Hello, Sweetie.

Gunther scowls and continues to curse under his breath, chin to his chest, as he observes the mess on his Scout uniform shirt with disdain.

"Makes no damn sense why these things are white to begin with," mumbles out of the corner of Gunther's mouth.

Perhaps a bit too animated with his storytelling gestures, he managed to slosh half of his freshly-poured glass onto himself. While no one enjoys spilled red wine — much less Captain Levi, whose left eye already twitches at the slowly-staining wood below — the rest of you burst into carefree laughter like it’s the funniest thing any of you have ever seen.

(One could argue a few of you are a little tipsy.)

Tipsy is also, perhaps, a grave understatement. 

This brave squad of Scouts discover far too late in the day that Oluo is a heavy-handed bartender, and that just-a-glass measurement he'd been eyeballing may have been two, perhaps even three servings rolled into one.

(It’s one of those important details that everyone seems to have forgotten, not just you.)

Originally you had been happy to abstain from drinking, not wanting to blur the image of today into tomorrow, but the rowdiness of joy of the festivities caused you to cave.

Petra handed a cup to you without thinking, you sipped without asking, and the dominos fell into place.

Erwin, however, said it best: life is too short not to.

Even the Commander and the Captain elected to participate in the libations, albeit sipping slower than their colleagues. 

The pair stand together against a wall — Levi watches the scene unfolding intently with his arms crossed, his own sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His jacket is abandoned on the back of a wooden chair. Erwin leans on one shoulder, resigning his will to hide his amusement. The emerald-green bolo tie around his neck is loosened considerably. His tan jacket remains perched on his shoulders.

When the celebrations started, it was just shy of eleven in the morning. 

Now it inches closer and closer to suppertime.

As the hours came and went, memories crept against the back of your neck like a wayward strand of hair tickling your skin. Eld reminisced about the first few weeks of your arrival. Gunther happily recounted some of the better encounters with the Titans; the few and far between wins. Petra and Oluo told conflicting stories, of course, but would eventually meet at their conclusions. Moblit, albeit quiet, filled in the smaller details of Hange's grander stories.

Although you've had a crash-course lesson in your own life, not everything feels like it belongs to you. After all — to remember everything would be too easy. 

Life, as you’ve come to lament, never works that way. 

And some memories are buried deep into the subconscious for a reason.

(Your time in the Underground City comes and goes like a scent wafting past your nose — within a few seconds, you forget what it was. You don’t speak of their passing.)

Eventually, when the world settles upright fully again, you’ll sit Levi down and ask if you got the worse details right.

If what you recall of Mother and your lost siblings, of the gang and those ill-fated teenagers, of all the hardships and heartbreak, were real.

Of all people, he would know best. 

Of all people, he would not lie.

(No one else needs to know. No one else needs to hear.)

However the more recent memories, like the days leading up to the first accident, are much clearer.

Long talks with Petra about the eventual return to the Walls, discussing formation plans with Eld, teasing Oluo relentlessly… they’re as tangible as the liquor on your tongue.

And they’re not scary.

When everything felt out of body, far away, they were terrifying. Familiarity was fearful.

Now your nervous system welcomes them, picking up the pieces to put the puzzle into place.

In one corner, Hange stands beside a small round table, a relic found abandoned in the corner of the mess hall.

One slender hand busies itself with rolling up their sleeve to their elbow, eyes focused on the enemy on the other side of the room:

You.

“I wager six silver on Hange.”

A flushed Eld places the coins down on the table, causing Petra to gawk at his audacity.

“Oh, you’re kidding me,” she squawks. “Six? I was gonna only put down two!”

“Have you seen the way Hange handles those titans?” Eld grunts. “No such thing as a coincidence with that.”

“Ha! I appreciate your vote of confidence.” 

Hange pushes their glasses up the bridge of their nose before leaning over the round table. Their elbow hits the wooden surface, their bicep slightly flexing against the white of their bunched sleeve. 

“What say ye, Petra? Seven on James winning a traditional arm wrestle?”

“Fine!” Petra exclaims as she slams down her own silver. “I raise you to eight on James!”

“Oh-ho, big roller Petra over here,” Oluo teases with a lopsided grin. He sits at the long table, unable to stand without swaying.

(The second you heard Oluo stumble on his words an hour into the celebration, you remembered instantly: that man is the biggest lightweight you’ve ever met in your life. For someone who has a heavy hand, he sure can’t take handle the power he wields.)

“I know she can win,” Petra reasons passionately. “After all, she did last time.”

“Heresay, Petra!” Hange exclaims.

When your eyes briefly blink right to find Levi, they click their tongue with a tsk.

“Ah, ah! Eyes on me, sweetie.” The Section Commander’s fingers wiggle. “This one is between you and me.”

“I don’t believe you when you say this is a rematch,” you flatly respond, but you pop the button connecting the cuff of your sleeve.

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“Well, you’re not exactly forthcoming with the truth.”

Hange gasps like they’re gutted by the burn. “I’ll have you know that it was last January. Tell her, Moblit.”

“It was,” Moblit answers immediately.

Hange continues. “We were stuck in a snow storm with nothing to do out here. We went through an entire case of liquor just to keep warm. Then I came up with an amazing idea to have us all—”

“Don’t call it a tournament, Hange,” Oluo hiccups. “I sneezed and Gunthy over here won.”

Gunther’s eyes narrow. “I would have won regardless.”

Bending at the hip, you lean over the table with your other arm wrapped around your back. Elbow to the table, you hold your hand up high to accept Hange’s. 

They clasp your palm, squeezing playfully.

From the sidelines, you hear an annoyed tch. Smirking, Hange turns their chin towards the sound, their eyes sliding to the right.

“Dearest Captain, dost thou have something to say?”

You don’t turn to look, but Levi’s voice cuts in, smooth as butter. 

“You’re both dumbasses for doing this again.”

“Dumbasses or just having fun?” they challenge. “You could join one of these sometimes, you know. You don’t have to act like you’d—”

“He’d win.”

Petra, Oluo, Gunther, Moblit, and Eld interrupt in harmony.

“Don’t invite him,” Oluo adds.

That’s when you finally glance over, and Levi’s eyes roll into the back of his head with exasperation.

You can’t help but purse your lips, fighting the laughter within.

“If you wait any longer to proceed with the rematch, Section Commander, it will be nightfall,” Erwin states as he brings a cup to his lips.

“Fine! Fine,” Hange acquiesces before finally looking at you. “Ready, Lieutenant?”

To be truthful, you don’t quite care who wins or loses. Hange had insisted on recreating the great snowy tournament from the year prior.

With your eagerness to remember everything, small and large, you’d agreed.

Hell, everyone agreed thanks to the wine.

“On the count of three,” you state, allowing the Commander to call it.

Three.

Two.

One.

.

.

.

.

.

This stupid contest was going to take another year to finish.

With Hange focused on your hand, pushing with all their might, you turn your peripheral to the right: still leaning against the wall with his cup drained, Levi has yet to move.

Bored doesn’t cover what he looks like in the moment: he’s growing impatient.

When he realizes you’re staring at him, his eyes flicker from your forearm to your face and offer a very pointed look.

You’ve seen it before in the Underground City when it was time to abandon Isabel and Furlan for a stolen moment alone.

A spar.

The thought that he’s impatient to be with you again gives you butterflies. 

A quirk of your brow — should I keep trying? — has his head shaking; a barely perceptible movement.

In a second, you let up on your grip, surging Hange’s forearm forward. 

Your hand hits the surface of the table with a boom, causing Eld and Oluo to shout victoriously in the Section Commander’s honor. Petra groans with grief. 

Perplexed, Hange lets go, squints, and raises their palm like it somehow holds the answer.

“Fair and square,” you lie, a sing-song to your voice. “You won!”

Taking a step back from the table, you watch as Hange goes from confused to incredulous. 

“Oh, no you don’t! You can’t just give me the win!” 

When Levi shifts, finally electing to move towards the party after several hours of remaining a wallflower, Hange wails. 

“Levi! Have I been conspired against by my own friends?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he states as he makes his way towards you.

His stormy eyes briefly grab yours, and you don’t need time to understand what he’s saying:

Want to get out of here?

Your lips purse, fighting against the smile threatening to surface. “Gunther, you’re up next.”

Hange doesn’t stop squawking. “I need a rematch!”

Levi bumps a sliver of his arm into yours as he walks past you towards the door to the hallway. Refusing to follow him with eager eyes, you wait to hear the distance of his boots walking on the ground before you take a step back towards the hallway entrance. 

Gunther, who’d just been walking past you, stops in his tracks to put two and two together.

With a growing, knowing grin, the dark-haired man turns on a heel and continues his trek to Hange.

“Don’t steal her for long!” Gunther shouts over his shoulder. “We just got her back!” 

“Worry less about her and focus on not passing out in the stables this time, shithead,” Levi retorts, head slightly bent back, without skipping a beat.

And, like clockwork, you follow.

Side by side, the two of you walk down the hallway towards the headquarter’s entrance.

You wait for ten or so paces before opening your mouth.

“What a response, Captain.”

“It’s warranted,” he replies. “I take it you don’t remember the last time they threw a party here?”

“Mm, can’t say I do.” Your finger playfully taps against your temple. “Newly restored and only by a fraction, remember?”

“Trust me, that memory has nothing to do with your amnesia.”

“No?”

“No,” Levi repeats, opening the door for you. “You went toe to toe with Moblit until he fell asleep at the table, then Hange tapped in thinking they’d defeat you.”

You curtsy with your Scout uniform skirt as a joke to his chivalry.

“And did—”

“No,” he cuts in, deadpanned. “You did not win.”

“Damn.”

“To be fair, neither did Four Eyes. No clue where they ended up at the end of that stupid contest, but if I hadn’t carried your ass to bed, then you probably would’ve been sleeping with Gunther and the horses, too.”

The brisk chill from the setting sun wakes your tipsy mind.

“Shit, was I that drunk?”

His dark fringe skims over exasperated eyes when his chin tilts to the right. 

“Amnesia aside, if you feel the need to ask, then I think you’ve found your answer.”

Yet a miracle appears, small and radiant: the corner of his lip curves with an ease you haven’t seen on that face since well before your accident just last year. 

You can’t help but smile back, those butterflies that were once confused in your belly now finally set free, because that’s what it all feels like now:

Freedom.

As you both walk across the grounds, his free hand sweeps in grandiose nonchalance ahead of him. Follow the tips of his fingers, you see it.

The supply building.

“You want me to climb that thing?” you huff while following just a step behind.

“Why the sour face? You’ve done it before,” he reasons. “Not even that long ago, actually.”

“Yes, four days ago, when I was stone cold sober.”

Levi turns on a heel, facing away from the thick patch of emerald vines caressing the side of the building up towards the roof. 

“I’ll spot you, lightweight — unless Tipsy James isn't strong enough to do it.”

Squinting with playful scorn, you meet him at the vines and find your grip on a particularly sloped one.

“You just had to make this a competitive thing.”

“Did I?”

You use your upper body strength to drag you inches higher. “Shut up, shithead.”

He snorts below, but you feel it — his hand glides against your outer thighs and calves to help guide you up to the stone roof.

(Always spotting, always protecting; always determined to keep you safe.)

With his boost, you easily drag yourself up to the sloped surface of the roof. 

As soon as your rear end lands, you turn and hold your arm out between your legs. Levi wordlessly grabs your hand to hoist himself up and over the vines.

You scoot across, mindful of the broken or decaying shingles still hanging on by a thread.

The sky is a fading gradient of reds, oranges, and purples as the sun sets for the day.

Your body warms from the amount of liquor in your belly, setting your nerves to a pleasurable tingle.

Peace.

You are at peace.

“Last time we were up here, it didn’t exactly end well.”

When you turn your chin to look at Levi, he’s busy staring at the sky, too. He hums noncommittal and leans back, planting a palm against the stone beneath.

“No?”

“You ran away from me.”

Levi’s eyes narrow. “Tch. I did not run away.”

“Mm, pretty sure I grabbed your arm to try and make you stay.”

“Yeah, because you were looking at me with those fucking eyes of yours and expected me to keep my cool about it.”

“Those eyes of mine?” you repeat.

“You know what I mean.”

A gentle huff exits your mouth. “I really don’t.”

“What happened in that bedroom this morning’s exactly what I mean.”

Oh.

The intensity of his comment makes you blink several times, your face growing hot at the implication. It would make sense that Levi was barely hanging on by a thread through these past few months, but hearing him openly discuss it without prying ears is an entirely different kind of heat in your body.

He had wanted you, even when you hadn’t known.

Which only leads you to your next point of conversation.

Shifting your weight as you sit back, you chew on the inside of your cheek while debating if you should say something now or never.

Eventually he’ll find out.

There aren’t any secrets between the two of you.

“Erwin knows.”

Levi stills but says nothing. His eyes narrow further, deciphering the two loaded words for himself, before slowly sitting up straighter.

He knows what it means for the Special Ops squadron to know, sure, but Commander Erwin is a direct connection to the top of the Survey Corps.

The Commander may be an on-again, off-again friend for you, but Levi’s bond with Erwin runs much deeper.

Still, no bond is as deep as law and order.

When his lips part then close, you know what he’s asking without his voice. Did you confess to this yourself?

You shake your head.

“I didn’t tell him,” you promise. “I just… don't think it’s really that big of a secret anymore. If it ever was.”

Levi remains expressionless — in a way, it’s identical to Erwin's from this morning.

“What did he say to you, exactly?”

“Nothing horrible,” you reply. “Just that… I’m free to act as I always have. He doesn’t see the need to separate us when we deliver results. From his lips, we’re the best shot humanity has.”

A snort exits his mouth, but you can tell there is a sliver of relief there.

“Sounds like Erwin.”

“I know.”

“And he didn’t give you a hard time?”

“In his own Erwin way, he did.”

Levi hums, turning his attention back to the menagerie of warmth in the sky.

For a minute, you both sit in silence with the gravity of your situation weighing heavily upon your shoulders. The Scouts know. The Commander knows. 

This is… new but not unwanted; a relief yet a challenge in and of itself.

Relations make everything complicated.

You both know that.

(After everything, it may be the hardest thing the two of you choose to pursue.)

With the Special Operations squad’s protection, acceptance, the world becomes much less narrow. It blooms with possibilities neither of you could have ever imagined as you fought for autonomy in the Underground City.

A real chance.

(We’re the only ones who can pull off a heist like this!)

Even now, Isabel’s foreboding confidence lingers in the back of your skull.

The two of you can help lead the fight for humanity, but at what cost? Is there more to give?

If given the choice, will you damn the world and save him?

You blurt the question before you realize you’re asking:

“Where do we go from here?”

His eyes flicker across the twinkling stars lurking behind the sun’s presence, contemplating his answer carefully.

“Wherever we want.”

“And abandon the Scouts?”

He glances sidelong at you.

“Not until after the war, but eventually, yes.”

The war.

A never-ending saga of unanswered questions and impossible possibilities. 

In truth, you know there isn’t an end in sight. There may never be an after — but the two of you dreamed once before.

In the interest of second chances, you would be doing yourself a disservice not to.

“Think we’ll ever find something beyond the walls?” You jut your chin to the vast space of tall trees in the distance. “Way out there?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Are you afraid it’s all bullshit?”

“Not really,” he confesses. “I got other shit I care about. Saving humanity is Erwin’s dream. I want to see what he sees, but my scope is admittedly limited.”

“Limited?”

He nods. “I saved what I care about. Everything else is just… dust settling until we can, too.”

Warmth fills your belly. 

“I was wondering," you start.

"About?"

"How many stray cats might be outside the walls."

He actually laughs at that. It’s hearty but soft, like he’s forgotten what it’s like to laugh at all.

“Still stuck on having that shack with the millions of strays?”

“You thought I’d give that up?” you asks playfully. “Finding those damn cats for our surface cottage — not a shack, a cottage —  is the only reason my memory came back."

"Is that so?"

"I remembered the true mission at hand and decided I couldn’t live the rest of my life without saving at least a million."

"A million?"

"Maybe two.”

Levi makes a show of rolling his eyes. 

“Sometimes you’re really insufferable, I’ll give you that.”

A flippant, easy joke, then —

"Guess I gotta build one big fucking cottage, then."

You can’t help but smile wider at that.

(You cannot fake a better feeling than getting Levi out of shell.)

Gently your hand reaches out, curling your fingers around his.

At first Levi’s hand twitches, tensing, as if he didn’t anticipate the affection. Then, slowly, they inch knuckle by knuckle to curl around your fingers in return.

The birds continue to chirp, but they begin to harmonize with the fireflies. A once-brilliant sunset bids its slow goodbye.

Eventually you exhale, relaxing into your body.

“Truth be told, I don’t have to have a million cats,” you admit under your breath. “After almost losing everything this year, I don’t need much of anything.”

A beat passes.

Levi’s voice drops an octave, cautious. “No?”

Your head shakes.

“So long as my future has you? That is enough.”

Slowly your torso descends to the stone roof, reclining with a boot pressed against the incline.

With a heavy exhale, you resign to rest.

“That has always been enough.”

Your hands remain entwined. 

From this angle, you can see all of the stars beginning to peek out from their places.

The sky really is beautiful tonight. 

(If you had a choice, you would stay like this forever — feel like this forever.)

Abruptly you gasp, and his chin turns sharply at the sound. 

“Wait!”

“What?"

“I just remembered something.”

Before his mouth can open, your hand darts out for the collar of his shirt to drag him down to the roof with you.

Your lips meet him in a searing kiss, and Levi doesn’t hold back: his hands dart to either side of your face, holding you still as he meets your lips with his.

When his tongue gently flicks against your bottom lip, you can’t help but burst into a little, breathy laugh against him.

“What?” it’s mumbled, but he pulls away to nuzzle the tip of his nose along yours. “What did you remember?”

The sunset is no longer spellbinding, not when Levi Ackerman hovers above you.

You meet his gaze, softening at his eagerness.

“Just that I love you,” you say with certainty and conviction, “and I’ll go wherever you go.”

The captain huffs, short, like the wind has been knocked from his lungs, before kissing the tip of your nose.

He doesn't need to speak for you to understand.

(Our secret language.)

A reverent thumb runs along your cheek.

The stress lines of your childhood friend, your confidante, your colleague, your lover's face dissolve, leaving him boyish and soft.

Every version you have known and cherished stares down at you, studying you, until Levi finally murmurs two familiar words against your lips.

“Dirty trick.”

.

FINAL AUTHOR'S NOTE: We made it, Jevi Nation.

Almost three years to the day that I started watching Attack on Titan, we have concluded our story. I want to thank every single person who reblogged, commented, sent me a message, reread, etc. Without your encouragement, your enthusiasm, and your support, this story would not have made it to the 'completed' realm of fanfiction.

Minus my original fiction novel manuscript (that I may post on AO3 in Original Works one day) this is now the longest completed thing I have accomplished.