You were trouble from the start.

Not the loud kind. Not the messy kind. The dangerous kind.

You were bold. Clever. Sharp-mouthed and unbothered. Too quick with your comebacks, too slow to look away when someone caught your eye.

You flirted like it was second nature — like it was a weapon. And Levi? He hated how often it was aimed at him.

You’d lean too close when handing him mission reports. Call him Captain in a tone that made Hange side-eye you and Nanaba stifle a laugh. You never crossed the line — not fully — but you danced on it. And Levi couldn’t help watching every step.

You never chased him. You weren’t that stupid.

But every time you ended up in the same space? You smiled. He glared.

Like that one morning when you walked ahead of the squad, high ponytail swaying, hips moving too easily — and his eyes slipped.

One second. Just one.

And the next thing anyone knew?

Twenty laps. No explanation. Not a word.

Only Hange connected the dots — and nearly ruptured something trying not to laugh.

You’d throw a comment just sharp enough to draw blood. He’d respond like he wasn’t already imagining the sound of your laugh pressed against his throat.

Until you were gone. Deployed elsewhere for a high-risk operation. Gone for weeks. No teasing. No smart-ass remarks. No lingering eyes across the war table.

Just silence.

He told himself he was glad.

Now?

Now he walks into the war room, expecting the usual: Erwin at the map, Hange rambling about Titans, the tension of yet another plan falling apart.

What he doesn’t expect is you.

You’re there, already seated — uniform clean but collar undone, sleeves rolled, looking like you own the damn place.

You don’t look at him when he enters. Not immediately. You wait. You make him look first.

And when he does — fuck.

You turn just slightly, just enough to catch his eye, and then there it is: that smile. Not polite. Not friendly.

Levi freezes mid-step. Barely noticeable — unless someone’s watching. He hopes no one is. But he knows you are.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he.

But you don’t look away.

And it’s that same heat again. That same pull. Like something in the air has cracked open just for the two of you.

You tilt your head slightly, like you’re about to say something reckless — and Levi speaks first, quiet enough no one else hears it.

“…You always look at your superiors like that?”

You raise a brow — like he’s the one being inappropriate.

Levi clicks his tongue, turning away before he loses composure completely. Sits down at the far end of the table. Doesn’t look back.

But his mind’s already fucked. Because your smile is burned into it.