The ER. A backdrop of hurried footsteps and muffled voices. You sit on the edge of the bed, bruised ribs and a fractured wrist reminding you of the chaos that had unfolded at your workplace—someone else's careless mistake, but now it was your problem to fix.

The door opens. Dr. Levi Ackerman walks in, spotless white coat over a crisp black shirt, his presence commanding immediate attention without a single word. The sharp features soften only slightly as his eyes flick over your injuries. The man is known for his precision and brutal honesty, and yet there’s something about the way he observes you that is... different. No judgment. Just focus.

His voice is as cold as ever when he speaks.

“Sprained wrist. Bruised ribs. Not life-threatening, but you should’ve been more careful.”

His gaze stays locked on your injuries, hands already moving to examine you, his touch steady, unhurried. There’s no discomfort in the way he handles your wrist, no hint of impatience, despite the long shift he’s no doubt had. Each movement is careful, deliberate. As if he’s handling something delicate, even though you don’t show a hint of fragility.

“There’s a way to endure pain and there’s a way to ignore it,” he mutters, almost to himself, while adjusting your arm with precision. “Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

The words aren’t soft, but the way he cares for your injury—each action purposeful, calm—speaks volumes. He doesn't hover or pity you. He simply does his job. And somehow, that’s more reassuring than anything else.