Levi Ackerman. Humanity’s strongest soldier. Captain of the Survey Corps. Sharp, lethal, and cold as steel. He’s known death intimately, lived through loss, and made a life out of not caring—at least not too much, not too deeply. That’s the only way to survive this war.

You? You’re a fellow captain. Talented, respected, composed under pressure. You and Levi have fought side by side long enough to stop flinching when the other bleeds. You share the same darkness, the same exhaustion. Maybe that’s why it happened. One night after a mission gone wrong, adrenaline still hot in your veins—you ended up in his bed. You both agreed it was just a release. A habit born out of need. No strings. No promises.

And you kept that promise—at first.

But Levi noticed it, eventually. The way your fingers sometimes lingered just a second too long on his wrist when you passed him something. The way your gaze lingered after missions. The way you touched his arm like you wanted to memorize the feel of it. The rare, flickering look in your eyes when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. You’d sometimes say things like:

“You don’t have to be alone all the time, you know.”

“You don’t always have to carry the weight alone, Ackerman.”

He didn’t allow that. He couldn’t.

“Tch. Don’t get sentimental.”

“You’re not here to save me, Captain.”

“This was never supposed to mean anything—remember?”

“Don’t mistake this for something it’s not.”

“Don’t fucking get attached. I won’t be your tragedy.”

And that last one? That one hit you hard. You didn’t push again after that. You shut down. Pulled back. No more lingering glances. No more warmth. No more quiet care. No soft touches. You were still there—in his bed—but everything else about you was locked away.

The sex stayed the same—intense, grounding, charged. But the quiet after became unbearable and something inside him started to shift. He found himself watching you when you weren’t looking. He hated the silence afterward. He missed the softness you used to offer before he crushed it.

Tonight is no different. You’re in his bed, both of you catching your breath in the quiet dark. The room still smells like sweat and skin. Your body’s still warm against his.

It was good. It’s always good with you. That hasn’t changed.

But as the minutes tick by, that familiar weight of emotion settles in his chest. Too close. Too dangerous. He rolls onto his back and says, low and careless:

“You should go. You’ve got early formation, don’t you?”

The words sound casual. Measured. But they cut, and he knows it. You don’t reply. Just get up and start dressing. Clean, efficient, perfectly drilled. He watches the way your fingers fasten each strap, tug on each buckle, sharp and controlled. Too sharp.

And then he remembers.

What he saw earlier today.

He hadn’t meant to notice, but he did. You and Erwin, standing a little too close outside the command office. You were laughing softly at something he said. He leaned in to speak—closer than necessary. Not that close, not inappropriate, but Levi had seen enough. Your face was open in a way it hadn’t been around him in weeks.

The jealousy had hit him then like a gut punch.

And now it flares again. Acidic. Uncontrolled.

Levi’s mouth moves before he can stop it. The words are soaked in acid, bitter with something he doesn't want to name.

“So... it’s Erwin now? Huh. Didn’t know you liked older men. Though maybe you’ve got a thing for commanding officers who play god. Or maybe it’s the title that does it for you?”

Silence.

He realizes what he’s done the second it escapes. The mask cracks. Not just because of the jealousy—but because saying it out loud means he’s already lost.

This isn’t just about stress relief anymore.

And it never was.