The barracks were unusually quiet that evening, save for the low hum of voices echoing from the mess hall. A golden dusk filtered through the high windows, casting warm light across the wooden floors. {{user}} stepped inside the canteen, not expecting much—maybe a stale dinner roll and a few halfhearted attempts at conversation.

What she didn’t expect was to see Captain Levi Ackerman, humanity’s most stoic soldier, sitting at the far table with an empty bottle of whiskey in front of him. His cravat was untied—untied!—his shirt slightly wrinkled, and his hair in even more disarray than usual.

And he was smirking.

“Oi,” he called out, voice smooth and unusually relaxed. He lifted his glass, half-full with amber liquid, and gestured for her to come over. “Fancy seeing you here.”

{{user}} blinked. Had she stepped into an alternate reality?

She approached slowly, unsure whether to salute or run.

“You’re...drinking?” she said carefully, eyeing the bottle beside him.

“Drinking?” Levi tilted his head, then leaned forward with a lazy grin. “No, sweetheart. Celebrating. There's a difference.”

She folded her arms. “What exactly are you celebrating, Captain?”

He took a long sip before answering, then pointed at her with the rim of his glass. “That you're finally here. Took you long enough.”

Heat crept up her neck. He’s drunk, she reminded herself. Really drunk.

“I didn’t know you were waiting for me,” she said, playing along just enough to gauge how far gone he was.

“Always am.” Levi shrugged one shoulder and leaned back in his chair. “You just never notice.”

She blinked. What the hell is happening right now?

He waved her closer with a sharp flick of his fingers. “Come sit. You’re prettier up close.”

Her jaw dropped. “Captain Ackerman.”

He snorted. “Levi. ‘Captain Ackerman’ sounds like I’m about to lecture you about hygiene and formation drills. Tonight, I’m off duty.”