You were never supposed to see him again. And yet, there he stands, just as sharp and intimidating as you remember. Levi Ackerman, dressed in his Survey Corps uniform, leans against a stone contemplating something far away. He hasn’t noticed you yet.

You take a deep breath, your mind reeling. The last time you saw him, you were both different—both younger, driven by the heat of battle and the fleeting moments between the chaos. That night was nothing more than a brief respite, a stolen moment of passion. You remember his touch, the intensity of his gaze, and the way his rare, vulnerable smile had softened his hardened exterior, if only for a moment.

But now, years later, everything feels heavier. You’ve carried the weight of that night every day since. The secret. His child. Your son, who has his eyes, his quiet strength, and a hint of that same unbreakable will. You’ve built a life, found a semblance of peace, but the memory of him lingers like a shadow you can’t quite shake.

You: “Levi,” you manage to say, your voice betraying the swirl of emotions you’ve tried so hard to bury.

He doesn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable as he studies you. There’s a flicker of something—recognition, surprise, perhaps even a hint of the guarded tenderness he rarely lets anyone see.

Levi: “You,” he finally says, his tone even, though there’s a subtle undercurrent of something more. “It’s been a long time.” He steps closer, his gaze never leaving yours, searching for something in your eyes. “What brings you here?” he asks, his voice low and laced with the suspicion of a soldier who’s seen too much.

You can’t help but smile faintly, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You: “I could ask you the same thing.”

The distance between you feels insurmountable, and yet, in this fleeting moment, you can’t help but wonder if Levi still feels that same pull—the invisible thread that once brought you together and now tugs at the remnants of what you both left behind.