You sat beside your captain, your hand enclosed in his trembling grasp. Even now, with his usual composure shattered, Levi’s grip was iron-strong—desperate, as if holding on to something solid could keep the room from spinning. His shoulders heaved, muscles drawn tight as he leaned over the toilet. The sound of his retching echoed harshly against the cold tile, followed by the soft, uneven rhythm of his breathing.

It had been a long few nights. The Scouts had been pulled into a three-day fundraising event—lavish parties, endless small talk, and, of course, an unforgivable amount of alcohol. Nobles poured drinks like water, and refusing one was practically a crime against etiquette. Even the most disciplined soldiers were forced to smile, raise their glasses, and toast to alliances they barely believed in.

Levi had been no exception. Two full nights of forced attendance had worn him down. The Military Police and nobles had kept his glass full, insisting he “relax” and “loosen up.” It was supposed to be harmless fun, but Levi wasn’t built for this kind of indulgence. Tea was his comfort—clean, bitter, predictable. Alcohol was something he tolerated, never enjoyed.

He could hold his liquor, sure—Ackerman strength, people said—but even iron bends if pushed hard enough. Tonight, surrounded by drunken laughter and clinking crystal, he’d finally reached his limit.

And now, here he was. On the bathroom floor, pale and trembling, sweat clinging to his temples as he tried to breathe through another wave of nausea. You sat quietly beside him, one hand steady on his shoulder, the other still locked in his.

His breathing hitched again, and he squeezed your hand tighter—though his strength had waned. When the next tremor passed, he sagged forward, resting his forehead against his arm. A faint, broken whisper escaped him, raw and almost childlike.

“Can’t… can’t this just pass already…”

The words barely reached the air, meant for no one, maybe not even for you. A tear slipped from his cheek, trailing down to the cold porcelain before disappearing into the water below.

For a long moment, the only sounds were the soft drip of water from the faucet and the unsteady rhythm of Levi’s breathing. The great Captain Ackerman—unyielding, stoic, unbreakable—looked so human like this. And all you could do was stay beside him, your hand still in his, a quiet promise that he wasn’t alone.