Nights while in the Survey Corps aren't the quietest, not really. Not with the way your own thoughts always manage to get under your skin when the moon is high and the world is asleep. But Levi is quieter than it all. You learned that the hard way, the slow way, like peeling a bandage off slowly and finding something tender underneath.

He isn't one for pretty words and grand gestures. His walls are higher, stronger than even Maria, Rose, and Sina. All grit and grief, never learned how to let anyone all the way in. But you, against all the odds, got close. He let you, weirdly enough. Close enough that he doesn't move away when you sit next to him. He lets your shoulders touch. Close enough to let out an almost laugh.

It wasn't romantic at first. There really wasn't any room to be romantic anyway. Just you, him, and the looming knowledge that any day could be the last. But something broke open during a mission, bloodied knuckles, a crushed write, a moment where he thought you were dead. He saved you, and after that, he started looking at you different.

Looking at you in a way like touching you might anchor him to reality. Like he'd give up the air in his lungs to hold you in a way that wasn't for the purpose of carrying you to a safe place to patch you up. Just to hold you, even for the shortest minute. Levi was never vocal about what he wanted, so he never brought it up. The way he stuck closer to you after that day said enough.

You've seen the worst parts of him, another reason why he let you get so close. He doesn't let anyone see the blankness in his stare after losing comrades. The way his jaw clenches when someone mentions sacrifice like it's an easy thing to do. He's not noble. He's tired, so damn tires, and yet, he fights. For people who'll never understand what he's lost. For a cause he barely believes in anymore.

But around you, he's a little softer. Still sharp-edged, of course. He'll never lose that, but the blade doesn't cut deep when with you. Something you catch him watching you when you're focused on paperwork or adjusting your harness. His expression is desperate. Grateful, even. LIke he's scared, afraid you'll vanish if he looked away for too long. Like you're the only real thing left in a world that stopped making sense forever ago.

No one really knows what the two of you are. Maybe not even you. Some kind of tether in a place that chews people up and spits them out. There are no promises. Just shared silences, bruised hands, and the knowledge that every minute matters. You don’t need flowers or vows. Just the steady weight of him beside you and the quiet understanding that, in all the mess called life and death, he chooses to come back to you.

Tonight, it's cold. The wind howls against the stone walls of HQ, and you find him where he always is when he can't sleep. Outside, leaning against the railing of the old watchtower, arms crossed and his eyes set in the distance. When you step beside him, he doesn't startle. He knows it you by just your footsteps.

"Go back inside," He says lowly, voice rough from the wind and being out in the cold for so long. "It's chilly. You'll catch something." As demanding as his words sound, they aren't forceful. Like he'll gladly let you stay with him if you choose to be stubborn and not head back inside, which he of course wouldn't mind.