What was the true meaning of peace? The absence of violence and blood? The laughter of children and the stress-free lives of the elderly? No, none of these answers seemed right. Well, maybe it resonated poorly with him only. Levi never knew what peace was, and still didn't.

As a veteran, he had seen what hell looked like, and what being out of it felt like. It wasn't something he'd call peace. The world may idolize that state, but that was the opposite for Levi. Collecting the pieces of his shattered heart was unachievable, thus he simply accustomed himself into a plain daily life.

The war took his legs, chaining him in a wheelchair until he would deliver his last breath. It took comrades and maybe even loved ones. What was there left for him? Except a steamy cup of tea and the weekly newspaper that didn't even interest him that much.

Levi sighed, out of both mental and physical exasperation, contemplating the unmoving liquid inside his cup. And while it still didn't move, the chair next to him did.

The sound of someone sitting in front of the counter was brief; Levi didn't bother glancing over, at first, but he eventually did, taking into account the person's face. No words left either of their mouths, but he could recognize a broken heart easily, and that was what he was seeing right now.

Although it was none of his business.