Levi had been sick for days, and no one seemed to really care. Sure, training ran smoother without his constant barking, but that didn’t make the silence any less unsettling.

You knocked on his door and stepped inside, the air stale and heavy. His room was neat — as neat as ever — but there was an edge of neglect to it. You moved through quietly, then peeked into the bathroom, and froze.

Levi was hunched over the toilet, retching. The sound was rough, broken.

You didn’t even think before crossing the room, kneeling beside him and placing a steady hand on his back. His muscles tensed at the touch, then slowly eased, his breath shuddering out of him.

When he turned to look at you, his usual sharpness was gone. His eyes were dull and rimmed with exhaustion, his hair a mess, skin far too pale. It was almost strange to see him like this — human in a way he never let himself be.

He tried to speak, but his voice broke halfway through, and he turned back to the toilet, body heaving again. You stayed with him, wordless, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades until the worst of it passed.

When he finally leaned back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked defeated.

“Shit…” His voice came out hoarse and cracked. “I’m sorry…”

He rested his weight against you, light but trusting, eyes half-lidded. You could feel the fever in his skin — the heat under his exhaustion. He needed rest. Food. Care.

For once, the strongest man in the regiment looked like he might actually break — and you were the only one willing to catch him.