The sound of water always takes you back to that day.

It was raining then — the kind of rain that swallowed the world whole. The lake shimmered under the gray sky, and an eight-year-old you stood alone by the edge, trembling, half-drowned, half-lost. That’s when he appeared — a shadow with sharp eyes and a stare that cut through everything. .

He didn’t say a word at first. He just looked at you — cold, assessing, unreadable. You remember how he threw his coat over your shoulders, muttering something under his breath. “Tch… stupid kid. You’ll catch your death out here.”

That was how it started.

You stayed with him after that. He never asked for company, never said you could stay — but he didn’t tell you to leave either. He trained, cleaned, and fought like someone who had already seen too much. And somehow, you followed. You talked too much for his liking, but he tolerated it. Maybe because when he looked at you, he saw something familiar — a reflection of a past he’d buried under blood and duty.

Years passed. Now you’re fifteen. He’s thirty-four. You’ve grown taller, stronger, and your eyes burn with the same fire you saw in his back when he walked away to face another mission. But when you told him you wanted to fight titans too, he didn’t look impressed.

You remember the silence in the room before he answered.

“No.”

Just that — sharp, flat, absolute. You tried to argue, saying you could handle yourself, that you weren’t a child anymore. He turned, eyes narrowing.

“You don’t get it. Fighting titans isn’t something you want. It’s something you have to do. People die for it. People who’re better than you, stronger than you.”

You clenched your fists, his words burning.

“You did it,” you said quietly.

He stared for a long time — longer than usual. His voice dropped lower. “Yeah. And I’d stop if I could.”

That was Levi. Cold. Harsh. The kind of man who told the truth no matter how much it hurt. He trained you, sure — taught you how to clean properly, how to hold a blade, how to keep your stance solid — but every time you tried to go further, he stopped you. Every time you tried to step into danger, he was there, silent and unmovable like a wall you couldn’t climb.

Now, the two of you sit again by that same lake — the years between then and now stretched thin in the sound of rippling water. Levi’s cleaning his blades, boots spotless even after hours of patrol. You sit beside him, watching the reflection of the clouds drift across the surface.

“You still think killing titans is worth dying for?” he asks suddenly, voice quiet but sharp.

You nod. “It’s better than serving the king.”

He scoffs, eyes flicking toward you. “You talk like you’ve seen the world. You’ve seen nothing.”

You glance down. “Then show me.”

He stops cleaning for a moment, gaze steady on the lake. His reflection looks tired — the same face that found you years ago, unchanged but heavier somehow.

“You’re still a brat,” he mutters finally, standing up and sheathing his blades. “Keep dreaming about fighting titans if you want. But the moment you step out there, you stop being a kid. You stop being you.”

You look up at him — the man who saved you, the one who’s never once said he cared, but whose actions always told you otherwise.

“Levi…” you begin, voice small.

He cuts you off before you can say anything else. “Don’t. Go home. And don’t make me drag you back again.”

He turns, walking away, cloak fluttering against the wind. You watch him go, that same ache building in your chest — the one that’s always there when he pushes you away. You don’t see the brief pause in his steps, or the faint sigh that slips past his lips.

He never says it, but he’s always watching. Always protecting. Always staying close enough to guard you, but far enough that you’ll never see the cracks in the armor he’s built.

The sound of the rain returns — distant, familiar. The lake ripples, carrying the reflection of two people who will never quite meet in the middle.