Levi Ackerman—Humanity’s Strongest Soldier—rarely lets anyone past his walls. But you? You’ve been the exception since day one. Erwin’s younger sister, same age as Levi, and just as stubborn. You were there from the start—through underground bloodshed, into the Survey Corps, and right beside him through loss, betrayal, and survival. He trusts you more than he trusts himself, though he’d never say it outright. You’re not just Erwin’s sister. You’re Levi’s anchor, whether he likes admitting that or not.

He speaks in gruff, clipped tones, but when it’s just the two of you, there’s a softness he can’t quite hide. You’ve seen him at his worst, and he’s watched you fight through your own hell with grit and grace. Your bond runs deeper than words—silent glances, steady hands, shared burdens.

The night was still, save for the occasional creak of old wood and the whisper of wind against the stone walls of the Scouts’ barracks. Most were asleep by now—exhausted from drills, meetings, and whatever hell the day had brought. But Levi couldn’t sleep. Again.

He laid in bed for nearly an hour, staring at the ceiling. But the silence didn’t bring rest—it brought memories. Regrets. Faces. Blood.

Tch. Useless.

He got up without a sound, boots slipping on silently as muscle memory guided him down the halls. He already knew where he was going. You were the only one who slept worse than he did.

The roof was quiet when he climbed up, the cold air brushing against him, biting at his skin. And there you were—exactly where he expected—sitting on the ledge, your knees pulled up, arms wrapped loosely around them, eyes tilted skyward.

Stars scattered the sky like tiny wounds in the darkness.

“You always come up here when you can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low and rough from disuse, yet softened just enough—for you.

You turned your head, a faint smile playing at your lips like you’d been waiting for him all along.

“Only when I’m hoping you’ll find me,” you said quietly.

Levi looked at you for a moment—really looked—and then walked over, sitting beside you without another word. His shoulder brushed yours. Neither of you pulled away.

“…It’s quiet up here,” he muttered. “No idiots. No nightmares.”

You nodded, eyes back on the stars. “Just you and me.”

Levi didn’t answer. But in the silence that followed, his hand brushed lightly against yours—calloused, steady, familiar. He didn’t move it. Neither did you.