your head. Instead of coming up with some clever poetry of your equal feelings, you did the one thing you knew no amount of prodding would make him do. 

Your hands slowly reached for him, cupping his face to bring him closer to you. And you waited, for a moment; not wanting to miss how he relaxed, how he gave in. Only then did your lips meet his with a tenderness that made Levi’s stomach flutter. 

One of his hands went to the back of your neck, long fingers twisting into your hair, keeping your lips flush against his while he inched closer to you. His free hand gripped the back edge of the tub, his body looming above yours, completely trapping you under him. 

The kiss was searing and all consuming. As if you were trying to pour into him every unsaid word; as if Levi was trying to make up for every single moment he wished your lips had been on his. It grew desperate within seconds, teeth clashing and noses bumping while both of you tried to absorb each other’s oxygen.

It’s only when you tried to wrap your arms around his neck to drag him down did you break away, wincing at the sting from a gash on your bicep.

Levi immediately tensed when you stopped. “I’m sorry.” His voice was breathless, a small whisper followed by him pulling back, softened gaze raking over you to make sure he didn’t hurt you. 

“It’s my fault, I should’ve waited until we were laying down.” You quipped, instinctively reaching out for his arm to keep him somewhat close. 

He laughed, openly, warm. “That might’ve ended worse.”

A comfortable silence fell in the room after your chuckles died down. Both of you staring at each other with the sweetness of two madly in love idiots. All flushed lips, red cheeks, and stupid smiles.

—

“And then what happened?” Erwin asked while flipping through pages of planning, the words he had written already mixing together from how long he had been staring at them, and how late it already was.

Miche stood by the window, looking out to the empty grounds below them. “I told him she’d be lying down in the carriage, probably more comfortable.”

“Mhm.”

“And he argued she’d be alone, very solemnly.”

“He did not.” Erwin dropped the papers, turning on his chair to meet Miche’s gaze, the other man already snickering to himself.

“He did, and then he just took her away. And I’m completely certain he kissed her hair when they got on the horse.” Miche whispered the last part, as if he was sharing the most confidential work information he could ever manage to get his hands on.

“In front of everyone?” Erwin stared at him dumbfounded, imagining the scene he described before letting out a quiet laugh.

“also i think i’m swearing off dating. it was going perfect with one guy and then he breaks it off because he doesn’t want his business ending up on the podcast…. i haven’t even said anything about him!” you whine, “and now it just looks like i’m proving his point because i’m talking about it but i wouldn’t have if we were still dating.”

the text on the video screams, “YN SINGLE?!”

bakugou taps on your instagram. loads of clips from your podcast pops up. he finds the next video, the one after the last.

“well dms are open if any fine men are interested. when i say fine i mean fine. you also have to be able to keep up with me, handle a little joke,” you laugh.

and bakugou thinks about it for three days. watches more videos of you talking, your goofy opinions, your educated opinions, your real opinions. scrolls through your personal instagram too.

so he does it. he dms you on your instagram because he deems himself a fine man, he can handle a little joke and well, he likes you. a lot.

you’re funny and smart. articulate yourself well. very beautiful. hobbies on your instagram, full group of friends. well travelled and a homebody and social and he’s eager to know more.

@ dynamight: Are applications still open?

it’s fun, bakugou thinks. a good slide into your dms.

but you don’t reply for a week. he thinks he’s been completely ignored. clearly not interested in him and defo not your type. even though you’re both verified so you’ve definitely got the notification. bakugou takes it all on the chin. doesn’t mention it to anybody because it’s a little embarrassing. maybe it’s been buried from all the other dms you’ve received from men.

until he gets a video on his timeline. then the same video sent to him from three different friends.

the words are captioned loud and bold on the video. straight to the point and pure clickbait. well is it clickbait if it’s true? bakugou chokes on his spit, turning up the volume in his work bathroom.

“DYNAMIGHT IN THE DMS?”

“now guys… walk with me here. if you’re dynamight, thee bakugou katsuki, one of the sexiest men in the world, PLEASE don’t watch this clip. i can’t believe you’ve even seen clips of my pod. i swear this isn’t even me!” you ramble into your microphone, tucked up with your knees to your chest for a more casual episode. “okay guys, now that he’s gone, i’ve got to tell you… after last episode when i said can fine men send me dms, why the fuck did dynamight send me one? i was so shocked by it i still haven’t replied. i’ve avoided talking about him here because i do not want to be on that man’s radar. he’s way too gorgeous for me to comprehend.”

you giggle to yourself, “but he dmed me… something about are applications open? the boyfriend ones. now i can’t reply because ive just told everybody but there’s no way i pulled him.”

bakugou watches it leaning against the sink, three times. his smile gets bigger every second till he’s full on grinning at his phone.

you’re joking a little, entertainment for the podcast because you know you’re just as fine as him. though you don’t think your worlds would ever cross?

he decides to make another move.

@ dynamight: I think you’re gorgeous too

commented underneath the video.

an onslaught of likes and comments commence. mostly your fans giving a whole load of keyboard smashes and “yn is going to go insane”.

then he puts his phone down, washes up his hands and checks his appearance in the mirror. wipes his nose and what not.

but he gets lured to his phone again, picking it up and opening instagram to find you’ve replied to his comment.

@ ynpod: @ dynamight i swear i don’t share all my business online