#levixhange

Chapter 19: You Always Come Back

The umbrella dripped faintly in the corner of her entryway, forming a small, traitorous puddle on the tile.

Hange leaned against the door after closing it, head tipped back, breath easing out in a long, invisible thread. Her apartment was still dark, she hadn’t bothered to leave a light on. She didn’t need to. Every step from the door to the kitchen had been walked in muscle memory. She moved through it now, shedding her hoodie, socks, the damp weight of the evening.

Levi’s apartment was quiet by habit, clean lines, muted walls, the hum of a fridge that never quite drew attention to itself. Her place was quiet by contrast. Cluttered books, unfinished projects on the counter, a stack of laundry waiting for judgment. It had its own heartbeat, but tonight, it felt like background noise.

She glanced at her phone, half expecting a message. Nothing yet. Not that she was waiting.

She flicked the kettle on and wandered to the window, arms folded, watching the city shimmer beneath the rain. Her hair was still damp at the roots. She didn’t bother drying it.

By the time the water boiled, her phone buzzed.

Oh. She realized. She stared at it for a moment. Then—

This, too, was familiar. Their connection had developed its own timing, text messages that read like arguments but felt like something else. Something that hummed quietly between the lines.

She read that twice.

Her hand paused around the handle of the mug. She could still feel the lingering shape of the evening in her bones, the weight of his presence, the silence they shared without needing to fix it.

She leaned her hip against the counter, heart moving a little too close to her throat.

This time, no typing dots.

She sipped her tea slowly, waiting for nothing in particular.

When her phone finally buzzed again, it was simple.

She read the message once, twice—smiling like an idiot by the third.

Peace was overrated anyway.

Funny, how all this started with a misfired message. One wrong number. And now here she was, sipping tea alone in her apartment while already planning how to “accidentally” leave her things next time.

Levi, in his infuriating, deadpan way, always knew how to say just enough. No grand declarations. Just a cracked door left open.

She set the phone down, already knowing she’d forget something else next time. Maybe her book. Maybe her keys. Something that would earn another dry text and another reason to come back.

She let the silence stretch, and glanced toward the umbrella still dripping by the door.

It could stay there a while longer.

She was going back soon anyway.

Chapter 18: You Came Anyway

The knock came exactly 25 minutes after the text.

Levi didn’t move at first. He remained in the kitchen, arms braced on either side of the sink, eyes fixed on the dark windowpane above it. Rain blurred the reflection of his apartment into something soft and shapeless. He hadn’t bothered to reply.

The second knock was lighter. Almost playful.

He finally turned, wiping his hands on a dish towel and heading for the door. When he opened it, Hange was standing there in her usual chaos, wet curls clinging to her cheeks, a plastic bag hanging from one wrist and a crooked grin on her face.

“Hey,” she said simply.

He stepped aside. She entered like she always did, without waiting.

The warmth of his apartment hit her first. Then the smell: faint citrus, clean linen, rain. She dropped her bag on the floor by the couch and peeled off her soaked hoodie, revealing a rumpled T-shirt underneath.

“You always keep it so quiet in here,” she murmured, toeing off her shoes. “It’s like walking into a monastery.”

Levi closed the door behind her. “Maybe you’re just too loud.”

She smirked but didn’t argue. “That too.”

The routine was familiar by now. She hung her hoodie over one of the dining chairs to dry, then padded barefoot into the kitchen like she belonged there. He handed her a clean mug without asking. She filled it from the still-warm kettle on the stove, then turned to lean against the counter beside him, her hands curled around the ceramic.

Steam rose between them in small, invisible spirals.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The kind of silence that had weight, but not discomfort.

“I almost brought food,” she said at last, breaking it. “But I figured you’d just make that face again.”

“What face.”

“The one where you pretend you don’t want any but end up eating half.”

Levi’s mouth twitched. “If it’s edible, maybe.”

She bumped her shoulder gently against his. “I’ll take that as progress.”

They stayed there a while, shoulder to shoulder, sipping in silence. She liked that about him, the way he didn’t rush moments. With most people, silence begged to be filled. 

Eventually, she tilted her head toward him. “So. Any reason you called me over, or was it just the usual ‘I don’t feel like being alone but won’t admit it’ thing?”

He gave her a sideways glance. “You came anyway.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. “I always do.”

She moved to the couch and dropped onto it with a sigh, legs folding up under her like a cat settling in. Levi followed, mug still in hand. They sat with a cushion of space between them, but it wasn’t distant. It was deliberate. Careful.

“No particular reason,” he said, finally. “Just thought you’d come.”

Hange looked over at him, the rainlight casting soft shadows across her face. “Statistically speaking, the probability of me showing up uninvited is dangerously close to 1.0 anyway.”

Something about the simplicity of it hit her harder than expected. The quiet way he let her in, not just into his apartment, but into his space, and the slow orbit of his life. He never said much, but the constancy of him said enough.

She nudged his foot with hers under the coffee table.

“Next time,” she said, “I’ll bring something edible. Maybe.”

He let out a breath, not quite a laugh. “Better than chopsticks.”

“I still want those back, by the way.”

“Too late. I burned them.”

“You didn’t—!”

“Tch. Shut up.”

She laughed then, easy and loud, the way she always did when she was in his space, because somehow, here, she didn’t need to filter it. Levi didn’t smile, not fully, but the corner of his mouth curved just enough to say stay.

She leaned back against the cushion, drawing one knee up and resting her chin on it, watching the rain pattern down the glass.

He didn’t ask when she planned to leave.

She didn’t offer.

The rain had softened into a steady whisper against the windows, the kind that made everything feel a little slower, a little heavier. Hange stood by the front door, wrestling with the sleeves of her damp hoodie. The fabric clung stubbornly, resisting her every tug like it had made peace with staying. She huffed and gave up halfway, arms still halfway through, as Levi crossed the living room behind her.

“You’re not winning against cotton,” he said flatly, reaching past her to flick off the hallway light.

“I let it win,” she muttered. “Strategic retreat.”

He quirked a brow. “You’re dripping on the floor.”

“You invited the storm in, not me.”

“You walked it in,” he corrected, then moved toward the kitchen without looking back.

She watched him go, hoodie finally settling into place with a stubborn pull. Her shoes were still by the couch, forgotten in their earlier rhythm. The apartment had taken on that familiar post-visit quiet. The one that didn’t feel empty so much as paused.

“Your umbrella.” he mentioned from the kitchen, already holding it out without waiting for an answer.

Hange padded over, taking it without touching his hand. “You sure you don’t need this more than I do?”

He gave her a look. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

There was a brief pause. The kind that tried not to be a question.

Hange offered a wry grin and opened the umbrella halfway, testing the hinge. “Still a little rusty.”

“You’ve had it since forever.”

“So have you,” she shot back, eyes flicking up to meet his.

His mouth twitched at the corner. No reply.

She turned toward the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “Shorty. Thanks. For letting me do nothing here.”

“You do plenty,” he said quietly. “You take up space.”

“That sounds like an insult.”

“It wasn’t.”

Her grip on the knob loosened just a bit.

Another pause. Quieter. Closer.

“I’ll text when I get home,” she said.

Levi didn’t look up from where he was folding the dish towel. “Don’t get hit by a bus.”

She snorted. “Aw, is that your grumpy way of saying ‘be safe’?”

He glanced at her then, eyes sharp but unreadable. “It’s my way of saying watch where the hell you’re going.”

Hange grinned. “Translation: ‘I’d be mildly inconvenienced if you died.’”

“No,” Levi said flatly. “You’d haunt me. Loudly.”

She laughed, pulling the door open at last.

“See? You do care.”

“Tch,” he muttered, already turning away. “Get out before I change my mind.”

But she caught the flicker of something soft in his expression before the door closed, something he didn’t say, but definitely meant.

Chapter 17: Guess I Live Here Now

Hange sat curled up in her own living room this time, wearing Levi’s oversized hoodie, hair damp from a lazy shower, a half-finished takeout container balancing on her lap. The TV played something unimportant in the background. Her phone buzzed once on the armrest beside her.

She snorted, typing one-handed while still chewing.

Meanwhile, Levi

Levi stared at the message, deadpan.

Theatrics. As always.

He could already picture her typing it out with dramatic finger flourishes, probably chewing something she shouldn’t be, hair still damp and probably defying physics. It was never just about the umbrella. It never had been.

Chapter 16: Technically, She Still Hasn’t Moved In

The third time Hange showed up that week, she didn’t even knock.

She came in juggling a paper bag of groceries and a folder of notes, dropped both on the kitchen counter with a sigh, and kicked off her shoes like she lived there.

Levi didn’t say anything. Just handed her the slippers she always forgot to bring and went back to slicing vegetables on the cutting board.

“Broke anything or just traumatized your interns this time?” he asked.

“Disastrous. You ever try explaining molecular binding to someone who thinks a pipette is a kind of pasta?”

“No.”

“Don’t. I think I lost brain cells.”

She opened the fridge, muttered about the lack of snacks, then started unloading the bag without asking. She knew where the bowls were now. Which mug was his favorite. Which dish soap he preferred because the lemon-scented one was, quote, “an affront to human dignity.”

It had been like this for a while now, weeks, maybe more. She came and went. Brought food, borrowed hoodies, fell asleep on the couch sometimes. Sometimes he’d wake to find her curled under a blanket with a book on her chest and her glasses sliding off her face. And he never woke her up.

They hadn’t really talked about it. They didn’t need to. Their relationship had built itself.

But lately, Levi had started noticing things.

Like the way his apartment always felt quieter when she wasn’t in it. Not peaceful, just empty.

Or how he’d catch himself watching the clock without meaning to, wondering if she was coming by.

Tonight was no different. She was humming some off-key tune while she unpacked the produce, her sleeves pushed up and hair already slipping out of its tie. She was rambling about some failed experiment and how she nearly set off a fire alarm with a Bunsen burner.

He handed her a knife.

“Chop those,” he said. “Before you kill me with your voice.”

“Rude,” she said, grinning. But she took the knife.

They worked side by side for a while, moving around each other like it was choreographed. No awkward bumps, no over-explaining. Just the quiet shuffle of feet and the clink of utensils.

At one point, she leaned in to grab a spice jar behind him and rested her hand lightly on his back.

Just for balance. Just a second.

But he felt it.

And for some reason, he didn’t move.

It lingered in the air longer than it should have.

She didn’t say anything, either. Just went back to stirring.

After dinner, they ended up on the couch again. The same blanket. A documentary playing low in the background. She was half-asleep, her head tipped toward him but not touching, fingers still curled around a cup of tea.

Levi glanced down at her.

Something tightened in his chest. Not unpleasant. Just sharp. Clear.

Suddenly, it felt different.

It wasn’t just about food or company anymore.

Chapter 15: Domestic Disturbance (With Toast)

The smell of toast and burnt eggs hung in the air like an awkward apology.

Hange stood over the stove in one of Levi’s oversized hoodies—the same one she’d borrowed the other night and “forgot” to take home again. Her glasses were fogged slightly from the steam, and her hair was tied in a lopsided bun that leaned at a concerning angle, like it might collapse under its own weight.

“This isn’t going well,” she muttered to the pan.

Behind her, Levi sipped his tea from the couch, watching her with a look that hovered somewhere between resigned and vaguely entertained. “Didn’t ask you to make breakfast.”

“Too bad. I’m already emotionally invested in these eggs.”

A second egg hit the pan with a wet splat. It sizzled and curled like it was trying to flee the scene.

“You’re emotionally invested in chaos.”

“Exactly,” she said, cheerful. “That’s why I’m here.”

He didn’t argue. Mostly because she wasn’t wrong.

She hummed as she scraped the eggs onto a plate, burnt on the bottom, still suspiciously raw on top, grabbed two mismatched forks, and padded over to the table. She set the plate down like she was unveiling a masterpiece, then collapsed into the nearest chair with the kind of exaggerated sigh normally reserved for post-war exhaustion.

“Voilà,” she said, handing him a fork. “Eat, peasant.”

He stared at the plate.

Then at her.

“I can make better eggs blindfolded.”

“You probably have. Just shut up and eat. It’s about the gesture.”

Levi took a tentative bite. Chewed. Swallowed like a man trying to prove a point under duress.

She watched him, hopeful. “Not dead?”

He took another bite. “Almost.”

She grinned, triumphant.

They ate in the kind of low-key mess that seemed to follow Hange wherever she went, crumbs on the table, music low from her phone speaker, her foot tapping a beat against the chair leg.

After a while, Hange set her fork down, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of the hoodie.

“So. Are you gonna pretend you didn’t notice I’m still wearing this?” she asked, tugging at the hem.

“I noticed.”

“And?”

Levi took a sip of tea “You left it folded like a psychopath on the chair. That means you wanted me to notice. So, congrats.”

“Damn. Can’t even get away with passive aggression around here.”

“You never could.”

She smiled again, same grin, but quieter this time, a little less performative.

“I like it here, you know,” she said. “It’s stupidly quiet, and everything smells like soap. It’s weird.” 

She paused, then added with a smirk, “Are you secretly a serial killer or just aggressively hygienic?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back in his chair, mug warm between his hands, eyes on her.

“You say that like it surprises you.”

She shrugged. “It kind of does. You’re all sharp corners and judgmental eyebrows. But turns out I like that.”

He tilted his head slightly. “The hoodie’s yours now. You keep showing up in it anyway.”

Her eyes lit up. “Is this a gift? Are we moving into the shared wardrobe phase of our friendship?”

“Don’t push it.”

“Too late. I’m emotionally attached now. This thing’s seen me through at least three existential crises and one catastrophic curry experiment.”

Levi didn’t say it, but she already knew. The fact that she could wear something of his, walk into his kitchen uninvited, burn his eggs, and still be welcome said more than anything he was ever going to put into words.

Instead, he stood, picked up the plate and both their forks, and walked to the sink.

“You owe me a real breakfast next time,” he said over his shoulder.

Hange beamed, trailing after him with her mug. “Deal. But only if I can keep raiding your closet.”

“Tch.”

Chapter 14: Typing, Erasing, Sending

Levi was still half-buried under the sheets, lying sideways with one arm wedged beneath his pillow. The faint hum of traffic filtered through a cracked window, along with the damp scent of morning rain. His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He blinked at it.

He hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for her message.

He reached for it lazily, unlocking the screen and thumbing a reply with one hand while the other scratched idly at his chest beneath the collar of his T-shirt.

He let the phone rest on his stomach. A moment later, it buzzed again. The typing dots blinked. Vanished. Reappeared.

He could see her now, probably sitting cross-legged wherever she is, hair half-tied, glasses sliding down her nose, muttering to herself as she overthought the response.

He smirked. A huff of breath slipped from his nose. Stretching, he shuffled to the kitchen barefoot, cracking open the fridge with his phone still in hand. Empty. Except for the leftover broth and a tiny, overly decorative chopstick set sitting on the counter like a shrine.

He stared at the screen a beat too long. That was too accurate. He could hear her voice say it, probably with a scowl and a hand on her hip.

He took a sip, lips twitching.

He wandered back to the couch.

He stared at that one longer. She’d left around midnight. Her laugh still lingered in the space, like the faint scent of her shampoo on the hoodie she folded neatly before she left.

Typing… Didn’t say you could come in, you just barged in with noodles.

Deleted it. Tried again:

Typing… You didn’t knock right. It was offbeat.

Deleted that too.

Finally, he sent:

Phone down. Fingers at the back of his neck. The cat purred louder nearby.

He tilted his head back, watching the ceiling shadows stretch.

He didn’t answer right away. The rain was picking up again.

No buzz. Then:

He rolled his eyes.

He glanced around the apartment, still dim in the gray light.

He stared.

9:33 AM. She was already thinking about dinner?

Dots. Vanish. Dots again.

He exhaled, smiling faintly.

Another pause. Rain steady against the windows.

He snorted.

He set the phone down, but didn’t move. Rain drummed steady. The hoodie—his hoodie—still folded on the armchair. He glanced at it.

He tugged it on.

The phone buzzed.

Phone face-down. Eyes closed. Not sleep. Just quietly waiting.

Chapter 13: The Art of Not Caring (Too Loudly)

The week crawled by as usual. Levi went through the motions of work, silence, the occasional nod to something resembling rest, but his thoughts kept snagging on the memory of Hange’s last visit. They hadn’t spoken much since, just the occasional texts. Enough to keep her in his head, not enough to shake her loose.

He didn’t like that. Or maybe he did. He hadn’t figured it out yet.

New week has rolled around again, dragging a quiet thread of anticipation with it. He tried to ignore it. He told himself it didn’t matter. But when his phone buzzed that afternoon, his eyes drifted to the screen before he could stop them.

He scoffed. Typical. Vague and irritating, but coming from her, it tugged a reluctant smirk out of him.

He didn’t care. He was fine.

The café was quiet before he stood up, the way he liked it, low music, minimal chatter, the clink of mugs behind the counter. He just ordered the usual then left the table by the window, letting the stillness settle around him and went home to meet his expected visitor today. Leaving the door unlocked.

She wouldn’t be early. She never was.

Minutes passed. The sky outside shifted slowly toward evening, and just as he let his shoulders drop in the comfort of the moment, the door opened.

And there she was.

Hange burst into the living room with her usual chaotic energy, hair slightly askew, bag slung over her shoulder like she was arriving for a week-long stay. She spotted him instantly, her grin wide and unbothered.

“Hey!” she called, weaving through the tables. “Hope you’re starving.”

Levi raised an eyebrow. “I’m always starving. You’d know that if you paid attention.”

“I do pay attention,” she said, dropping her bag onto the table with a thud. “I know exactly what you need.”

He eyed the bag with suspicion. “What is it this time?”

“Something less lethal than your usual lunch,” she said, pulling out a small container. “Stew. Homemade. No science experiments this time.”

He gave her a flat look. “Don’t tell me this is one of your ‘just winging it’ specials.”

“Wow. No faith at all. This one’s actually tested. Multiple times. Zero casualties.”

Levi peered at the container like it might explode. “I’ll believe it when I survive the first bite.”

With a dramatic flourish, she popped the lid. The smell hit him first, rich, savory, and just enough spice to make his nose twitch.

He hesitated, then took a spoonful.

Chewed. Swallowed.

“Could be worse.” he said, trying for indifferent. Hange beamed like she’d just won a cooking show. “I knew it! I’m a culinary prodigy, you just don’t want to admit it.”

“You’re not getting a trophy.”

“Don’t need one. I’ve got you, haven’t I?”

Levi narrowed his eyes, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Don’t push your luck.”

Hange leaned back, folding her arms behind her head. “For someone who pretends nothing phases him, you sure have a lot of opinions about my food.”

“I just don’t feel like dying today.”

“You’re lucky I’m the one feeding you,” she shot back. “Left on your own, you’d survive off your tea and spite.”

Levi considered that. “Probably accurate.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Their usual banter carried them through the next few minutes, easy and practiced. But there was something different underneath it today. Not quite awkward, not quite obvious. Just something. An edge neither of them pointed to.

“Next time,” Levi said, scooping another bite, “bring something you didn’t almost burn the kitchen down making.”

“I’ll have you know there were minimal flames,” Hange replied. “And you’re still eating it, so I clearly did something right.”

He didn’t argue. Just looked at her.

Something about the way she sat across from him, elbows on the table, eyes bright, laugh still lingering in the air, felt less like chaos and more like comfort.

And that was the unsettling part.

It shouldn’t have felt like this. Familiar. Easy. Like she belonged there, in that chair, across from him.

He took another bite. She smiled. Neither of them said anything else.

But the feeling stayed unspoken.

Chapter 12: Somewhere Between the Lines

The days blurred together, much like the ones before.

Levi slipped back into his routine, quiet days, the hum of the kettle, the monotony of work that never seemed to end. It should’ve been easy, familiar. But something about Hange’s last message stayed lodged in his thoughts longer than it should’ve.

She was back, loud as ever. And now it was Thursday.

The buzz of his phone broke through the quiet of his apartment, sharp against the low ambient sound of the city outside.

Levi frowned, thumb hovering over the screen. A single message, no explanation. That was... not unusual. But it landed differently this time.

He already knew the answer. He regretted asking the moment he sent it.

He set the phone down, exhaling. He didn't bothered asking "Why?" Of course she was. That was just how she goes, sliding into his life sideways, unannounced, like a force of nature. And as annoying as it was he didn’t hate it.

Minutes passed. He watched the city lights blink on outside, the sky dipping deeper into navy. The anticipation prickled under his skin, an irritating itch he couldn’t quite shake.

When the doorbell rang, he answered without thinking.

There she was, wind-tousled, grinning like she’d just gotten away with something. An oversized bag slung over one shoulder, eyes bright and unapologetic.

“Surprise,” she said, lifting the bag like a trophy. “Got you something.”

Levi arched a brow. “Didn’t expect a visit. Or a gift.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it?”

He stepped aside, already resigned. “What’s in the bag?”

“You’ll see,” she said, breezing past him and heading straight to the kitchen. She dropped the bag onto the counter like it deserved a dramatic reveal. “Prepare yourself.”

Levi watched her with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. “You’re impossible.”

“Oh, you love it,” she teased, pulling out a steaming takeout bowl and setting it down. “Dinner is served.”

He stared. “Ramen?”

“Don’t sound so offended,” Hange said, already grabbing chopsticks. “It’s gourmet-ish. And it’s warm.”

Levi eyed the bowl warily. “This is processed sodium and shame.”

“It’s comfort food,” she corrected, nudging it toward him. “Plus, I brought lemonade. Homemade. My special concoction.”

He gave her a look. “That sounds ominous.”

She smirked. “You’ll survive.”

Against his better judgment, he picked up a spoon and took a bite. The broth was shockingly rich, the noodles just firm enough. Annoyingly good.

“I’ll give you credit,” he muttered. “Not bad.”

“Knew you’d come around.”

They settled into a rhythm, the kind they fell into easily now. Teasing, soft insults, quiet clinks of chopsticks on ceramic.

“So,” she said, leaning back with her lemonade. “How’s the thrilling life of Levi Ackerman?”

He sighed. “Unchanged.”

“Things just keep going, huh?”

She said it quietly, almost like she didn’t mean for him to hear. But he did. He noticed the slight slump in her shoulders, the way her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her cup.

He didn’t ask. And she didn’t offer.

Instead, she brightened, flashing him that same wild grin.

“So. Figured out how to survive without me yet?”

He rolled his eyes. “I get by. Barely.”

She laughed, warm and clear. “Liar.”

Silence settled between them, not awkward, just full. Like there was something they were both trying not to say.

Eventually, Levi leaned back. “So what now? We sit here and pretend we didn’t just eat a nutritional disaster?”

“Relax. I brought dessert,” she said, rummaging in the bag again.

“Of course you did.”

She held up a small container like it was sacred. “Cupcakes. You’re welcome.”

He stared. “You really do like torturing me.”

“It’s part of my charm,” she said with a wink.

And then he laughed—a real one this time, low and unexpected.

“Alright,” he said, reaching for a cupcake. “You win.”

“I always win,” she said, grinning as she peeled back the wrapper.

They ate slowly, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around them like a blanket. The tension that had hummed beneath the surface now softened into something else. Familiar. Easy.

Too easy.

Levi didn’t say it out loud, but something felt different tonight. Not in the ramen or the jokes or the stupid cupcakes, but in the way Hange looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. In the way she stayed just a little longer than necessary.

Maybe they were standing on the edge of something.