Levi’s firm hands, which had so skilfully wielded sharp knives and struck down criminals, hardened by years of hard work amongst thugs, now held something different—something fragile and warm.
He was crying, a sound that replaced Hange’s weariness the moment he came into the world.
He was small, unlike anything Levi had ever imagined holding so close in his life.
He was also writhing amidst his cries; that seemed to be an important detail, for he did not stop doing so, just as he had felt and witnessed within Hange’s womb.
He was covered with the cloak Levi was wearing, thick yet soft enough not to harm his skin, wrapping him in all the calm Levi could muster at that moment.
The dark-haired man rose from his seat with the baby in his arms, taking a few steps before placing him on Hange’s chest with the care the situation demanded.
She was catching her breath when she felt the extra weight squirm and looked down: wrapped up, a tuft of black hair covering its tiny head, eyes closed in contentment, fists clenched tightly that relaxed when they heard their mother’s heartbeat, and a whimper that subsided.
—You’re here…— Hange murmured, as she placed her hand on the baby’s back.
A weary smile formed on her lips, unlike all the madness or exaggeration that usually erupted at some point during her fits of joy.
This was different, more still, more enduring; it made him forget all the pain of the situation and focus on that curious form of life to which he had told so many things over the months, which had arrived unannounced and had survived through sheer resilience.
A life they hadn’t planned for, but which, with tenacity, had decided to stay just the same.
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