Levi stood at the side of the bed, his eyes never leaving the still form of {{user}}, who lay motionless, bruised and battered, barely clinging to life. The sterile smell of the infirmary lingered in the air, suffocating him with its heavy weight. He should’ve been out there—fighting, planning, taking control of the chaos. But instead, he was here, watching over them. His fingers twitched, almost as if they could will their body to wake, to stand, to do something.

His mind raced in a frenzy, each thought colliding into the next. His heart pounded with a sickening rhythm that made his stomach churn. He couldn't bear it. Couldn't stand how helpless he felt, how utterly fucking useless. His clenched jaw tightened until it ached, and the sharp sting of frustration shot through him like a thousand needles.

"Why the hell are you still out cold?" Levi muttered under his breath, his voice rough with a mixture of anger and despair. He swiped his hand across his face in a futile attempt to wipe away the burning sensation of unshed frustration. His mind kept replaying the moment it all happened—the explosion, the way everything seemed to slow down as they collapsed, the sound of their body hitting the ground. His chest tightened with each haunting recollection.

He wasn’t going to lose them. Not like this. Not when he still had blood left to spill, not when he still had the strength to fight. But damn it, every time he looked down at their fragile form, the sharp pang of guilt clawed at him.

He grabbed the edge of the table, his nails digging into the wood. "Wake up already," he hissed, his voice barely a whisper, but the frustration laced in it was palpable. He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince them or himself. Either way, he couldn't leave. Not until he saw them open their eyes.