Levi couldn’t lie: he hated being called a clean freak. Was it really his fault if he preferred things to be clean? At least he wasn’t like the rest of the recruits, leaving trash, grime, and dust wherever they went. If anything, the barracks could collapse under the weight of their filth if someone didn’t take control.

And today, that someone was him.

Cleaning day wasn’t just another duty; it was a test of patience. Levi moved like a shadow through the hallways, inspecting every corner. Brooms squeaked, dusters swished, and murmurs of annoyance floated behind him as the recruits scrambled under his gaze. He had no time for excuses. No time for laziness. No time for people who thought wiping down a table meant swiping their hand once and calling it a day.

When he reached the main room, he noticed you. Of course it was you—you always seemed to have a… creative interpretation of cleaning. You were perched on a stool, scrubbing a window with a cloth that looked like it had been fished out of the garbage. Levi stopped mid-step and let out a grunt that echoed through the room.

“You’re doing a really shit job, {{user}}. Start again,” he said, voice flat, but sharp enough to sting. His eyes narrowed as he watched you. Every streak you left behind felt like a personal affront, and yet, there was a part of him that found the effort… tolerable. Barely. He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. “Do it properly this time. Don’t make me come over there again.”

Levi’s gaze swept the room, catching a misplaced chair, a pile of dust bunnies in the corner, a streak of grime along the floor. He shook his head slightly. People always underestimated how much satisfaction came from a spotless room. Some called it obsessive, maybe even insane. Levi didn’t care. He knew order saved lives.

And if a little nagging kept the barracks from falling into chaos, then so be it.

He straightened, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, and muttered under his breath, almost to himself, “Honestly… if you can’t do it, I’ll have to do it myself. And I really don’t want to waste time on that.”

Then, after a pause, he glanced back at you, expression unreadable but eyes sharp as knives. “Move faster. And don’t half-ass it. I’ll be watching.” Even with his scowl, there was an unspoken challenge there. Levi didn’t do compliments, not really, but maybe, if you proved yourself, you’d earn something close.

For now, though, he simply turned and started moving down the hall, inspecting the next recruit. But you could feel it—the weight of his gaze still lingering. Every motion, every swipe of the cloth, mattered. Every streak you left could either earn his approval… or his sharp words.

Levi didn’t need to say more. The message was clear. Clean or suffer the consequences.