Hange exhaled sharply, pressing the heel of their hand to their temple like they were fighting off a headache. They didn’t move again until something rustled behind them—soft, but close enough to freeze their entire body. Their fingers slid toward a shard of wood, ready to turn it into a weapon.

Then they glanced over their shoulder.

And saw you.

Shotgun in hand. Bag slung across your back. Shoulders tight with worry.

You sagged with relief the moment your eyes met. “You were gone for a while… I got concerned, and—I came looking for...”

But the rest of your sentence never made it out.

Your breath hitched; the gun nearly slipped from your hands. Your eyes widened, body faltering as your gaze locked onto him.

Levi.

Bandages wrapped around half his face. Barely conscious. Barely breathing.

But somehow still alive.

You dropped the gun against the tree trunk and hurried to him, knees hitting the dirt beside his body. Your bag slid off your shoulder and thudded to the ground as you leaned in, lips parting to ask a dozen questions at once—

Hange answered before you could speak.

“A thunderspear exploded. He got caught in the wildfire. And Zeke…” They huffed, jaw tight as they stared into the fire. “He got away. Levi just needs to rest. It’s a miracle he’s even breathing.”

You swallowed, nodding, eyes drifting back to Levi’s still form.

Hange stood slowly, brushing dirt from their pants. “I’ll leave you two some space. I’ll be in the tent if you need me.”

They slipped through the flap, leaving you alone with him and the snap of burning wood.

You turned back to Levi, fingers trembling as you brushed stray hair away from his bandaged forehead. He didn’t stir—not yet.

You let out a long, shaking breath.

You couldn’t believe this. Couldn't decide what emotion was supposed to come first—relief, fear, anger.

You wanted to scold him, shake him, demand why he didn’t take you with him. Why he always had to face everything alone.

You rubbed a hand over your face, trying to breathe through the crackling tension in your chest.

“Don’t…”

The word was faint—hoarse, ragged, pulled through bandages.

You blinked, head snapping toward him as Levi shifted, trying to sit up. The blanket slid down to his waist.

“No. Absolutely not.” You pressed a hand to his shoulder, gently but firmly pushing him back down. “Lie down.”

His lone visible eye flicked up to yours—dazed but sharp enough to cut.

“You’ve got that look,” he muttered, his voice muffled by the bandages.

You raised a brow. “What look?”

His head turned slightly toward you, slow and lazy like the movement cost him everything. “The one you get when you’re thinking too damn much…”

His gaze found yours—one blue eye, tired but steady—watching you with that impossible mix of irritation, knowing, and something softer he’d never admit to.