#levihanweek2026

Jeez Levi now’s not the time to be boasting about what you and Hange get up to after your children go to bed 🫪

LeviHan Week 2026 Day 1: Modern Universe

Way to home together💜💚

who is that??

Levihan week 2026

Yay, it's Levihan Week! 🥳 I'm bringing you my first entry for this event, for today's prompt "Modern Universe." It's a songfic based on the song "I Love You, I'm Sorry" by Gracie Abrams ✨️ @levihanfest

Read HERE on Ao3.

When Hange confesses her feelings to Levi—her best friend for many, many years—she doesn't get the answer she'd hoped for and walks away believing he could never love her back. Determined to move on, she puts distance between them, trying to convince herself she's okay, that she can let him go. But no matter how much time passes, Levi keeps finding his way back to her, no matter how hard she tries to stop looking back, a constant reminder of what could never be.

They had dated for about two years— furtive encounters in the back-part of bars, and long-nights drinking wine at her place. It wasn’t a relationship, per-se. They never went to the park for coffee, or did what normal couples were used to. The kind of lives they carried didn’t allow for much more than one few shared cigarettes, and bodies tangled between cheapened hotel sheets.

No strings attached— they'd agreed, one rainy evening after playing pool at the local pub. Levi doubts they can even call themselves exes, if that. Romance was usually a chore, after all. Weird, complicated, emotional. It just wasn’t in the cards for him.

It never would be.

He scans the corners of The Garrison, like he tends to do whenever he's on-duty. His days of looking for trouble— beating people up for a good paycheck— are long-gone and over. Still, he guesses, some crazy bad habits are never quite buried.

Hanji stands beside him, trying to tune-in her counterbass with a smile and agile fingers. She's in her performance outfit— a purple suit and tie— and her hair pulled back in shiny pomade. She's styled it differently since the last time he'd seen her— barely a week and a day ago. Levi thinks, if they were on speaking terms, he'd tell her it doesn't look half as terrible. That he doesn’t despise the way the strands, brown and unruly, now brush the high of her cheekbones— make her jawline seem regal.

They'd met five grey winters back, when he was still breaking people’s bones for money, and she was on-the-run from the London political scenery. The Zoe family moved in high-class societal circles— glossy ballroom hallways filled with fur coats and fancy, French perfume. Hanji's dad was a senator— her mother a shameless trophy wife who pressured her daughter into marrying another politician. She was twenty-seven when she escaped home and into the ashy, southern streets— never once considered returning or picking up the phone. 

Levi had found her at a hidden theater on a lone, cold night in September. The Peaky Blinders were ruthless— war-stained men with bloody knuckles and a bruised past, sure— but they, also, weren’t complete aliens to culture or talent for the fine arts. Associates to the Shelby brothers would often pour a great part of their salaries into buying endless rounds of drinks and first-row concert tickets.

He was no different.

He stares back at Hanji now— how her lean figure moves in graceful manners when she’s holding up her instrument. She has a mole near her nostrils, and a quiet, natural gift for jazz. The first night he’d heard her play— lit up by the sparkling flashes at the South Heath pubs— it’d felt like magic. As if she could tug at his heartstrings— raw and tender— just as easily as she could make the beat swing.

There had always been jazz at home for him— perhaps that was the reason. His mother and uncle owned an old piano they kept in the center of their little two-dorm apartment. A moldy, wooden thing that looked like it would crumble by the hour, and that no one ever cared enough to tune. He would sit around to listen to momma churn out some classics— Fred Elizalde, Spike Hughes— and then, he’d try to teach himself when no one else was watching.

Hanji didn’t look like anyone in her family had ever taught her, either. It amused him, really— the way her fingers would dance up and down the bass-strings, her feet's rhythmic tapping, all that. Women weren’t allowed into jazz spaces, or in late night-clubs, in general— unless they were a waitress or a private dancer. He hadn’t had the courage to talk to her until the eighth time he saw her, and she broke the ice and invited him for beer.

“The name’s Levi”, he’d told her— all those years back— eyes beneath his beret. And from her smile— miles wide, the kind that would make her face’s skin blush— he knew; it’d be a long, long night.

The good thing about their relationship— if they could ever label it as that, though— was that they never asked, never pried too out of line. Hanji was not-so fully aware of Levi’s gruesome escapades (and if she was, she didn’t care). And Levi, though not entirely estranged from her link to the upper-class Zoe family, never got curious enough as if to investigate the reason why she’d run away. 

He guessed it was a fair exchange. A tacit agreement that worked for both. All they did was speak about jazz, then explore each other’s pleasure points before the sun rose. Turns out, that way, Hanji discovered he had a soft, ticklish spot behind his ear— and that her knees went weak each time he kissed the harshness in her hands away. 

It’d been months before either of them popped the question— the real deal-breaker. Secret meet-ups had become more and more frequent— touches always firm, always lingering there; in the small of backs, the tips of shoulders.

“Why did you do that?” Hanji’s voice raised above the silence, ever so slightly disturbed by the distant passing of cars down the main street. It was Christmas Eve, and they were lying off in bed— legs mingling in between the covers. 

Levi had looked at her— then tucked a brown, rebel strand to the one side of her head. 

“You’ve lost your shit”, he'd said, almost smiling— quite barely. And the way she stared up at him, right that second— as if he held the world alive— was when he knew: oh, that’d be the last night he’d ever see her. ------------------------------------------------------------- Fic is COMPLETE on my AO3! You can read here If you do, please leave a comment! I'd love to know what were your thoughtsss! Alsoo, thank you enormously to @levihanfest for once again organizing this incredible eventtt! I love you guysss

I'm soo nervous, this work spiraled out of control and it ended up being very dear to me!