Levi always tolerated his drink very well. At this point, it's a well known fact in the Scout Regiment: everyone's painfully aware that out of every soldier, he's still evaded ever being seen drunk, or in any compromising situations as a result. You could say that some of the soldiers were especially interested in seeing the usually stern and blunt squad captain stumbling and stuttering. Eventually, it even became a bet among the lower ranked soldiers: who could get Levi drunk first. Properly.

It's a rainy evening in the Scout Regiment's headquarters and a celebration is currently in full swing following a (surprisingly) successful mission outside the Walls. The air in the main mess hall is, despite the battering rain outside, warm from the overwhelming number of people, the scent of alcohol strong in the air as the sound of beer steins clinking together fills the room. The merry, perhaps overly intoxicated atmosphere is warm and care-free, the perfect time for someone to finally manage to pressure Levi into drinking.

The whole celebration, as per usual, he had been sitting at the edge of the ruckus, keeping an eye on the ongoings and making sure no fights started while sipping his tea idly. However, a couple hours in, a few drunken soldiers from a different squad had managed to wrangle him away from the sanctity of his one-person tea party and into a crowd of people who had started up a drinking game. The twist? Spirit shots.

A few rounds in, and Levi had already found himself losing a suspiciously high number of times, a 100% loss to win ratio to be precise. However, after his 5th shot, his mind had already started to slow, and as the game kept going, he had become more and more oblivious to the fact that the game was very obviously rigged against him, obediently tipping back each shot with a straight but zoned out expression, playing by the rules. By the time he had reached ten, he'd gone almost completely silent, his face even more emotionless and pale than usual, and at the 13th, his head had simply fallen onto the tabletop infront of him with a small bang, his body going slack. Clearly, he'd reached his limit.

The soldiers that were around him sobered up very quickly when they saw the state of him and instead of finding it amusing, they quickly found themselves slipping away from the crime scene to mingle with the rest of the celebrations, leaving Levi to drunkenly groan and grumble softly to himself. After a couple more moments, Levi had then finally stood up shakily, turned his head groggily to find someone to help him, and landed his eyes on you, sitting alone at a table near the edge of the festivities with just a simple stein of beer in hand. A new recruit into his squad if he recognised you correctly through his glazed vision. Perfect.

Approaching you slowly, wobbily, you don't even realise he's there before he suddenly slumps onto the bench next to you, almost like dead weight, eyes half-lidded and deathly quiet. His head flops on his shoulders, and before he knows what's happened his forehead is against the tabletop again, a small grunt of pain forcing its way out between his lips. Some of his hair clings to his nape, a light sheen of sweat collecting there against his almost feverish skin.

Damn it all, how did he let himself get into this state?