AO3: TOTHESTRONGONES

While you lie waste in the office cafeteria for your lunch break wishing you were anywhere else, your phone dings with one (1) new notification.

LEVI ❤️ : Photo

Yeah.

Your boyfriend sends daily photos.

Levi claims they're just so you are aware he's thinking of you.

You know damn well he is not that innocent.

Because the photos are not of him. Not completely.

Sometimes he'll show off a new shipment of tea that came in early with his sleeves rolled up, showing off his veiny forearms.

Sometimes he'll send his reflection in the mirror asking if a shirt looks nice, but the top buttons of the white Henley are undone, his slacks hugging his thighs just so.

Sometimes he'll go off the routine and send an additional late-night selfie. In the censored darkness of his bedroom — damn that old phone of his for not having Night Sight settings — you can still see his bare collarbone and shoulders as he wishes you good night.

It's torture.

(You've saved every single one, for reasons.)

But as soon as the clock strikes five, Levi invites you over for dinner with a preview of the night's menu before he's due to clock in for his shift.

Every.

Night.

For weeks.

Hypothetically, dinner is supposed to start at six.

Realistically, it never does — because there are more pressing matters at hand, like the warm ones splayed under your shirt.

For an apartment as spotless as his, you've likely defiled two-thirds of it by accident. Although there have been plenty of moments fooling around in the past with (failed) partners, making out with Levi feels… different. You're grown adults, but you feel that juvenile spark in the center of chest more when your lips meet after a (admittedly grueling) nineteen hours of being apart; infinitely charged like a battery that refuses to die, even when the work day has your patience tissue-paper thin.

The days used to be long. Monotonous. Stale.

Now your life is in technicolor, hinging on the big hand hitting :00 so you can rush home to see him.

And worrying about whether or not you're coming on too strong disappears the minute his front door opens. More often than not, you're met with the sight of Levi in an apron, his white button-down already halfway undone and his sleeves rolled to his elbows.

His head tilts like he's daring you to make the first move faster than him this time.

(He's lightning fast. You're more than happy to always lose.)

Neither of you seem to great each other by spoken word anymore.

Door opens, eyes meet—

Your mouth gravitates towards him like he's the opposing end of a magnet to yours.

How else are you meant to pass the time?

Waiting for the udon to cook? His hands free themselves from kitchen mittens to press you up against the counter, dipping his fingers under your shirt, all while kissing you senseless.

Stir fry taking an extra ten minutes? You'll end up on his couch, leg hooked around his hip, while he cradles your face and rocks his hips deliciously against yours.

Steeping the tea? Rather than staring down at a cup, you're half-lidded staring at a ceiling, back pressed into his dining table, while he worships your neck with slow, methodical kisses.

As you've come to learn, he's a phenomenal cook.

According to Levi, he's modesty a little out of practice (lies) because he can't remember the last time he entertained company that wasn't his mother or his two best friends.

For the longest time, he made ten-and-under meals; didn't try, didn't have to, didn't want to — when he was alone.

Now? It's his excuse to try a little harder, to be a little better, while life feels this easy.

It's a sentiment that resonates with you, too.

Although you don't stay overnight — it's too soon, he promised not to move too fast — Levi walks you back up the stairs to your apartment, every night, with a hand resting on the small of your back as if you are tethered in permanence.

Your back hits the cool sheets of the mattress, and sated exhaustion seeps in.

Whether from the day or overexerted lips, you can't really tell anymore.

What you feel is an all-consuming ache.

Safety.

Peace.

And as you lay there, all you can do is fixation on the ceiling, channeling the desire to be six floors above where you lay now to learn what it looks like when Levi Ackerman drifts off to sleep after a long shift at Scout Services Hotline.

.

.

.

.

.

  6:28 a.m.

You're stationed by the corner of the free weights section before he even taps his membership card.

Lately the abrupt influx of new campaigns and ASAP requests at your job has made it difficult to meet him at the gym. It's invented a new layer of tired that you never knew existed.

You're so tired that you can only lay on Levi's couch, slow-kissing him during a television show neither of you were really interested in watching.

It's torture.

Yet the idea of seeing his face when he notices you by his usual space, thinking you were stuck running to the office earlier than usual, fuels the anxious jitters that had you jumping out of bed a half hour ago.

Because being near him is an addiction. It feels like an acute sickness.

Seeing his face is the only cure.

(God forbid you ever slipped that thought out in Annie's presence. She would wither and die from the co-dependent sentimentality.)

Dee-doooo!

The door chimes jingle in the dead, six-in-the-morning air.

An additional digital chirp sounds at the front of the gym — someone tapped their membership tab off a jingling key chain, their sneakers shuffling across the rubber floor.

Craning your neck, you spy him: sporting black gym shorts and a white tank top, Levi Ackerman's bare shoulders are peppered with fresh droplets from the light drizzle outside. His dufflebag is slung over his shoulder, head hung low, as music faintly plays through his wireless earbuds.

Levi makes it past the elliptical, the treadmills, curbs the corner and—

Oh.

Oh, he's not going to look up.

You leap a step back from the workbench when you realizing he isn't stopping his absent-minded walk.

The abrupt movement causes his neck to nearly snap from how fast he whips his head at attention.

Rounded stormy eyes meet yours with confusion before blinking into wild surprise.

"Oh, shit — baby, hey," he exhales like you've punched him in the stomach. His finger plucks one of the earbuds out. "You didn't say you were coming today."

Right.

Instead of updating him to death about your life through a series of texts, you're trying something new that it's frightening and, so far? Not a fun time:

Spontaneity.

(Trying to be a little less predictable to a person who seems to predict your every move.)

"Uh, surprise?" you say with the inability to make the declaration not sound like a question. "I mean, I thought it… That I could surprise you by showing up early, since I finally finished that big project."

Even in the best of moods, you still have the habit of seeking some kind of verbal approval.

It's a habit you have to kick, fast, before it sours something beautiful.

However, Levi takes your nerves in stride. Albeit not a wide grin, the corner of his mouth upticks with a short but nonetheless approving nod.

"A welcomed one," he reassures, taking out the additional earbud to put them back into their case. "I didn't think I would get to see you until tonight. I was making peace with it."

(You have half a mind to start walking around with a pillow in hand, since his mission as your boyfriend is to make you scream into one from his sweet, earnest confessions.)

"Well, ta-da, rip that peace treaty up because I am here to join you!" you blurt instead, waving jazz hands at your sides. "If that's alright."

His brow bends, knits, with amused confusion. "If that's alright?"

Your hands drop with a small, embarrassed huff. "Yeah."

"In what universe would it not be?"

"I'm just—"

Something warm touches your lips, silencing your explanation.

When Levi angles your chin towards his by cupping your jaw, you sigh against his mouth and kiss back. Your eyes close without another thought.

And just like that, you forget why you second guessed your decision to surprise him in the first place.

(Even if the only other soul in this gym at this hour is the front desk woman, you never took Levi as a public display of affection kind of guy.)

When you pull away just a fraction, you notice his lips continue to hover. He chases your mouth to seek more before pausing, forgetting himself. Blue-gray eyes flutter until they rise to meet yours.

(You're so not mad if he's secretly a PDA guy with kisses like that.)

"What's on your workout docket for today?" he asks breathlessly.

Without thinking, you swallow and shake your head. "I completely forget."

"You forget?"

"You zapped it right out of my head."

"How?"

"I don't know, you just kiss in a very zappy way."

"Zappy?" he repeats, squinting. His hand continues to rest on your cheek. "I have never heard anyone call a kiss zappy. What does that even mean?"

"Like electricity." You raise a hand, flicking your fingers. "Pew."

He can't help it: Levi snorts out loud.

"It's fucking criminal how cute you are."

Butterflies burst free in your stomach as you try not to melt.

(Who knew going to the smelly, sweaty gym could be a romantic place? News to you.)

"And you are way too distracting right now," you reply, unable to stop smiling as you turn back towards the mirror to pick up your abandoned free weight.

It's true: everything about him is distracting, but especially when he's dressed in his gym clothes.

The droplets of water from the gentle rain outside are just a delicious preview of the eventual sweat that will kiss his biceps once he picks up his weights of choice.

"This is distracting?" Levi replies simply. You nod. "But I just got here."

"Trust me," you promise, "with you doesn't take much."

His head tilts, the fringe following, before his eyes squint with threatening amusement.

He moves in a semi-circle to come around behind you, his hand gliding effortlessly down your forearm to fix your positioning with the free weight now clutched in your hand.

Levi leans in against your back, his lips purposely grazing the shell of your ear.

"I could make it worse."

Oh.

You feel the saliva disappear in your mouth when he holds your gaze with a knowing stare in the mirror — the same stare he held when you were lying on his bed, his thighs hugging the edges of his chair, his hand—

"Levi!"

An animated voice chirps from behind the two of you, cutting the fantasy short.

Levi's narrowed gaze rounds with mild recognition in his reflection.

"Oh, what a coincidence!" the voice continues. "I didn't think you'd be here so early."

When you move out of position to turn around, the first thing you notice is how impossibly still Levi becomes. The second thing happens to be his reflection: the twitch of his brow under his black fringe screams sheer irritation. His fingers instinctually flex at your forearm.

Between gritted teeth, he spits out a singular name:

"Hange."

As you whip your attention over your shoulder, you see two somewhat-familiar faces.

A lanky brunette with glasses and a costume pencil mustache stands on a stagnant treadmill beside a broad-shouldered, stone-faced blond wearing a black baseball cap. The person with glasses pokes mindlessly at the screen, never quite catching the number as if trying to appear aloof and busy. The other stands beside the treadmill, holding a comically small free weight curled to his large, left bicep.

Both wear appropriate gym attire, though the logo on the chest of the blond hits you like a freight train: SURVEY CORPS.

Levi remains statuesque behind you, hand removed and eyes downcast at the bench while his nostrils periodically flare for signs of life. Back and forth, your eyes shift from his reflection to the duo resting at the (very vacant) treadmills.

The second you make eye contact with the brunette — the one he called Hange at his place last week — a brilliant smile invades their face.

"Hi."

You blink. "Hello."

They press a hand to the center of their chest. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm—"

"One of his former coworkers?"

Hange's glasses nearly fall down their nose as they lurch to grip both sides of the treadmill screen, their gasp dramatic. "Oh my gosh, Erwin, he's talked about us."

"Hange," Levi hisses again. You may not have known Levi for long, but you know what that tone means: he's not happy.

"I am unsurprised," the man — Erwin — states in monotone. "What other friends would he mention to his significant other if not us?"

"Well, ya hope the guy would bring up the most important people in his life, but you never—"

"Why did Nanaba let the two of you in?" Levi shuts down the banter as he finally turns to face them, his expression deathly serious. You elect to remain silent. "You have to show a membership card to even get past the front desk."

Erwin, without missing a beat, holds up a bright yellow slip.

"We signed up for a Groupon."

"A what?"

Hange snorts, peeling off the pencil moustache adhered to their upper lip. "Honestly, I didn't think they'd honor it. Pretty sure it's out of date on the website."

Erwin briefly glances sidelong to Hange. "They didn't read the small print but handed over a week pass nonetheless."

"A week?" Levi repeats. "You're shitting me."

"Did you expect us to take the day pass and lose out on value?" Erwin quips in return, deadpanned, before his eyes trail to yours. "Is this the famous Scarlet?"

"Famous?" you repeat softly.

(He's talked to his friends about you more than once?)

Hange grins, nudging Erwin's side with their elbow.

"They're a bunch of parrots, eh, Erwin? Very birds of a feather."

Exhaling sharply, Levi crosses his arms over his chest. "Yes, this is my girlfriend. And before you two shitheads pretend to be surprised, I showed you photos before. If you wanted to meet her so damn bad, you could have asked."

Hearing the word girlfriend fly so flippantly from his mouth makes your throat close with a contained scream.

He's shown photos.

Wait, which ones?

"We didn't know if you'd say yes!" Hange cries, exasperated. "You're always so cagey with these sorts of things. Plus, you didn't answer a single meme I sent you the last two days."

"You also ignored the group chat," Erwin reminds, "which implies you were too busy to respond to an offer, so Hange—"

"We," Hange corrects, waggling a finger between the two of them. "Joint effort."

"—so we could meet you in the middle of your rigid routines."

Levi looks ready to explode as he grits his teeth. "I'm gonna strangle that fucking group chat with my bare hands—"

As they continue to banter back and forth amongst themselves, a litany of emotions flurry through your body as the trio fights: excitement, anxiety, elation, pride. Not only were you meeting the two most important people in his life beyond his mother, but you were known.

(Your ex-boyfriend never did that in the time you were together. Hell, no partner ever has.)

Hange makes their way over to you, scrunching their nose with light amusement as Erwin pulls out his phone to show the evidence of Levi's shortcomings. Levi, for the time being, seems distracted.

"For the record, it is always this chaotic in this friend group."

With a tiny, nervous laugh, you nod. "So I've heard."

"You'll get used to it," they say. "Erwin is much more aligned with Levi's brevity, but I have to say that I'm cursed with the gift of gab."

"Trust me, I'm not much better."

Hange grins. "Thank god, we need more yappers in our lives. Maybe you can convince Grumpy McGrumps to show up for Thursday dinner next week."

Your heart skips a beat. "Dinner?"

"Mhm, Erwin's favorite get-together excuse besides roping us into golfing," Hange explains. "We invited the two of you on our group chat, but as you can imagine, Levi is terrible with keeping up with it. Usually it's because he's working himself to death, but if this is why he doesn't answer?" They shrug playfully. "I'm not mad. Can I see you phone?"

"Oi, Four Eyes," Levi interjects, whipping his attention from Erwin to the two of you. Without thinking, you hand Hange your phone. "The hell're you talking to my girl about?"

My girl.

It never gets old.

"I'm inviting her to dinner, ya big recluse!" Hange exclaims as they open up a new contact form and type in a number, before handing it back to you. "Just in case he bails."

Levi's head drops back, face to the sky, as he sighs. "Not fucking dinner…"

"Too late, I think she's game!" Hange turns to you. "Are you?"

Your mouth opens, shuts, then opens again like a fish out of water before you blurt the first sentiment that comes to mind.

"Only if we go to Happy Hour before?"

Erwin nods, almost sagely. "The best answer one could have possibly given. Happy Hour is essential for Thursday dinner."

"Thirs-ty Thurs-day," Hange sing-songs.

Erwin quirks a brow to his ally. "Hange, make a new group chat and add her."

"Already on it."

Bringing your lips into your mouth, you try not to smile too wide. The fact that Levi's friends are so eager to get to know you — to involve you — is a high unlike any other.

If your mood wasn't already in the clouds, then it's certainly shot into space.

When you catch Levi's eye, he mouths — I'm sorry.

Your furrow your brow and mouth back — don't be.

With how fast Hange speaks, it's easy to forget the time. It's like you've known them your whole life despite just meeting them. Erwin is kind, cordial, and seemingly excited about meeting you in general.

They want to know the new person in Levi's life.

(How, in such little time, have you felt so seen?)

Suddenly your palm vibrates, forcing you to raise your arm and look at your phone. An alarm shimmies in a panic across your lock screen: GET TO WORK, BITCH.

(Did an hour pass by that quickly with Hange and Erwin? Did you really talk that much?)

"Shit," you murmur to yourself before looking up at the trio. "Sorry, I actually have to get ready to leave for work."

Albeit subtle, the corners of Levi's mouth turn south as he moves past Erwin to make his way back to your side. Hange scoots out of the way to rest their forearm on a nearby treadmill.

"Is it already 7:30?"

"Almost," you tell him, showing him your phone.

Levi huffs, and your surprise, appears visibly disappointed.

"Guess that's what happen when two blabbermouths decide to show up unannounced."

He hesitates — contemplating, it seems, as his eyes drop down to the right — but whatever he's unsure of, he seems to have shaken away. His foot shuffles forward, his thumb and forefinger grab hold of your chin to tilt it so he can capture your lips with his in a tender, chaste kiss.

You accept it — with surprise, obviously, but there are very few scenarios that you would say no to a goodbye kiss from your boyfriend.

(As if there is any scenario where you say no.)

When he pulls away, his stare softens.

"I'll see you later?"

Wordlessly, you nod.

"Good. Have a good day a work, alright? Text me if you need anything."

Sealing that promise with one quick, brave peck, you turn to Erwin and Hange with sheepish excitement. "It was nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise," Erwin replies, a ghost of a smirk playing against his lips. "We'll see you next Thursday at 6 p.m. sharp."

"I texted myself on your phone!" Hange exclaims, waving goodbye as you disappear into the locker rooms with a newfound pep in your step.

.

.

.

.

.

    "For the record, I didn't say anything."

That's not a sentence you want to hear out of Annie's mouth the second you take a seat at your cubicle for the day.

Your quad of desks and chairs belongs to Annie, of course, as well as your colleagues Eren, Reiner, and Jean.

Eren's got a shit-eating grin on his face, his feet propped up by the mini-filing cabinet rolled out from under his desk. Jean is sitting on top of Reiner's desk eating an apple, but the two men are clearly interested in your arrival.

When you make eye contact with them, the four of them give a synchronized shrug.

Great.

Because that isn't suspicious or anything.

Sighing heavily, you pull out the contents of your work bag to produce your breakfast bento box. "Okay, I'll bite: say anything about what?"

"Someone saw you leave the bar a few weeks ago." Eren waggles his brow. "With a guy."

"Technically it was Armin," Reiner adds. "The person who saw, not the guy that left."

"Yeah, but he didn't realize he was talking out loud when he asked who she left with," Jean defends, "you know how he gets."

"And that guy was not—" Eren pauses, pointing his mechanical pencil to a wall leading to the finance department. "—He Who Shall Not Be Named Because Annie Will Hurt Me."

"Correct," Annie says, monotone. Her arms remain crossed with a steeping chair in her left, manicured hand. Her brow quirks. "Then Eren asked me who it was."

"She didn't budge."

"Can't get a word out of me, Yeager."

"It's so annoying."

"Just like you," Annie quips, sickeningly sweet.

"Love you, too," Eren mocks in return.

Reiner pulls a face, sitting back in his chair. "You really don't have to tell us anything if you don't want to, but it's nice to see you in better spirits lately."

A part of you wants to never tell another soul — a buried, selfish wish desperately wishes to keep Levi all to yourself. It's irrational, you know that, but there is something sacred about keeping him so close to your chest.

Although Levi's world has collided with yours, your world has yet to collide fully with his. Why?

Are you worried he won't like your friends?

Are you nervous he may see how much of a pushover you can be outside of him?

Are you scared of breaking some twisted imaginary narrative you've created, where somehow you can accept his life without any judgement but, for some reason, he can't accept yours?

(That's the anxiety of ruining a good thing creeping in.)

The nail of your index finger digs at the edge of your thumb, both hands resting in your lap. Pressing your tongue into the side of your cheek, you contemplate in circles about revealing your heart or keeping it back until you exhale slowly through your nose.

"He's a guy who lives in my apartment," you nonchalantly begin, causing Eren to nearly flail off of his seat before straightening up, "and we've been together for… a few weeks now."

"A few — a few weeks?" Eren yelps. "So a couple of months?"

"That's usually how long a few weeks are, yeah."

"Holy shit," Eren says, running a hand down his face. "Not that that's a bad thing. That's a great thing. A few weeks is awesome. What does he do for a living?"

"Sales," you answer without hesitation. "Contractor stuff."

(Not technically untrue.)

Annie's lips purse to avoid a smile while Jean and Reiner lean further towards your cubicle.

"He got a name?" Jean asks.

"Levi."

Eren squints. "Levi what?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Yeah, stupid, that's why I'd as— ow! Annie!" Eren ducks from the flyby of a large eraser getting chucked at his head, holding his arm above for protection.

"Don't be rude."

"I wasn't being rude!"

"You're always rude, one way or another," Jean says flatly, standing up from Reiner's desk to lean against the edge of his cubicle. "Alright, so… Levi. Sales. He nice?"

"Very."

"How many dates?" Reiner chimes in.

Your nose scrunches as you swallow your food. "I mean, as in like, going out to a restaurant or the park? None. But he cooks me meals every night, pretty much, so I guess like… a lot?"

"Damn, he even cooks," Jean repeat in awe.

"Who cooks?"

A voice, casual but enthusiastic, sends a chill down your spine.

The food in your mouth seems to sour when you realize who's standing by Eren's cubicle. Porco Galliard probably hasn't realized you're sitting at your desk, considering Reiner's hulking frame tends to take up a lot of the space. He seems to think he's talking amongst his own friends — which he is, technically speaking.

Jean and Porco game on weeknights. Eren and Porco run the fantasy leagues of your department during the major sports season.

Hell, Porco is the reason Reiner even has a job here. Their friendship goes all the way back to childhood.

It's just unfortunate that you fell for him and, yeah, he was into you for a spell, but it was in-between his will-we, won't-we with Pieck that's superseded your own history.

The quad goes deathly silent.

Steeling your nerves, you decide to poke your head out from the side to see him for yourself. Porco stands with his arms crossed, feet planted wide, with his signature smirk on his lips. His hair is perfectly swooped, the edges of his fade freshly done. He's wearing your favorite polo, the one that accentuates his arms, but you don't feel the same pathetic yearning you once did for the image before you.

When his hazel eyes meet yours, the smirks fades at an instant.

"Shit, sorry. Didn't see you come in this morning."

"Did you have a report to hand over, Porky?"

Annie asks with such disdain that even Jean winces. She glares directly at your ex-boyfriend, body language taut — like one ill-timed joke will set her off to risk the HR write-up.

"I, uh… no. Just heard Jean so I stopped by," Porco adds, detaching his crossed arms to rub the back of his head. "Sorry."

"Mhm."

(Nothing ever gets past Annie.)

"I'll catch up with you later, Reiner."

With a brief please-get-me-out-of-here wave, Porco turns on a heel to walk down the hallway. Reiner gives a half-hearted wave in return, but his hand falls in his lap with a decided thump. No one speaks until they're certain he's out of earshot.

"Awk-ward," Eren sing-songs.

"You okay?" Reiner questions, voice softer.

Are you?

To be honest, in your current state of being wrapped up in Levi, you had completely forgotten about the ex-boyfriend that pushed you to find him in the first place. Those sickeningly feelings that tumbled you over the edge hadn't followed you home from work for weeks. There isn't a Porco-sized shadow of self hatred lurking behind your shoulder.

If anything, you're grateful he broke your heart.

Not in the way it happened, but if that's what it took to find Levi? Then maybe you can make peace with that chapter of your life.

Maybe one day you'll talk to Porco. Iron things out. Let bygones be bygones.

Maybe.

You reply, shrugging a shoulder. "It's fine. I'm over it."

"Seriously?" Jean blurts, but it's coming from a genuine place. "The holiday party didn't exactly spell 'over it', but—"

"Jean, I'll filet you where you stand," Annie interjects, and the man quickly throws his hands up in surrender.

"Annie, it's fine," you tell her, shaking your head. Sitting back in your chair, you avoid your food for the time being — let the anxiety settle in your belly — and heavily sigh. "Shit happens. If we hadn't broken up, then I wouldn't have met Levi, and that would have fucking sucked."

"For what it's worth, he sounds like he's a good guy," Reiner offers, nodding. "You deserve to be happy."

Reiner always tried his best to stay impartial. You know that.

Given he's your friend and Porco's friend, there is only so much he can do.

Hell, he even went above and beyond by bringing you the coffee that Porco used to grab for you for the first week after the split.

Besides, it isn't like he's thrilled his friend made you a casualty with his obsession over Pieck. And you can't hate her, either. She's pretty. Smart. Sweet. There's not a bad bone in her body.

(Wrong person, right time.)

Once your nervous system evens out, you clear your throat and give a small smile to the group. "Anyway, yeah, that's my life right now and, no, you are not going to meet him anytime soon."

Eren grimaces. "What about Annie?"

"Annie's different."

"I am," Annie adds, counting off her fingers. "Intellectually. Mentally. Spiritually."

Squinting at the blonde, Eren picks up an eraser and throws it at Annie, aiming for her desk. She catches the flying object with obscene precision, brow quirked as if to ask: am I wrong?

Crisis of an ex aside, you decide today is going to be a good day.

You surprised Levi at the gym. You met his two best friends. They didn't hate you.

It is good. Things will continue to be good.

.

.

.

.

.   "I love her."

"You love everything, Four Eyes."

"Uh, false. I hate licorice. I hate getting stuck in traffic. I do not hate the fact that you finally have such a super freaking cool partner."

Levi pauses as he turns with the tea kettle in his hand, washing it by hand. Hange takes up the full couch, their tea cup and saucer sitting idly on their belly. Erwin sits on a dining room chair, his white button-down sleeves rolled up to his elbows and overlapping over his chest as they cross, tight. His tea remains half full.

"Zoe is right, Levi," Erwin chimes in, matter of fact. "I like her."

"Don't get it twisted, shithead. I never said they were wrong." Levi sets the kettle on the drying rack before leaning against the counter, mirroring Erwin's body language. "I do have a 'super freaking cool partner', but I'm not sure if she has one in return."

When Erwin's brow lifts — pray tell — Levi meets his eyes.

"We haven't been on a real date yet."

"Not a single one?" Hange chirps, propping their head up with the throw pillow his mom gifted him upon moving into this place — something about 'living the place up'.

(Fuck, he still hasn't told his damn mother about all of this. Would you even want to meet Kuchel? Is there a timeline he should adhere to? Is he going too slow? He's been worried about that for the last three weeks, but you keep coming over every night and you always look so good in those casual clothes and home cooked is better and—)

"Start with the basics before you spiral," Erwin states simply.

"Who said I'm spiraling?" Levi challenges, eyes narrowing under dark fringe.

That thick, blonde eyebrow raises imperceptibly higher.

Yeah, yeah, I get it, you asshole.

"I'm not," Levi argues with less conviction. "Just… wanna do it right."

"By stalling until you're two months with no date?" Hange asks.

A frown tugs at Levi's lips.

Yeah. He was afraid that his stalling of… well, everything might make you lose interest.

Granted, he has put effort in. His kitchen hasn't seen this much action since he was a fighter in need of constant protein. He's running out of recipes he knows off of the top of his head and has started resorting to the internet for ideas.

So, in a way, he's trying.

He's just not at the level that's considered normal.

(Then again, you promised you were fine with the abnormal.)

"Well, what does she like?" Erwin tries instead, squaring his shoulders.

Levi opens his mouth to answer, but Hange butts in. Again. "Does she like flowers?"

"Probably."

"What kind?"

"I didn't ask yet."

Hange sits up, nearly sloshing their tea over their burgundy tee. "Ooh, what about going to the movies? There's some romcom out right now."

"Go to the theater so I can, what, stare at something that isn't her?" Levi replies. "Pass. I'd rather do something more productive that shows I'm interested, not sit in a black box where people text on their phones for two hours instead of watching the damn movie."

"Hot takes with Ackerman tonight, I see," Hange singsongs as they hold the cup to their curved lips. "I'm only trying to help here."

He knows.

He knows his friends are just trying to get him out of his goddamn head, because this is how he'll ruin the one good thing he's got going for him. It's a miracle you've been so relaxed about his profession, for one, but he refuses to have a lame, forgettable first date.

As silence settles in the small apartment, he clicks his tongue at the roof of his mouth. "…she likes food."

Erwin and Hange stare.

And stare.

And stare, what the hell is wrong with fo—

"That is an abysmal observation," Erwin says. "Everyone likes food."

Their cup rattles as Hange sits up on their knees, unable to sit still for more than two minutes. "No! No, this is promising. What about dinner? That's a real first date, right? Maybe her favorite spot?"

True.

It's basic, simple, but it would work.

Levi winces as he unfolds his arms. "I'm booked this whole week for shifts. I don't know if it's romantic to cut out early on a dinner date to do… well, what I do." He pauses, mulling it over. "Does a lunch date not seem serious?"

Erwin and Hange look at each other, responding in kind.

"A little."

"Not at all."

But there it is: Erwin gets that gleam in his eye like he's solved the world's problems, inhales slowly through his nose, before he sits up tall.

"I figured it out."

Levi blinks, waiting.

Another beat passes.

"Are you… gonna elaborate on that, or—"

"Brunch. Early brunch."

Erwin leans forward, resting his elbow on the table as he uses his fingers to list off his foolproof plan.

"That leaves you with the entire day to pick things she wants to do with you, and you won't have to sacrifice time."

"Mm. No," Hange counters, "the datees don't want you ask them what they want to do. They want the dater to have a plan."

"What if it was to get to know her better?" Levi replies. "I show up and give her three ideas: show me your favorite place to go when you're stressed, your favorite place to share with people, and your… I don't know, your favorite place no one else knows about."

Erwin's lips screw to the right as he considers before nodding sagely. "…that way you can get to know her better and make it a date personalized to her."

"Right," Levi agrees, running a hand through his hair. "And if she blanks or gets in her head about it, I'll show her mine instead."

Hange snorts, setting their tea and saucer down on the coffee table. "You'd show her rock climbing?"

"If she'd be up for it," Levi quickly adds, wincing. "Should I ask her to dress casual?"

"Suppose you do." Erwin says, going with the line of thought. "Do you think she would be offended?"

"If anything, it might take the pressure off of both of us," Levi mumbles, mulling over his plan. Erwin isn't wrong. Brunch, as much as he can't stand the concept, would give them plenty of time to just… be. To explore the city, to get to know the day in the life of Former Scarlet.

And to be fair, Levi was going to do all of this weeks ago, but… well, he keeps losing his train of thought when you make that noise the second his lips touch your neck.

He never said he was the strongest soldier.

"Might as well ask her," Erwin finally agrees, standing to grab his coat.

Hange catches the memo and rolls off the couch, somehow landing on their feet. "Can't hurt to try, so long as you actually try!"

Yeah.

He really needs to try.

.

.

.

.

.   Work is… well, work.

Corporate can be draining. That isn't anything new.

There's something waiting for you when you get home, you're sure, despite how Levi's last text trailed around three o'clock in the afternoon. You're eager to get these damn clothes off and put on a pair of leggings before taking the stairs six floors up.

However, since Levi isn't technically here, you're hitting the elevator.

(You really like your boyfriend, but you're not about to take that many freaking stairs.)

Catching dailies on one of your game apps to pass the time, you only look up when the elevator dings to indicate your arrival at your floor. You shift your messenger bag on your shoulder, adjusting its weight, before stepping out and turning.

What you don't expect is for the dark-haired man to stand at your door, arms crossed, as he seemingly counts the tiles on the ceiling.

The ding wakes him from his trance, his eyes meeting yours.

(You'll never get tired of the butterflies in your stomach when he looks at you.)

"Visiting six floors down for once?" you asks playfully. "Unfortunately I cannot in good conscience let you inside, because my apartment is looking like a—"

"Lunch."

The word blurts from his mouth like he'd just gotten punched in the stomach.

Levi stands with his hands at his sides, flexing his fingers into fists.

You stop walking down the hallway, blinking twice. "…lunch?"

With an overdrawn inhale through his nostrils, he reaches to pinch the bridge of his nose. "That wasn't what I was going to say."

"Hello to you, too," you greet, but slower.

Is he okay?

Levi looks a little off — maybe even agitated. His expression is tense, body language tight. The warning signals that have lay dormant for the last few weeks awaken to suffocate those butterflies, causing your stomach to cramp from anxiety instead.

So you ask.

"Is something wrong?"

Those gray eyes expand, as if realizing his own presence, before he shakes his head.

"No. No, everything's fine."

"Are you sure?" you repeat.

A huff of a laugh exits his mouth before he leaves your apartment's orbit and meets you in the middle of the apartment hallway. You expect him to lean in and kiss you, but instead he reaches for your hand and gently lifts it to his face.

Kissing each individual knuckle, Levi's lips linger until he turns your hand, exposing your palm. He kisses the center of it, seemingly relishing in the warmth of your skin.

"Let me start over before I make an ass out of myself," he says. "Please."

Silently, you hold your breath and nod, stuck in a mixture of nerves and hope. Levi runs his thumb along your hand, reverent, before meeting your gaze.

"I've been failing as a boyfriend," he begins, to your surprise.

You blink twice, opening your mouth, but you only get "When—?" out before his other hand rises to rest his index finger against your lips.

"I have," he continues. "Apartment dates are fine and good, sure, but I've been so stuck in my head about making our first real date perfect that I haven't done a damn thing at all. You granted me the gift of going slow for long enough. You deserve more than that."

You blink, saying nothing.

You want to tell him that you like the apartment dates — and you especially like what happens before and after dinner's been digested — but it's clear he's made up his mind about his behavior.

A pregnant pause passes until he huffs in disbelief, seemingly at himself.

"Honestly, I had a whole speech and plan when you walked out of that elevator," he continues, "but something happens when I see you."

"Somnhappen?" you garble against the pad of his fingertip, mouth still closed.

There: a grin, there and gone in an instant, flashes over his face.

"You don't notice it?" he asks, dropping his finger from your mouth.

You shrug sheepishly. "We've established I'm pretty bad at social cues sometimes."

"Only sometimes," he teases. "Meanwhile I forget my entire train of thought anytime I lay eyes on you. It's like I just… I don't know, I forget the rest of the bullshit in the world for a second."

You should say likewise, but the sentiment has your throat closing from elation.

There is it: that euphoria he brings after a long day.

Taking a step forward, he brings your joined hands to his chest. "If you're free Sunday, then I'd love to take you to a brunch spot that has rave reviews online. I know going out at night on the weekend would probably be more romantic, but if we start early enough, then we can spend the day together."

Your body burns at the idea of spending the entire day in the sunlight with your boyfriend, in the open, where people can see.

"After that, I can take you somewhere, anywhere. Text me a list of your favorite spots in the city and I'll surprise you with the three of them."

Bringing your lips into your mouth, you stare into his eyes. "And what about what you like to do? It can't just be about me."

"To be completely honest, I'm already doing it," he confesses with a hint of embarrassment at his sentimentality. "Spending time with you's the highlight of my day."

"Okay, Mister Romantic."

Levi rolls his eyes. "Hardly. Just being honest." He squeezes your hand. "So? Is it a date?"

As if you needed to be asked twice.

Nodding, you drag your joined hands to your lips to kiss the tips of his fingers facing you.

You swear his ears grow pink.

"It's a date."

You pause, contemplating.

"But are we still having dinner?"

With a damn-near relieved huff, Levi lets go of your hand and walks past you — but not without giving a playful tap to your ass as he makes his way to the stairs.

"Damn right I'm still making you dinner. See you in twenty."

.

AUTHOR NOTE:

britney vc: it's been a while. i know i shouldn't have kept you waiting - but i'm here now

Appreciate your patience on this (wow, almost-one-year) update. I finished my longfic (yay!) and got a dog (she's 10 months old today!) so I'm happy to finally be back in the P4 realm. I have read every comment, every message, every reply on both here and AO3. I already have part six written and am currently editing as we speak.

While you lie waste in the office cafeteria for your lunch break wishing you were anywhere else, your phone dings with one (1) new notification.

LEVI ❤️ : Photo

Yeah.

Your boyfriend sends daily photos.

Levi claims they're just so you are aware he's thinking of you.

You know damn well he is not that innocent.

Because the photos are not of him. Not completely.

Sometimes he'll show off a new shipment of tea that came in early with his sleeves rolled up, showing off his veiny forearms.

Sometimes he'll send his reflection in the mirror asking if a shirt looks nice, but the top buttons of the white Henley are undone, his slacks hugging his thighs just so.

Sometimes he'll go off the routine and send an additional late-night selfie. In the censored darkness of his bedroom — damn that old phone of his for not having Night Sight settings — you can still see his bare collarbone and shoulders as he wishes you good night.

It's torture.

(You've saved every single one, for reasons.)

But as soon as the clock strikes five, Levi invites you over for dinner with a preview of the night's menu before he's due to clock in for his shift.

Every.

Night.

For weeks.

Hypothetically, dinner is supposed to start at six.

Realistically, it never does — because there are more pressing matters at hand, like the warm ones splayed under your shirt.

For an apartment as spotless as his, you've likely defiled two-thirds of it by accident. Although there have been plenty of moments fooling around in the past with (failed) partners, making out with Levi feels… different. You're grown adults, but you feel that juvenile spark in the center of chest more when your lips meet after a (admittedly grueling) nineteen hours of being apart; infinitely charged like a battery that refuses to die, even when the work day has your patience tissue-paper thin.

The days used to be long. Monotonous. Stale.

Now your life is in technicolor, hinging on the big hand hitting :00 so you can rush home to see him.

And worrying about whether or not you're coming on too strong disappears the minute his front door opens. More often than not, you're met with the sight of Levi in an apron, his white button-down already halfway undone and his sleeves rolled to his elbows.

His head tilts like he's daring you to make the first move faster than him this time.

(He's lightning fast. You're more than happy to always lose.)

Neither of you seem to great each other by spoken word anymore.

Door opens, eyes meet—

Your mouth gravitates towards him like he's the opposing end of a magnet to yours.

How else are you meant to pass the time?

Waiting for the udon to cook? His hands free themselves from kitchen mittens to press you up against the counter, dipping his fingers under your shirt, all while kissing you senseless.

Stir fry taking an extra ten minutes? You'll end up on his couch, leg hooked around his hip, while he cradles your face and rocks his hips deliciously against yours.

Steeping the tea? Rather than staring down at a cup, you're half-lidded staring at a ceiling, back pressed into his dining table, while he worships your neck with slow, methodical kisses.

As you've come to learn, he's a phenomenal cook.

According to Levi, he's modesty a little out of practice (lies) because he can't remember the last time he entertained company that wasn't his mother or his two best friends.

For the longest time, he made ten-and-under meals; didn't try, didn't have to, didn't want to — when he was alone.

Now? It's his excuse to try a little harder, to be a little better, while life feels this easy.

It's a sentiment that resonates with you, too.

Although you don't stay overnight — it's too soon, he promised not to move too fast — Levi walks you back up the stairs to your apartment, every night, with a hand resting on the small of your back as if you are tethered in permanence.

Your back hits the cool sheets of the mattress, and sated exhaustion seeps in.

Whether from the day or overexerted lips, you can't really tell anymore.

What you feel is an all-consuming ache.

Safety.

Peace.

And as you lay there, all you can do is fixation on the ceiling, channeling the desire to be six floors above where you lay now to learn what it looks like when Levi Ackerman drifts off to sleep after a long shift at Scout Services Hotline.

.

.

.

.

.

  6:28 a.m.

You're stationed by the corner of the free weights section before he even taps his membership card.

Lately the abrupt influx of new campaigns and ASAP requests at your job has made it difficult to meet him at the gym. It's invented a new layer of tired that you never knew existed.

You're so tired that you can only lay on Levi's couch, slow-kissing him during a television show neither of you were really interested in watching.

It's torture.

Yet the idea of seeing his face when he notices you by his usual space, thinking you were stuck running to the office earlier than usual, fuels the anxious jitters that had you jumping out of bed a half hour ago.

Because being near him is an addiction. It feels like an acute sickness.

Seeing his face is the only cure.

(God forbid you ever slipped that thought out in Annie's presence. She would wither and die from the co-dependent sentimentality.)

Dee-doooo!

The door chimes jingle in the dead, six-in-the-morning air.

An additional digital chirp sounds at the front of the gym — someone tapped their membership tab off a jingling key chain, their sneakers shuffling across the rubber floor.

Craning your neck, you spy him: sporting black gym shorts and a white tank top, Levi Ackerman's bare shoulders are peppered with fresh droplets from the light drizzle outside. His dufflebag is slung over his shoulder, head hung low, as music faintly plays through his wireless earbuds.

Levi makes it past the elliptical, the treadmills, curbs the corner and—

Oh.

Oh, he's not going to look up.

You leap a step back from the workbench when you realizing he isn't stopping his absent-minded walk.

The abrupt movement causes his neck to nearly snap from how fast he whips his head at attention.

Rounded stormy eyes meet yours with confusion before blinking into wild surprise.

"Oh, shit — baby, hey," he exhales like you've punched him in the stomach. His finger plucks one of the earbuds out. "You didn't say you were coming today."

Right.

Instead of updating him to death about your life through a series of texts, you're trying something new that it's frightening and, so far? Not a fun time:

Spontaneity.

(Trying to be a little less predictable to a person who seems to predict your every move.)

"Uh, surprise?" you say with the inability to make the declaration not sound like a question. "I mean, I thought it… That I could surprise you by showing up early, since I finally finished that big project."

Even in the best of moods, you still have the habit of seeking some kind of verbal approval.

It's a habit you have to kick, fast, before it sours something beautiful.

However, Levi takes your nerves in stride. Albeit not a wide grin, the corner of his mouth upticks with a short but nonetheless approving nod.

"A welcomed one," he reassures, taking out the additional earbud to put them back into their case. "I didn't think I would get to see you until tonight. I was making peace with it."

(You have half a mind to start walking around with a pillow in hand, since his mission as your boyfriend is to make you scream into one from his sweet, earnest confessions.)

"Well, ta-da, rip that peace treaty up because I am here to join you!" you blurt instead, waving jazz hands at your sides. "If that's alright."

His brow bends, knits, with amused confusion. "If that's alright?"

Your hands drop with a small, embarrassed huff. "Yeah."

"In what universe would it not be?"

"I'm just—"

Something warm touches your lips, silencing your explanation.

When Levi angles your chin towards his by cupping your jaw, you sigh against his mouth and kiss back. Your eyes close without another thought.

And just like that, you forget why you second guessed your decision to surprise him in the first place.

(Even if the only other soul in this gym at this hour is the front desk woman, you never took Levi as a public display of affection kind of guy.)

When you pull away just a fraction, you notice his lips continue to hover. He chases your mouth to seek more before pausing, forgetting himself. Blue-gray eyes flutter until they rise to meet yours.

(You're so not mad if he's secretly a PDA guy with kisses like that.)

"What's on your workout docket for today?" he asks breathlessly.

Without thinking, you swallow and shake your head. "I completely forget."

"You forget?"

"You zapped it right out of my head."

"How?"

"I don't know, you just kiss in a very zappy way."

"Zappy?" he repeats, squinting. His hand continues to rest on your cheek. "I have never heard anyone call a kiss zappy. What does that even mean?"

"Like electricity." You raise a hand, flicking your fingers. "Pew."

He can't help it: Levi snorts out loud.

"It's fucking criminal how cute you are."

Butterflies burst free in your stomach as you try not to melt.

(Who knew going to the smelly, sweaty gym could be a romantic place? News to you.)

"And you are way too distracting right now," you reply, unable to stop smiling as you turn back towards the mirror to pick up your abandoned free weight.

It's true: everything about him is distracting, but especially when he's dressed in his gym clothes.

The droplets of water from the gentle rain outside are just a delicious preview of the eventual sweat that will kiss his biceps once he picks up his weights of choice.

"This is distracting?" Levi replies simply. You nod. "But I just got here."

"Trust me," you promise, "with you doesn't take much."

His head tilts, the fringe following, before his eyes squint with threatening amusement.

He moves in a semi-circle to come around behind you, his hand gliding effortlessly down your forearm to fix your positioning with the free weight now clutched in your hand.

Levi leans in against your back, his lips purposely grazing the shell of your ear.

"I could make it worse."

Oh.

You feel the saliva disappear in your mouth when he holds your gaze with a knowing stare in the mirror — the same stare he held when you were lying on his bed, his thighs hugging the edges of his chair, his hand—

"Levi!"

An animated voice chirps from behind the two of you, cutting the fantasy short.

Levi's narrowed gaze rounds with mild recognition in his reflection.

"Oh, what a coincidence!" the voice continues. "I didn't think you'd be here so early."

When you move out of position to turn around, the first thing you notice is how impossibly still Levi becomes. The second thing happens to be his reflection: the twitch of his brow under his black fringe screams sheer irritation. His fingers instinctually flex at your forearm.

Between gritted teeth, he spits out a singular name:

"Hange."

As you whip your attention over your shoulder, you see two somewhat-familiar faces.

A lanky brunette with glasses and a costume pencil mustache stands on a stagnant treadmill beside a broad-shouldered, stone-faced blond wearing a black baseball cap. The person with glasses pokes mindlessly at the screen, never quite catching the number as if trying to appear aloof and busy. The other stands beside the treadmill, holding a comically small free weight curled to his large, left bicep.

Both wear appropriate gym attire, though the logo on the chest of the blond hits you like a freight train: SURVEY CORPS.

Levi remains statuesque behind you, hand removed and eyes downcast at the bench while his nostrils periodically flare for signs of life. Back and forth, your eyes shift from his reflection to the duo resting at the (very vacant) treadmills.

The second you make eye contact with the brunette — the one he called Hange at his place last week — a brilliant smile invades their face.

"Hi."

You blink. "Hello."

They press a hand to the center of their chest. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm—"

"One of his former coworkers?"

Hange's glasses nearly fall down their nose as they lurch to grip both sides of the treadmill screen, their gasp dramatic. "Oh my gosh, Erwin, he's talked about us."

"Hange," Levi hisses again. You may not have known Levi for long, but you know what that tone means: he's not happy.

"I am unsurprised," the man — Erwin — states in monotone. "What other friends would he mention to his significant other if not us?"

"Well, ya hope the guy would bring up the most important people in his life, but you never—"

"Why did Nanaba let the two of you in?" Levi shuts down the banter as he finally turns to face them, his expression deathly serious. You elect to remain silent. "You have to show a membership card to even get past the front desk."

Erwin, without missing a beat, holds up a bright yellow slip.

"We signed up for a Groupon."

"A what?"

Hange snorts, peeling off the pencil moustache adhered to their upper lip. "Honestly, I didn't think they'd honor it. Pretty sure it's out of date on the website."

Erwin briefly glances sidelong to Hange. "They didn't read the small print but handed over a week pass nonetheless."

"A week?" Levi repeats. "You're shitting me."

"Did you expect us to take the day pass and lose out on value?" Erwin quips in return, deadpanned, before his eyes trail to yours. "Is this the famous Scarlet?"

"Famous?" you repeat softly.

(He's talked to his friends about you more than once?)

Hange grins, nudging Erwin's side with their elbow.

"They're a bunch of parrots, eh, Erwin? Very birds of a feather."

Exhaling sharply, Levi crosses his arms over his chest. "Yes, this is my girlfriend. And before you two shitheads pretend to be surprised, I showed you photos before. If you wanted to meet her so damn bad, you could have asked."

Hearing the word girlfriend fly so flippantly from his mouth makes your throat close with a contained scream.

He's shown photos.

Wait, which ones?

"We didn't know if you'd say yes!" Hange cries, exasperated. "You're always so cagey with these sorts of things. Plus, you didn't answer a single meme I sent you the last two days."

"You also ignored the group chat," Erwin reminds, "which implies you were too busy to respond to an offer, so Hange—"

"We," Hange corrects, waggling a finger between the two of them. "Joint effort."

"—so we could meet you in the middle of your rigid routines."

Levi looks ready to explode as he grits his teeth. "I'm gonna strangle that fucking group chat with my bare hands—"

As they continue to banter back and forth amongst themselves, a litany of emotions flurry through your body as the trio fights: excitement, anxiety, elation, pride. Not only were you meeting the two most important people in his life beyond his mother, but you were known.

(Your ex-boyfriend never did that in the time you were together. Hell, no partner ever has.)

Hange makes their way over to you, scrunching their nose with light amusement as Erwin pulls out his phone to show the evidence of Levi's shortcomings. Levi, for the time being, seems distracted.

"For the record, it is always this chaotic in this friend group."

With a tiny, nervous laugh, you nod. "So I've heard."

"You'll get used to it," they say. "Erwin is much more aligned with Levi's brevity, but I have to say that I'm cursed with the gift of gab."

"Trust me, I'm not much better."

Hange grins. "Thank god, we need more yappers in our lives. Maybe you can convince Grumpy McGrumps to show up for Thursday dinner next week."

Your heart skips a beat. "Dinner?"

"Mhm, Erwin's favorite get-together excuse besides roping us into golfing," Hange explains. "We invited the two of you on our group chat, but as you can imagine, Levi is terrible with keeping up with it. Usually it's because he's working himself to death, but if this is why he doesn't answer?" They shrug playfully. "I'm not mad. Can I see you phone?"

"Oi, Four Eyes," Levi interjects, whipping his attention from Erwin to the two of you. Without thinking, you hand Hange your phone. "The hell're you talking to my girl about?"

My girl.

It never gets old.

"I'm inviting her to dinner, ya big recluse!" Hange exclaims as they open up a new contact form and type in a number, before handing it back to you. "Just in case he bails."

Levi's head drops back, face to the sky, as he sighs. "Not fucking dinner…"

"Too late, I think she's game!" Hange turns to you. "Are you?"

Your mouth opens, shuts, then opens again like a fish out of water before you blurt the first sentiment that comes to mind.

"Only if we go to Happy Hour before?"

Erwin nods, almost sagely. "The best answer one could have possibly given. Happy Hour is essential for Thursday dinner."

"Thirs-ty Thurs-day," Hange sing-songs.

Erwin quirks a brow to his ally. "Hange, make a new group chat and add her."

"Already on it."

Bringing your lips into your mouth, you try not to smile too wide. The fact that Levi's friends are so eager to get to know you — to involve you — is a high unlike any other.

If your mood wasn't already in the clouds, then it's certainly shot into space.

When you catch Levi's eye, he mouths — I'm sorry.

Your furrow your brow and mouth back — don't be.

With how fast Hange speaks, it's easy to forget the time. It's like you've known them your whole life despite just meeting them. Erwin is kind, cordial, and seemingly excited about meeting you in general.

They want to know the new person in Levi's life.

(How, in such little time, have you felt so seen?)

Suddenly your palm vibrates, forcing you to raise your arm and look at your phone. An alarm shimmies in a panic across your lock screen: GET TO WORK, BITCH.

(Did an hour pass by that quickly with Hange and Erwin? Did you really talk that much?)

"Shit," you murmur to yourself before looking up at the trio. "Sorry, I actually have to get ready to leave for work."

Albeit subtle, the corners of Levi's mouth turn south as he moves past Erwin to make his way back to your side. Hange scoots out of the way to rest their forearm on a nearby treadmill.

"Is it already 7:30?"

"Almost," you tell him, showing him your phone.

Levi huffs, and your surprise, appears visibly disappointed.

"Guess that's what happen when two blabbermouths decide to show up unannounced."

He hesitates — contemplating, it seems, as his eyes drop down to the right — but whatever he's unsure of, he seems to have shaken away. His foot shuffles forward, his thumb and forefinger grab hold of your chin to tilt it so he can capture your lips with his in a tender, chaste kiss.

You accept it — with surprise, obviously, but there are very few scenarios that you would say no to a goodbye kiss from your boyfriend.

(As if there is any scenario where you say no.)

When he pulls away, his stare softens.

"I'll see you later?"

Wordlessly, you nod.

"Good. Have a good day a work, alright? Text me if you need anything."

Sealing that promise with one quick, brave peck, you turn to Erwin and Hange with sheepish excitement. "It was nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise," Erwin replies, a ghost of a smirk playing against his lips. "We'll see you next Thursday at 6 p.m. sharp."

"I texted myself on your phone!" Hange exclaims, waving goodbye as you disappear into the locker rooms with a newfound pep in your step.

.

.

.

.

.

    "For the record, I didn't say anything."

That's not a sentence you want to hear out of Annie's mouth the second you take a seat at your cubicle for the day.

Your quad of desks and chairs belongs to Annie, of course, as well as your colleagues Eren, Reiner, and Jean.

Eren's got a shit-eating grin on his face, his feet propped up by the mini-filing cabinet rolled out from under his desk. Jean is sitting on top of Reiner's desk eating an apple, but the two men are clearly interested in your arrival.

When you make eye contact with them, the four of them give a synchronized shrug.

Great.

Because that isn't suspicious or anything.

Sighing heavily, you pull out the contents of your work bag to produce your breakfast bento box. "Okay, I'll bite: say anything about what?"

"Someone saw you leave the bar a few weeks ago." Eren waggles his brow. "With a guy."

"Technically it was Armin," Reiner adds. "The person who saw, not the guy that left."

"Yeah, but he didn't realize he was talking out loud when he asked who she left with," Jean defends, "you know how he gets."

"And that guy was not—" Eren pauses, pointing his mechanical pencil to a wall leading to the finance department. "—He Who Shall Not Be Named Because Annie Will Hurt Me."

"Correct," Annie says, monotone. Her arms remain crossed with a steeping chair in her left, manicured hand. Her brow quirks. "Then Eren asked me who it was."

"She didn't budge."

"Can't get a word out of me, Yeager."

"It's so annoying."

"Just like you," Annie quips, sickeningly sweet.

"Love you, too," Eren mocks in return.

Reiner pulls a face, sitting back in his chair. "You really don't have to tell us anything if you don't want to, but it's nice to see you in better spirits lately."

A part of you wants to never tell another soul — a buried, selfish wish desperately wishes to keep Levi all to yourself. It's irrational, you know that, but there is something sacred about keeping him so close to your chest.

Although Levi's world has collided with yours, your world has yet to collide fully with his. Why?

Are you worried he won't like your friends?

Are you nervous he may see how much of a pushover you can be outside of him?

Are you scared of breaking some twisted imaginary narrative you've created, where somehow you can accept his life without any judgement but, for some reason, he can't accept yours?

(That's the anxiety of ruining a good thing creeping in.)

The nail of your index finger digs at the edge of your thumb, both hands resting in your lap. Pressing your tongue into the side of your cheek, you contemplate in circles about revealing your heart or keeping it back until you exhale slowly through your nose.

"He's a guy who lives in my apartment," you nonchalantly begin, causing Eren to nearly flail off of his seat before straightening up, "and we've been together for… a few weeks now."

"A few — a few weeks?" Eren yelps. "So a couple of months?"

"That's usually how long a few weeks are, yeah."

"Holy shit," Eren says, running a hand down his face. "Not that that's a bad thing. That's a great thing. A few weeks is awesome. What does he do for a living?"

"Sales," you answer without hesitation. "Contractor stuff."

(Not technically untrue.)

Annie's lips purse to avoid a smile while Jean and Reiner lean further towards your cubicle.

"He got a name?" Jean asks.

"Levi."

Eren squints. "Levi what?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Yeah, stupid, that's why I'd as— ow! Annie!" Eren ducks from the flyby of a large eraser getting chucked at his head, holding his arm above for protection.

"Don't be rude."

"I wasn't being rude!"

"You're always rude, one way or another," Jean says flatly, standing up from Reiner's desk to lean against the edge of his cubicle. "Alright, so… Levi. Sales. He nice?"

"Very."

"How many dates?" Reiner chimes in.

Your nose scrunches as you swallow your food. "I mean, as in like, going out to a restaurant or the park? None. But he cooks me meals every night, pretty much, so I guess like… a lot?"

"Damn, he even cooks," Jean repeat in awe.

"Who cooks?"

A voice, casual but enthusiastic, sends a chill down your spine.

The food in your mouth seems to sour when you realize who's standing by Eren's cubicle. Porco Galliard probably hasn't realized you're sitting at your desk, considering Reiner's hulking frame tends to take up a lot of the space. He seems to think he's talking amongst his own friends — which he is, technically speaking.

Jean and Porco game on weeknights. Eren and Porco run the fantasy leagues of your department during the major sports season.

Hell, Porco is the reason Reiner even has a job here. Their friendship goes all the way back to childhood.

It's just unfortunate that you fell for him and, yeah, he was into you for a spell, but it was in-between his will-we, won't-we with Pieck that's superseded your own history.

The quad goes deathly silent.

Steeling your nerves, you decide to poke your head out from the side to see him for yourself. Porco stands with his arms crossed, feet planted wide, with his signature smirk on his lips. His hair is perfectly swooped, the edges of his fade freshly done. He's wearing your favorite polo, the one that accentuates his arms, but you don't feel the same pathetic yearning you once did for the image before you.

When his hazel eyes meet yours, the smirks fades at an instant.

"Shit, sorry. Didn't see you come in this morning."

"Did you have a report to hand over, Porky?"

Annie asks with such disdain that even Jean winces. She glares directly at your ex-boyfriend, body language taut — like one ill-timed joke will set her off to risk the HR write-up.

"I, uh… no. Just heard Jean so I stopped by," Porco adds, detaching his crossed arms to rub the back of his head. "Sorry."

"Mhm."

(Nothing ever gets past Annie.)

"I'll catch up with you later, Reiner."

With a brief please-get-me-out-of-here wave, Porco turns on a heel to walk down the hallway. Reiner gives a half-hearted wave in return, but his hand falls in his lap with a decided thump. No one speaks until they're certain he's out of earshot.

"Awk-ward," Eren sing-songs.

"You okay?" Reiner questions, voice softer.

Are you?

To be honest, in your current state of being wrapped up in Levi, you had completely forgotten about the ex-boyfriend that pushed you to find him in the first place. Those sickeningly feelings that tumbled you over the edge hadn't followed you home from work for weeks. There isn't a Porco-sized shadow of self hatred lurking behind your shoulder.

If anything, you're grateful he broke your heart.

Not in the way it happened, but if that's what it took to find Levi? Then maybe you can make peace with that chapter of your life.

Maybe one day you'll talk to Porco. Iron things out. Let bygones be bygones.

Maybe.

You reply, shrugging a shoulder. "It's fine. I'm over it."

"Seriously?" Jean blurts, but it's coming from a genuine place. "The holiday party didn't exactly spell 'over it', but—"

"Jean, I'll filet you where you stand," Annie interjects, and the man quickly throws his hands up in surrender.

"Annie, it's fine," you tell her, shaking your head. Sitting back in your chair, you avoid your food for the time being — let the anxiety settle in your belly — and heavily sigh. "Shit happens. If we hadn't broken up, then I wouldn't have met Levi, and that would have fucking sucked."

"For what it's worth, he sounds like he's a good guy," Reiner offers, nodding. "You deserve to be happy."

Reiner always tried his best to stay impartial. You know that.

Given he's your friend and Porco's friend, there is only so much he can do.

Hell, he even went above and beyond by bringing you the coffee that Porco used to grab for you for the first week after the split.

Besides, it isn't like he's thrilled his friend made you a casualty with his obsession over Pieck. And you can't hate her, either. She's pretty. Smart. Sweet. There's not a bad bone in her body.

(Wrong person, right time.)

Once your nervous system evens out, you clear your throat and give a small smile to the group. "Anyway, yeah, that's my life right now and, no, you are not going to meet him anytime soon."

Eren grimaces. "What about Annie?"

"Annie's different."

"I am," Annie adds, counting off her fingers. "Intellectually. Mentally. Spiritually."

Squinting at the blonde, Eren picks up an eraser and throws it at Annie, aiming for her desk. She catches the flying object with obscene precision, brow quirked as if to ask: am I wrong?

Crisis of an ex aside, you decide today is going to be a good day.

You surprised Levi at the gym. You met his two best friends. They didn't hate you.

It is good. Things will continue to be good.

.

.

.

.

.   "I love her."

"You love everything, Four Eyes."

"Uh, false. I hate licorice. I hate getting stuck in traffic. I do not hate the fact that you finally have such a super freaking cool partner."

Levi pauses as he turns with the tea kettle in his hand, washing it by hand. Hange takes up the full couch, their tea cup and saucer sitting idly on their belly. Erwin sits on a dining room chair, his white button-down sleeves rolled up to his elbows and overlapping over his chest as they cross, tight. His tea remains half full.

"Zoe is right, Levi," Erwin chimes in, matter of fact. "I like her."

"Don't get it twisted, shithead. I never said they were wrong." Levi sets the kettle on the drying rack before leaning against the counter, mirroring Erwin's body language. "I do have a 'super freaking cool partner', but I'm not sure if she has one in return."

When Erwin's brow lifts — pray tell — Levi meets his eyes.

"We haven't been on a real date yet."

"Not a single one?" Hange chirps, propping their head up with the throw pillow his mom gifted him upon moving into this place — something about 'living the place up'.

(Fuck, he still hasn't told his damn mother about all of this. Would you even want to meet Kuchel? Is there a timeline he should adhere to? Is he going too slow? He's been worried about that for the last three weeks, but you keep coming over every night and you always look so good in those casual clothes and home cooked is better and—)

"Start with the basics before you spiral," Erwin states simply.

"Who said I'm spiraling?" Levi challenges, eyes narrowing under dark fringe.

That thick, blonde eyebrow raises imperceptibly higher.

Yeah, yeah, I get it, you asshole.

"I'm not," Levi argues with less conviction. "Just… wanna do it right."

"By stalling until you're two months with no date?" Hange asks.

A frown tugs at Levi's lips.

Yeah. He was afraid that his stalling of… well, everything might make you lose interest.

Granted, he has put effort in. His kitchen hasn't seen this much action since he was a fighter in need of constant protein. He's running out of recipes he knows off of the top of his head and has started resorting to the internet for ideas.

So, in a way, he's trying.

He's just not at the level that's considered normal.

(Then again, you promised you were fine with the abnormal.)

"Well, what does she like?" Erwin tries instead, squaring his shoulders.

Levi opens his mouth to answer, but Hange butts in. Again. "Does she like flowers?"

"Probably."

"What kind?"

"I didn't ask yet."

Hange sits up, nearly sloshing their tea over their burgundy tee. "Ooh, what about going to the movies? There's some romcom out right now."

"Go to the theater so I can, what, stare at something that isn't her?" Levi replies. "Pass. I'd rather do something more productive that shows I'm interested, not sit in a black box where people text on their phones for two hours instead of watching the damn movie."

"Hot takes with Ackerman tonight, I see," Hange singsongs as they hold the cup to their curved lips. "I'm only trying to help here."

He knows.

He knows his friends are just trying to get him out of his goddamn head, because this is how he'll ruin the one good thing he's got going for him. It's a miracle you've been so relaxed about his profession, for one, but he refuses to have a lame, forgettable first date.

As silence settles in the small apartment, he clicks his tongue at the roof of his mouth. "…she likes food."

Erwin and Hange stare.

And stare.

And stare, what the hell is wrong with fo—

"That is an abysmal observation," Erwin says. "Everyone likes food."

Their cup rattles as Hange sits up on their knees, unable to sit still for more than two minutes. "No! No, this is promising. What about dinner? That's a real first date, right? Maybe her favorite spot?"

True.

It's basic, simple, but it would work.

Levi winces as he unfolds his arms. "I'm booked this whole week for shifts. I don't know if it's romantic to cut out early on a dinner date to do… well, what I do." He pauses, mulling it over. "Does a lunch date not seem serious?"

Erwin and Hange look at each other, responding in kind.

"A little."

"Not at all."

But there it is: Erwin gets that gleam in his eye like he's solved the world's problems, inhales slowly through his nose, before he sits up tall.

"I figured it out."

Levi blinks, waiting.

Another beat passes.

"Are you… gonna elaborate on that, or—"

"Brunch. Early brunch."

Erwin leans forward, resting his elbow on the table as he uses his fingers to list off his foolproof plan.

"That leaves you with the entire day to pick things she wants to do with you, and you won't have to sacrifice time."

"Mm. No," Hange counters, "the datees don't want you ask them what they want to do. They want the dater to have a plan."

"What if it was to get to know her better?" Levi replies. "I show up and give her three ideas: show me your favorite place to go when you're stressed, your favorite place to share with people, and your… I don't know, your favorite place no one else knows about."

Erwin's lips screw to the right as he considers before nodding sagely. "…that way you can get to know her better and make it a date personalized to her."

"Right," Levi agrees, running a hand through his hair. "And if she blanks or gets in her head about it, I'll show her mine instead."

Hange snorts, setting their tea and saucer down on the coffee table. "You'd show her rock climbing?"

"If she'd be up for it," Levi quickly adds, wincing. "Should I ask her to dress casual?"

"Suppose you do." Erwin says, going with the line of thought. "Do you think she would be offended?"

"If anything, it might take the pressure off of both of us," Levi mumbles, mulling over his plan. Erwin isn't wrong. Brunch, as much as he can't stand the concept, would give them plenty of time to just… be. To explore the city, to get to know the day in the life of Former Scarlet.

And to be fair, Levi was going to do all of this weeks ago, but… well, he keeps losing his train of thought when you make that noise the second his lips touch your neck.

He never said he was the strongest soldier.

"Might as well ask her," Erwin finally agrees, standing to grab his coat.

Hange catches the memo and rolls off the couch, somehow landing on their feet. "Can't hurt to try, so long as you actually try!"

Yeah.

He really needs to try.

.

.

.

.

.   Work is… well, work.

Corporate can be draining. That isn't anything new.

There's something waiting for you when you get home, you're sure, despite how Levi's last text trailed around three o'clock in the afternoon. You're eager to get these damn clothes off and put on a pair of leggings before taking the stairs six floors up.

However, since Levi isn't technically here, you're hitting the elevator.

(You really like your boyfriend, but you're not about to take that many freaking stairs.)

Catching dailies on one of your game apps to pass the time, you only look up when the elevator dings to indicate your arrival at your floor. You shift your messenger bag on your shoulder, adjusting its weight, before stepping out and turning.

What you don't expect is for the dark-haired man to stand at your door, arms crossed, as he seemingly counts the tiles on the ceiling.

The ding wakes him from his trance, his eyes meeting yours.

(You'll never get tired of the butterflies in your stomach when he looks at you.)

"Visiting six floors down for once?" you asks playfully. "Unfortunately I cannot in good conscience let you inside, because my apartment is looking like a—"

"Lunch."

The word blurts from his mouth like he'd just gotten punched in the stomach.

Levi stands with his hands at his sides, flexing his fingers into fists.

You stop walking down the hallway, blinking twice. "…lunch?"

With an overdrawn inhale through his nostrils, he reaches to pinch the bridge of his nose. "That wasn't what I was going to say."

"Hello to you, too," you greet, but slower.

Is he okay?

Levi looks a little off — maybe even agitated. His expression is tense, body language tight. The warning signals that have lay dormant for the last few weeks awaken to suffocate those butterflies, causing your stomach to cramp from anxiety instead.

So you ask.

"Is something wrong?"

Those gray eyes expand, as if realizing his own presence, before he shakes his head.

"No. No, everything's fine."

"Are you sure?" you repeat.

A huff of a laugh exits his mouth before he leaves your apartment's orbit and meets you in the middle of the apartment hallway. You expect him to lean in and kiss you, but instead he reaches for your hand and gently lifts it to his face.

Kissing each individual knuckle, Levi's lips linger until he turns your hand, exposing your palm. He kisses the center of it, seemingly relishing in the warmth of your skin.

"Let me start over before I make an ass out of myself," he says. "Please."

Silently, you hold your breath and nod, stuck in a mixture of nerves and hope. Levi runs his thumb along your hand, reverent, before meeting your gaze.

"I've been failing as a boyfriend," he begins, to your surprise.

You blink twice, opening your mouth, but you only get "When—?" out before his other hand rises to rest his index finger against your lips.

"I have," he continues. "Apartment dates are fine and good, sure, but I've been so stuck in my head about making our first real date perfect that I haven't done a damn thing at all. You granted me the gift of going slow for long enough. You deserve more than that."

You blink, saying nothing.

You want to tell him that you like the apartment dates — and you especially like what happens before and after dinner's been digested — but it's clear he's made up his mind about his behavior.

A pregnant pause passes until he huffs in disbelief, seemingly at himself.

"Honestly, I had a whole speech and plan when you walked out of that elevator," he continues, "but something happens when I see you."

"Somnhappen?" you garble against the pad of his fingertip, mouth still closed.

There: a grin, there and gone in an instant, flashes over his face.

"You don't notice it?" he asks, dropping his finger from your mouth.

You shrug sheepishly. "We've established I'm pretty bad at social cues sometimes."

"Only sometimes," he teases. "Meanwhile I forget my entire train of thought anytime I lay eyes on you. It's like I just… I don't know, I forget the rest of the bullshit in the world for a second."

You should say likewise, but the sentiment has your throat closing from elation.

There is it: that euphoria he brings after a long day.

Taking a step forward, he brings your joined hands to his chest. "If you're free Sunday, then I'd love to take you to a brunch spot that has rave reviews online. I know going out at night on the weekend would probably be more romantic, but if we start early enough, then we can spend the day together."

Your body burns at the idea of spending the entire day in the sunlight with your boyfriend, in the open, where people can see.

"After that, I can take you somewhere, anywhere. Text me a list of your favorite spots in the city and I'll surprise you with the three of them."

Bringing your lips into your mouth, you stare into his eyes. "And what about what you like to do? It can't just be about me."

"To be completely honest, I'm already doing it," he confesses with a hint of embarrassment at his sentimentality. "Spending time with you's the highlight of my day."

"Okay, Mister Romantic."

Levi rolls his eyes. "Hardly. Just being honest." He squeezes your hand. "So? Is it a date?"

As if you needed to be asked twice.

Nodding, you drag your joined hands to your lips to kiss the tips of his fingers facing you.

You swear his ears grow pink.

"It's a date."

You pause, contemplating.

"But are we still having dinner?"

With a damn-near relieved huff, Levi lets go of your hand and walks past you — but not without giving a playful tap to your ass as he makes his way to the stairs.

"Damn right I'm still making you dinner. See you in twenty."

.

AUTHOR NOTE:

britney vc: it's been a while. i know i shouldn't have kept you waiting - but i'm here now

Appreciate your patience on this (wow, almost-one-year) update. I finished my longfic (yay!) and got a dog (she's 10 months old today!) so I'm happy to finally be back in the P4 realm. I have read every comment, every message, every reply on both here and AO3. I already have part six written and am currently editing as we speak.