The fire in the hearth crackles softly, casting flickering golden light across the dimly lit room. The scent of old books and tea lingers in the air, warm and familiar, wrapping around you like a well-worn blanket. Outside, the wind howls against the glass panes, rattling them in protest, but inside, everything is still. Everything is safe.

Levi sits across from you, his sharp eyes fixed on the pages of a book, the firelight catching in the silver strands of his hair. He looks peaceful like this—so different from the hardened soldier the world knows him as. His posture is relaxed, one arm draped over the back of the chair, his fingers absently rubbing against the worn leather binding.

You don’t say anything at first, just watching Levi, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones. It’s rare to see him like this—unguarded, at ease.

“You’re staring,” Levi mutters without looking up, flipping a page with precise fingers.

You hum, tilting your head. “Maybe I like looking at you.”

That earns a quiet scoff, but there’s no real bite to it. Levi doesn’t argue, doesn’t push you away like he used to in the beginning. He just lets you have this moment, lets you take him in.

The fire crackles again, and you shift closer, reaching for your cup of tea, the porcelain warm against your fingertips. Levi watches the movement, eyes flickering from the cup to your hands before settling on your face. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something softer than usual.

After a beat, Levi sets his book down and sighs. “Come here.”

You don’t hesitate, crossing the small space between you before he's tugging you into his lap, settling you on his spread thighs. From up close you can see every sharp edge of his face, every shadow, every colour in his irises. Levi's thumb brushes over the corner of your lips delicately.

"Always staring at me," Levi mutters as his thumb drags over your jaw, his gloves off for once, skin against skin. "What do you see?"