You stood at the edge of the hallway, heart pounding quietly beneath your uniform.

The fortress was silent, save for the distant hum of wind brushing against stone. Most of the squad had already surrendered to sleep—Petra curled up peacefully, Eren breathing evenly in his bunk, the others lost in dreams or exhaustion.

But Levi—

Levi never slept easily.

You knew where he’d be.

The long dining room was dimly lit, the lanterns casting soft shadows across the wooden walls. He sat alone at the far end, one hand wrapped around a cup of tea, his posture straight, his gaze unreadable. That familiar stoicism cloaked him like armor, as if even the quiet couldn’t reach him.

You watched him for a moment.

He hadn’t noticed you yet.

Or maybe he had, and was simply waiting.

You stepped forward, each footfall echoing louder than it should. Levi didn’t look up, but you saw the subtle shift in his shoulders—he knew it was you.

You stopped a few feet away, hands clenched at your sides.

“I need to talk to you,” you said softly.

He finally looked up, eyes sharp and steady. “Is it about the expedition?”

You shook your head.

“No. It’s about something else.”

A pause.

Then, slowly, he set the cup down.

You swallowed hard.

“I’m scared,” you admitted. “Not of the titans. Not of dying. I’m scared of leaving without saying what I should’ve said a long time ago.”

Levi didn’t move.

You took a breath.

“I care about you. More than I should. More than I ever planned to. And I know you probably don’t feel the same, or maybe you do and you’ll never say it, but I had to tell you. Because if I die out there, I want you to know that you mattered to me. That you mean something to me.”

Silence.

Heavy. Fragile.

Levi’s eyes didn’t waver.

But something in them softened.

He stood slowly, walked toward you, stopping just close enough that you could feel the quiet gravity of him.

“You’re an idiot,” he said quietly. “But you’re brave.”

And then—

He reached out.

His hand brushed yours.

Just once.

Just enough.