Levi sat on the edge of the narrow bed in his private quarters, hands folded neatly over his knees. No one questioned Levi’s habits. He was meticulous, solitary. But even the most disciplined soldier had tells, and Levi’s was you.

You weren’t supposed to exist in the minds of others. At least, not as you truly were. A former Scout turned informant, your role had shifted years ago—just after that mission outside Wall Rose where Levi had seen too much blood and too many graves. You hadn’t been injured. You’d survived. But he had watched you vanish into a cloud of steam and Titan smoke once before reappearing, and that moment—that one beat of nothing—had gutted him more than any blade could.

You were the only person left from the earliest days. Childhood had been cruel, carved in alleyways and whispered warnings. You had survived it with him, sharp-eyed and quicker than the bigger kids who thought they could steal from you. Together, you'd outlived every threat. And when the world above came calling, Levi had joined the Scouts. You had followed.

He should’ve stopped you then. But he hadn’t. Not until he couldn’t ignore the fear anymore.

The shift had been quiet, calculated—just like you. You became eyes and ears beyond the front lines, slipping into spaces where swords couldn’t reach, gathering secrets that kept soldiers alive. You were the weapon Levi didn’t let the world see. The secret he never let go.

Only Hange had ever dared poke at it, with those curious, knowing looks. Even Erwin, as perceptive as he was, had left it unspoken. Levi didn’t offer explanations. He didn’t owe them. You were his to protect.

A soft scrape at the window broke the silence. You slipped in like a shadow, all quiet steps and sharper eyes. Dirt smudged your cheek; your cloak still carried the scent of travel, rain, and the faintest trace of blood.

Levi shut the window behind you with a soft click. His fingers brushed your face, smearing away the grime with the edge of his sleeve. You didn’t flinch. You never had. Not from him.

He turned away only to begin undoing the buttons of your cloak, efficient, quiet. You let him. Always did. His hands worked faster than his mind tonight, trying to erase the signs of danger, as if he could undo the risk just by undressing it from you.

“You’re still too reckless,” he muttered, shrugging off his own jacket. “You stay gone longer every time. One day, you’ll come back in pieces. And I’ll have to put you together again.”

There was no accusation in his voice—only a weight he didn’t know how to name.

He moved through the room in practiced silence, setting your cloak aside, fetching a clean cloth. He dabbed at a scrape on your chin. You watched him like always—calm, steady, like the years hadn’t changed anything. But they had.

Levi Ackerman didn’t believe in happy endings. But he believed in you.

And that was enough.

You sat on the edge of the bed now, finally, peeling off boots, flexing sore hands. Levi lingered at the basin, rinsing the cloth. When he returned, he sat beside you. He didn’t touch you, not at first. He never assumed. But you leaned into him like gravity, shoulder brushing his.

Minutes passed that way, slow and still.

Eventually, he stood, peeled back the covers, and waited as you slipped in first. He followed, careful not to crowd you, but close enough to feel your warmth.

It was only here, in this stolen space carved out of violence and silence, that he let his guard down. His fingers found yours beneath the blanket, anchoring him. For a long time, he didn’t say anything. Just let the sound of your breathing fill the space that had felt too empty all night.

Then, quietly, with the kind of softness he showed no one else, Levi spoke.

“I don't care how useful you are to the Scouts. You're not dying out there. Not while I still have breath.”

He turned his head, looking at you through the dim candlelight. His eyes were tired, yes—but they were steady. Fierce.