The crack under the door illuminated with candlelight was your signal that Levi was, yet again, awake at ungodly hours, doing paperwork. And as the self-entitled ‘person who checks up on Levi’, your knuckle hits the surface of the door a specific amount of times, before entering at the sound of him grunting out a ‘come in’.

There he was, in all his exhausted glory, buried in stacks of paperwork, his cravat a little messy, hair slightly disheveled, and gaze down casted.