The dirt of the Earth and pine trees linger in the air and you’re dyed in sunlight, honeyed tones sinking into your skin. You look like you taste like sunlight and warmth and something like the burst of a pomegranate between stained fingers. He hates it viciously.

“Rookie,” Levi mutters, his eyes narrowing on you, watching the way your breathing is ragged and uneven, clad in the scouts standard training uniform, looking worn out, sweaty and it makes Levi bite down on his tongue.

Hard.

You turn to him, your brows pinching at the sight of your squad captain predictably.

He doesn’t know what started the bad blood between you both; whether it was his cold harsh attitude clashing with your fiery unwavering determination, the way you just never broke. And Levi’s tried to break you. So many times. Too many times.

He’s never respected anybody for joining the Scouts — it might be signing a contract with death, but it doesn’t earn you respect. But then you came and respect trickled in when Levi saw how disgustingly determined you were, how you focused on training and honing your skills, how you looked haggard covered in blood after expeditions but still were the first at training the next morning.

He’s broken a lot of rookies in his time but you were fickle.

In a way that made him rage and his pants tighten.

“Your form is off,” Levi mutters lowly. The training grounds are empty under the dewy sunrise, too early for anybody sane to be up. But here you both stand — you, your chest heaving a scowl at your lips, and him perfectly neat and unbothered, lips pursed as he overlooks your training. You give him a withering look and his pulse stutters like a polygraph reading all the lies he tells himself late at night when he’s convincing himself he doesn’t want you like that.

“It’s off,” he says a little sharply as he steps towards you, not too close, holding himself in check but it’s hard when you’re glaring at him. “You think you’re gonna last out there with sloppy form? You’re asking to be killed.”