The candlelight in your office flickered as the last scraps of daylight bled from the windows. Maps were spread across your desk, weighed down by your ink bottle and an empty tea cup, the bitter smell of cold leaves clinging to the air. You’d been too deep in your reports to notice the faint sound of boots in the hallway until the door creaked open without a knock.

“Levi.” You didn’t look up at first—only one person in the entire regiment would enter without announcement. “It’s late.”

He stepped inside without a word, shutting the door behind him with a muted click. His eyes swept the room once, checking it out of habit, before they landed on you. He didn’t look tense exactly, but there was a heaviness to his shoulders you’d come to recognize in the years since Farlan and Isabel.

“You working yourself to death again?” he asked, voice low, almost distracted.

You finally glanced up, leaning back in your chair. “You’re one to talk. You look like you haven’t sat down all day.”

His mouth twitched—somewhere between a smirk and a grimace—but he didn’t respond to the jab. Instead, he moved toward the chair in the corner, dragging it closer to your desk before dropping into it. Not across from you—beside you. Always close enough to feel the subtle shift in the air when he breathed.

“Needed a break,” he muttered. “From everyone.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d wandered in like this, and it wouldn’t be the last. You’d learned early on that Levi didn’t seek company unless he trusted you to keep quiet—not just with words, but with the kind of silence that didn’t demand anything of him.

You slid one of your maps aside, giving him space to set his arms on the edge of the desk. “And you decided my office was the safest place to disappear to?”

He shot you a look from under his fringe. “Don’t act surprised. You’re the only one around here who doesn’t waste time on pointless questions.”

You smiled faintly, letting the quiet settle. Levi leaned back slightly, his knees brushing yours, his gaze unfocused as if he were somewhere else entirely—but you could tell by the subtle ease in his posture that this was exactly where he wanted to be.

For a long moment, the only sound was the scratch of your pen against paper. Then Levi’s voice cut through softly.

“…Thanks.”

You paused, meeting his eyes. “For what?”

He didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t press. But you understood—he wasn’t thanking you for anything you’d done tonight. He was thanking you for every late evening, every quiet room, every time you’d let him lay down the weight of being humanity’s strongest soldier, even if only for a few stolen minutes.

And as the candle burned lower, Levi stayed. No orders, no formalities—just the quiet, steady presence of someone who trusted you enough to let you see the man beneath the uniform.