Hush - Chapter 9 - winterflaw - Shingeki no Kyojin (2024)

Chapter Text

He finds them everywhere, little paper bits of Levi. Each crumpled slip, each neatly folded rectangle, a secret dialogue scattered like whispers throughout the days of his life.

At first, Erwin merely glanced at the messages, dismissing them as part of the clutter that the machinery of war tends to generate. They seemed inconsequential, like stray leaves blown in by the wind. But gradually, their presence grew more pronounced, their frequency more noticeable. As days bled into weeks, Erwin began to understand their true nature: carefully constructed pieces of communication. He would find them tucked under a stack of documents, pinned to his door with a hastily bent nail, or slipped into the folds of his jacket pocket. Subtle yet persistent, they became a constant in his daily routine.

On a subdued gray morning, the steady patter of rain creates a soft symphony outside. The silence in Erwin’s room is broken only by the rustle of fabric as he methodically dresses. Reaching for his usual tin of hair pomade, his fingers brush against an unexpected texture. He pauses, then lifts the tin to reveal a piece of paper—its presence a covert insertion in an otherwise routine morning.

Erwin retrieves and unfolds it. Levi’s unmistakable handwriting greets him ‘Don forget—provisons review at 0800 ✓’

And then, hastily scribbled beneath, as if an afterthought: ‘Don use so much of this today, youre scaring the horses ✕’

A chuckle escapes Erwin, his dour mood instantly lifted. He uses just a dab of hair pomade, deciding it wise to heed Levi’s request.

In the mess hall at breakfast, slid covertly beneath his coffee mug, Erwin finds another note. The writing is splotchy, as if Levi had paused repeatedly, ensuring each letter was correct. It reads simply:‘Filthy. I washd yur mug ⤿’

Lifting the now spotless mug, Erwin traces the smooth ceramic with his thumb, reflecting on this uncharacteristic intrusion into his personal space. Levi’s penchant for cleanliness has always been evident, but he had never before ventured to touch Erwin's belongings. Not like this.

His gaze lingers on the symbols at the end—cryptic marks that echoed a message beyond words. Could they be an additional layer of communication, or perhaps just quirks of Levi's hurried note-taking?

By mid-morning, amidst the buzz of their operations room, Erwin finds another note tucked cleverly inside his clipboard: ‘plans good, but wach left flank Δ ‘ it advises. The handwriting is hurried but clear, the letters slanting to the right, as if written in motion, perhaps as an afterthought during a busy meeting.

During a break in his hectic day, Erwin decides to take a walk near the barracks' perimeter, hoping to clear his mind. He walks slowly, savoring the rare moment of peace. As he rounds a corner, an irritation in his boot becomes too persistent to ignore. With a sigh, he bends down to adjust it. His hand brushes against something unusual—a small, folded piece of paper stealthily stowed in the cuff.

Curiosity piqued, Erwin carefully pulls it out. Unfolding it, he chuckles. Levi’s handwriting is rough but earnest, declaring: ‘Wach yur step, theres mor horse sh*t around here than in the stabels ✕’

In the midst of an intense briefing, the room hums with the murmurings of officers engaged in the throes of war planning. Across the expansive table, maps and charts sprawl in disarray. Voices overlap, rising and falling with urgency, each officer contributing to the discourse.

Erwin’s mind works tirelessly to sift through the myriad of information, piecing together a coherent plan from their input. Amid the fervent dialogue, his fingers brush against something—a crumpled piece of paper hidden among his documents. His heart skips a beat as he unfolds it, recognizing Levi's unmistakable, hurried scrawl.

The message is succinct, yet potent: “always trust yur instincts ∴”

Such a simple comment, yet it strikes Erwin deeply. Levi's words cut through the noise, a call to heed his own judgment over the overwhelming array of voices and tactical data cluttering the table. Erwin’s lips curl into a discreet smile as he folds the note and slips it back into his pocket, the paper a comforting weight against his chest. The room’s buzz continues unabated, officers gesturing animatedly, pointing to various points on the maps, debating strategies and contingencies. Yet, Levi's reminder anchors Erwin, guiding him back to his own internal compass.

Erwin continues to uncover these messages in the most unlikely of places. He finds a note curled within the confines of his uniform sleeve, another slipped between the pages of the book on his nightstand. Each carries a unique missive, ranging from the practical to the gruff, yet all are distinctly Levi—crafted in his no-nonsense handwriting and his direct, unembellished style.

And so, they become a part of Erwin’s daily ritual. Each day greets him with the prospect of finding another piece of Levi tucked away in some corner or cranny—a hidden message peeking from an unexpected nook. The thrill of discovering each one never dulls. It stirs a quick smile, a warming of the heart, a moment of delight that punctuates the solemnity of Erwin's duties. He carefully tucks them all away in a keepsake box within a locked drawer. Each note is a fragment, a step toward something forming, undefined yet increasingly tangible.

Erwin had suggested Levi practice his writing, but this—this clandestine scattering of notes—is unexpected. Each note reveals something deeper. He perceives every nuance—the slight pooling of ink at each letter's corner, an occasional forceful stroke piercing through the paper, revealing a moment of Levi's frustration. Tiny smudges hint at hesitation, as if Levi pauses, considering his next word. His fingers trace the texture of the paper, feeling the rise and fall of the ink, thick where Levi’s quill hesitated, thin where it hurried along.

Just plain, everyday elements—paper, ink, letters—yet combined, they transcend their simplicity. They are Levi's way of connecting without touch, of speaking without sound.

ooo

As dusk seeps through the window, shadows stretch like long, searching fingers across Erwin's desk. He leans back in his chair, keys twirling idly between his fingers. Light glances off their polished surface, scattering reflections across the sea of papers.

Erwin is accustomed to being the caretaker, the watcher, perpetually attuned to the needs of others. But in these scraps of paper, the roles reverse—now, Erwin finds himself under the subtle care of another. There’s something freeing about receiving Levi’s attention. These notes require no response, demand no reciprocity. They are simply there—small assurances that Erwin is seen, that someone is paying attention.

Locked doors, Erwin muses, are meant to keep the world at bay, aren't they?

Yet despite his office and personal quarters being secured whenever he steps away, Levi's notes continue to appear. Materializing like magic—no, not magic, like a trick, a sly trick from a past Levi shouldn't need to tap into anymore. Erwin supposes that he should be alarmed by it. By how unnervingly easy it is for Levi to slip past locked doors, to seamlessly infiltrate the supposed sanctity of his space. It's audacious, really, how Levi brazenly leaves these small tokens behind.

And yet, he finds himself more amused by Levi's gall than perturbed.

Erwin smiles, the irony not lost on him. Did he expect anything less from Levi? He had, after all, recruited a former thief—a man whose very life had once hinged on the art of unseen entry, a ghost in the corridors of forbidden places. Levi’s past is woven from shadowed corners and silent footsteps, a repertoire of skills no longer necessary for survival but evidently not forgotten.

And there’s an odd sort of comfort in it. At the idea of Levi’s attention so closely tuned to his habits and needs, at the thought that Levi might know the rhythm of his days so well. There was a time Levi bristled under his watchful eye, anger simmering at the surveillance he endured. Yet who watches whom now?

ooo

As Erwin strides down the headquarter’s corridors on a sultry afternoon, the sweltering heat mirrors the broiling tension just beneath the surface. The air hangs heavy, thick with the smell of old metal and sweat, much like the lingering aftermath of a fight. The heat seems almost sentient, mirroring the simmering tensions that have seeped into the barracks. Usually a place of disciplined order, it now thrums with the low, restless murmur of discontent.

Levi's recent skirmishes buzz at the edges of his consciousness. The whispers have grown, gaining weight and momentum. Levi’s prowess is no secret; the compact power of his frame, the lethal grace with which he moves, are well known. Yet now, Erwin hears worrying tales of fights, particularly with Schmit, a fellow Scout of considerable bulk but considerably less restraint.

These confrontations aren't hidden away; they unfold in the full, unforgiving glare of the training yard and the corridors that Erwin now navigates, where the echo of each blow, each sharp exhale, seems to hang in the air. The corridors that Erwin now navigates echo with each blow, each sharp exhale hanging in the air. Skirmishes among the Scouts trainees are not uncommon, of course. The stress of their grueling days frequently manifests in physical altercations—a raw, unpolished release of pent-up energy and frustration. But they are usually quick, one-time affairs.

A stark deviation—this is not the Levi Erwin knows. A solitary figure more often seen meticulously cleaning his weapons or in the company of quills than brawling with his comrades.

Erwin finds himself wrestling with bewilderment as he walks these spaces. With each step, he traces the phantom lines of these recent scuffles. The ground is scuffed where boots were dragging, twisting and grinding into the dirt. The air holds a lingering sharpness, the ghost of adrenaline and sweat. The questions pulse in Erwin’s mind, a steady drumbeat. Why this sudden surge of anger from a man who has always seemed to hold himself so tightly reined in?

Erwin pauses at a window overlooking the training yard. His gaze is drawn to a corner where the last skirmish occurred, replaying the fragmented accounts in his mind. There's Schmit, loud and swaggering, goading. And there's Levi, his response not in words but in violence, a mystifying rift that feels less like a release and more like a symptom of something deeper, more corrosive.

The talk among the soldiers around him is laced with concern. "It's not like him," they murmur. They speak of Levi, of the restrained ferocity of his strikes, of a control frayed but not yet broken, a dam holding back a flood. Unusual to his usual contained demeanor.

What drives Levi to this edge? Is it merely the irksome presence of Schmit or is there something else causing a crack in the facade he presents to the world?

ooo

Erwin's thoughts churn as he enters Commander Shadis’s office. The air inside is thick and stale, tinged with cigar smoke that weaves through and melds with the musk of weathered leather furniture. The Commander sits behind a massive oak desk, a bulwark amid mountains of paperwork and the patina of years in military service. His short black hair, now more salt than pepper, does little to soften his weathered face, where each wrinkle and the pronounced bags under his eyes narrate tales of sleepless nights and the burdens of command.

Above, a single gas light burns fiercely, casting severe shadows across his features, deepening the crags and crevices of his face. The moment Erwin crosses the threshold, Shadi’s gaze lock onto Erwin with intensity.

“I’ve been hearing too much about Levi,” The Commander states without preamble, his tone thick with disapproval. “It seems like he’s been stirring up trouble in the ranks and disrupting the order we strive so hard to maintain.”

Erwin, poised yet visibly tense, meets the force of Shadis’s scrutiny. It was naive to think that Levi’s antics might go unnoticed by the Commander.

Shadis leans forward, his fingers steepled. “You recall my reservations, Erwin. A soldier with his… peculiarities… is a risk—a risk you and Mike assured me was worthwhile. You advocated for him, vouched for his strengths as though they might offset any liabilities.”

“Yes, sir, Mike and I both did,” Erwin responds. “And I still stand by that decision. Levi has excelled in his duties, demonstrated valor and capability far beyond many of his peers.”

Skepticism clouds Shadis’s expression, his eyes narrowing as he takes a drag from his cigar, the ember glowing intensely for a moment. “Excellence in the field is one thing, Smith. Keeping the peace among your men is another. He’s bordering on becoming a liability—and that falls on your shoulders. You wanted him here, you deal with him. If he steps out of line again, it won’t just be him that pays the price. I’ll hold you responsible as well.”

Erwin’s response is measured, cool. “Understood, sir. I will handle it. Levi will not disrupt the ranks further.”

"See to it, Smith. Your record has been exemplary—impeccable judgment thus far. Don’t tarnish it now, not over one soldier, no matter how exceptional you believe him to be." Shadis grunts. “ I won’t have my corps compromised by one man’s unchecked aggression, no matter how many battles he’s won.”

After a moment of silence, Shadis takes a sip of whiskey, the clink of his heavy signet ring against the glass. "Now, for why I really called you in," he continues. "The Corps has recently made a significant recovery. They’ve unearthed fragments of an ancient text—documents that suggest the existence of several hidden outposts beyond the Walls.”

Erwin stands at ease, or at least his body does, but inside, the ground shifts. His heart pounds, hard, insistent, a drum roll of excitement. Can it be true? Hidden outposts? What secrets might lie buried there, waiting under the dust of ages? Resources, strategies, histories unknown—each a key turning in the locks that have bound them within the Walls.

"These outposts," Shadis continues, he stands up and unfolds an old map and spreading it across the cluttered surface of his desk, "are thought to house not only untapped resources but potentially pivotal information about the Titans—knowledge that could fundamentally alter our understanding and strategy."

The map itself is an artifact of age, its edges frayed and tinged with yellow, dotted with regions that are mysteries still unexplored. The parchment, thick and textured like fabric, hints at careful preservation from elements long past. Cryptic symbols strew the map—some more illustrative, perhaps denoting fortresses or strongholds. A particularly faded section reveals faint outlines of possible routes.

Shadis's finger presses firmly on the markings. "Our aim transcends mere expansion of territory," he asserts. "It's about harnessing these outposts as strategic assets. The implications are vast—this is about more than military gain; it's about advancing the survival and prosperity of all humanity within the Walls."

Erwin's fingers itch to trace those lines, to connect dots that might lead them to these outposts. They’re just lines on paper now, but each could be a lifeline. Imaginings of discovering Titan secrets race through his mind. Each heartbeat anticipating a moment when everything might change They need this. He needs this.

He gazes intently at the map. "Sir, we need to map out our approach—consider how we'll reach these sites, the risks involved, and the resources we'll need to allocate for these expeditions."

“We’ve identified possible locations based on old records and these cryptic symbols here,” Shadis points to the clusters on the map. “However, these areas are largely uncharted and fraught with challenges. At minimum, we'll require many additional horses."

Leaning in, Erwin traces potential routes with a tactical eye. "Terrain will be an obstacle, and we must anticipate resistance—not just from the elements but possibly from Titans themselves. We’ll need well-prepared teams and enough supplies to sustain them through unforeseen circ*mstances.”

His heart ignited in his chest, Erwin’s gaze meets Shadis's, intent and probing. "Do we have any leads on the locations of these outposts?"

"Only theories currently," Shadis concedes. "But this map gives us a foundation to organize further scouting missions. It will be perilous, no question.”

Only theories, yet theories that spark a conflagration in Erwin’s mind, the possibility of them blazing trails into unknown territories. Dangerous? Yes. Shadis himself had said as much, a warning that stokes a cautious fire in Erwin's belly. But oh, the potential glory of discovery, of mapping out secrets hidden beyond the great Walls that cage them.

“We’ll need to prepare thoroughly,” Erwin responds. “If these outposts hold what we think they do, the risks are worth taking.”

Shadis leans back, returning his cigar to the ashtray, its end still smoldering, a thin wisp of smoke curling up and disappearing into the air.

"This isn’t just another expedition." He takes a slow sip of his whiskey. The amber liquid glows in the dim light. "It’s a chance to shift the tide." Shadis sets his glass down, the clink of ice echoing against the office walls.

"We'll need our finest for this," he says, his eyes lingering on Erwin. "This mission will require leadership, experience, and innovative thinking—qualities I know you possess."

Erwin nods, understanding that the scope of his duties might be about to expand dramatically. "Absolutely, sir. I'll ensure our preparations are meticulous."

“There’s more,” Shadis continues. “It means we’ll need to secure additional funding. Another round of visits to Mitras, another bout of negotiations with the nobles.” The distaste is palpable in his voice, a bitter note amidst the discourse. “I’ll prepare the necessary documents and proposals. We must present this as an essential investment in our future security.”

Erwin feels a familiar stir of annoyance at the necessary dance with those who hold the purse strings, so far removed from the reality of their front lines. Yet, his face gives nothing away, schooled into the calm diplomacy that these ventures require.

Shadis takes a slow, thoughtful pull from his cigar before continuing, the smoke curling around his words. “There’s a card yet to be played. You remember the Duke’s daughter, Vivienne? She’s taken quite the shine to you.” His tone is casual, almost dismissive.

Erwin’s jaw tightens ever so slightly. The mention of Vivienne Ellington brings a deeper shade of discomfort. It isn’t the first time Shadis has broached this particular angle, and each mention stirs an unsettling sense of distaste within him.

“She is...favorable towards our cause, that is true,” Erwin responds, his voice carefully neutral.

“She is favorable towards you,” Shadis corrects sharply, his eyes locking with Erwin’s. “Vivienne’s affections for you are clear, and affection can be a powerful lever in the right hands. She’s no one’s fool, that one—knows her own mind and uses it well. Her inclinations could indeed persuade her father to open his coffers to us.”

“But leveraging personal relationships for funding…” Erwin’s words trail off. He is, of course, well aware of Vivienne’s preference towards him.

Each visit to Mitras had seen Vivienne seeking him out with an almost magnetic precision. Their exchanges never dallied in small talk; instead, she navigated their discussions through their shared strife against the Titans. Erwin recalls the deliberateness with which she would join his side, her clever eyes locking with his. Her conversation would skillfully steer away from the trivial and towards the matters of his heart: his hopes for humanity's future, his relentless fight against the Titans.

It was flattering, of course, the way she touched his arm to emphasize a point, her coy smiles when he agreed with her views, even her pointed questions about his plans. All these nuances sketched the portrait of a woman well-versed in the fine art of influence. Erwin couldn’t help but wonder how much of her behavior was genuine interest in him as a person, and how much was orchestrated to bind him to her father’s wealth and influence.

Shadis’s expression remains unreadable. “We're not in a position to overlook any resource, it’s about building bonds that that could turn the tide for us.” His voice drops, carrying a hint of reproach and something else—perhaps envy. "Consider your…physical attributes, Erwin. Your charm isn't something many of us possess. They're assets that could be leveraged for the Corps' benefit. Think about it—you have a unique opportunity to secure our future.”

Erwin straightens, his spine rigid. “I understand the necessity. I will ensure that our interactions are beneficial to our goals.”

“Good, she could be pivotal in swaying her father to open more substantial lines of credit for us.” Shadis leans forward, clasping his hands in front of him, his voice softening slightly. “I’m not blind to the personal cost here. But I know you, better than most, will do whatever it takes for the cause. So remember what’s at stake. Without more funding, we can’t hope to discover what lies beyond the outposts. It’s about survival, Erwin—not just ours, but humanity’s.”

“If it benefits the cause, I will continue to foster good relations with the Duke’s family,” Erwin repeats, a heavy feeling settling in his stomach. “But sir, we must maintain some semblance of honor in our methods.”

Shadis nods, seemingly understanding. “Of course, honor above all,” he says. “Just remember, we’re playing for high stakes here. Sometimes the game requires a more...flexible approach.”

He sets his glass down with a sharp clink. “And keep this close to yourself for now. If walls had ears, they’d strain to hear our plans. A premature leak could unravel everything.”

“Understood, sir. I will do my best. We'll have to make them see the necessity.”

“Exactly,” Shadis nods, with a gruff sound of approval. "Precision is key in how we present this to the nobles. They see our requests as mere entries in their ledgers, but each coin they wager on our cause is soaked in the blood of those we lose. They'll gamble with their gold while we gamble with lives.”

Erwin feels the weight of the room, thick with smoke that curls like the very mist of their uncertainties. Each inhalation brings a sharp, acrid burn, a reminder of the myriad pressures converging upon him.

He thinks of Vivienne's touch on his arm, the beautiful split seam of her smile, and the cold calculation that might lurk beneath. He feels the weight of their task, the push and pull between the war and the court, a ceaseless tide against a weathered shore, each wave a decision, each ripple a consequence.

ooo

As the skies open and a dreary rain transforms the barracks into a mire of mud, the gloom pervading not just the air but the spirits of those around him. Seeking refuge from the dampness, Erwin slides his hand into the pocket of his jacket, fingers searching subconsciously for any bit of warmth. His touch encounters the unexpected crispness of folded paper, and he draws out a neatly folded note.

It reads, ‘mushrom soup tonight. don’t miss it ⚝ ‘

Mushroom soup—his favorite, a fact he can't recall ever sharing widely, certainly not amid the casual exchanges in the mess hall. The idea that Levi not only knows this tiny detail but remembers it sends a ripple of astonishment through Erwin. How had Levi discerned this preference? Had he observed Erwin choosing it time and again when it appeared on the menu, or was it gleaned from some offhand remark Erwin had made, lost in the larger conversations that filled their days?

Originally, Erwin had resigned himself to another late night buried in paperwork, the type of evening where dinner becomes an afterthought. His desk awaited, piled high with reports and requisitions that demanded his attention, the kind that often stretched into the small, lonely hours of the morning.

Tonight, however, spurred by Levi’s simple reminder of his favorite dish, he reconsiders.Erwin folds the note back into his pocket, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Tonight, he decides, the paperwork can wait. Tonight, he would not miss the soup.

ooo

Dinner in the mess hall of the Survey Corps barracks is always a loud affair, a raucous combination of voices and clinking steel mugs. At the center of the mess hall, a large fireplace roars, its flames leaping and casting a warm, flickering glow that dances across the room.

Shadows stretch and merge into the vaulted ceiling, where wooden beams disappear into the darkness. Torches stutter along the walls, throwing light across the bustling tables laden with Scouts and trainees. The air is thick with the rich, savory smells of stew simmering in large pots, bowls of comforting mushroom soup and the yeasty scent of bread that sits in baskets spread across the tables.

At the officers' table, Erwin sits with Mike, methodically spooning a hearty mix of rice and soup into his mouth. Their conversation about expedition funding is a low murmur against the backdrop of boisterous activity.

Leaning in, Mike's voice drops to combat the din. "Budget's tight again. Been months since we've been to Mitras, and the nobles aren’t happy."

“I know,” A knot tightens in Erwin's stomach, the financial weight of their expeditions bearing down on him. "They're tightening the purse strings—they want more. More land, more findings, more results."

"And less risk," Mike adds, his fork piercing a piece of meat with more force than necessary. "The bastards want the impossible. We're gonna have to make some tough choices soon."

"We will have to prioritize further," Erwin suggests. "Maybe focusing our efforts on certain missions could cut costs without compromising our goals."

Mike grunts in agreement. "Might work. But that means indefinitely delaying the riskier routes. We prepared to do that?"

"We may not have a choice," Erwin concedes, setting down his spoon with a heavy sigh. He taps his fingers against the table, lost in thought. In the background, a burst of cheers rises from a group of Scouts engrossed in an arm-wrestling challenge, their boots drumming against the floor.

"The political climate in Mitras is unstable, and Shadis is pushing for another visit to drum up support," Erwin continues. The thought of navigating those treacherous political waters again makes him uneasy. "But the timing... it's precarious. If we push too hard for resources, we risk tipping the scales against us. It could be seen as desperation, or worse, an overreach."

"But if we don't assert ourselves..." Mike counters. “And demand what we need…”

"It's a delicate balance," Erwin murmurs as he sips a spoonful of soup. "We have to tread carefully. One misstep could jeopardize not just this funding cycle but our operations long-term. Maybe it's time we leveraged the research data we've already gathered."

Mike nods, taking a gulp from his mug.

Erwin feels the weight of secrets pressing down on him. He hears Shadis again, the insistence in his voice, "Keep this close.” He sees him, too, the serious set of his eyes, eyes that have seen too many winters, too many wars.But Mike is more than just a fellow officer; he is his closest confidant, the only one Erwin trusts with the high stakes of their future expeditions. He knows the risks of sharing classified information. Yet, how can he keep this from Mike? How can they strategize, maneuver through the political mire without all pieces on the table?

The silence between them stretches as Erwin weighs his decision. Mike, with his unwavering commitment to their cause, understands the stakes better than anyone. Trust. It isn't just the foundation of their friendship—these are the ties that bind stronger than any protocol.

Erwin leans closer, his voice a hushed whisper even as his eyes continue to scan the room warily. "There's more—Shadis told me the Corps might have found an ancient text hinting at outposts beyond the Walls."

Mike's reaction is instantaneous; his eyes widen, the flickering firelight mirrored in his gaze. The ambient din of the hall softens into a distant hum, their conversation carving out a quiet sphere of its own. The possibility hangs between them like a tinderbox awaiting a spark.

"Any more details? Exact locations, potential resources?" Mike asks, leaning in.

Erwin shakes his head. "That's the extent of what I know. Shadis hasn't given me anything more concrete. We're expecting a detailed briefing soon." He tries to temper his excitement with caution, aware of the potentially volatile implications of their discovery.

“That might switch up our whole game plan,” Mike murmurs. He sets his mug down, never taking his eyes off Erwin as he searches for consensus. “Could change everything for us.”

"Indeed. If these outposts exist, they could serve as new strongholds, provide new refuges, new bases of operations. The historical insights alone could be invaluable." Erwin locks eyes with him. "It's imperative we keep this between us for the moment. Until we have solid information and a clearer strategy, it's best not to stir up any rumors."

Mike nods slowly, taking a deep pull from his mug. His voice drops even further, a gruff edge creeping into his tone. "You’ve got to be careful about this," he advises. "in how you sell this to those assholes who hold the purse strings."

“I’m aware,” Erwin replies, his voice resolute. "Without increased funding, these outposts—and the secrets they hold—might as well not exist. We’re at a tipping point, Mike. We need to make them understand the stakes."

Thoughts of strategies and possibilities churn in Erwin’s mind, his excitement simmering just below the surface. If they can unlock such secrets... Yet, he tampers down the flare of excitement. Focus. First, secure the funding, secure the support. Everything hinges on this.

As they delve deeper into their funding strategy, Erwin’s eyes occasionally stray to the Levi’s vacant chair across the hall. His brow furrows slightly. Levi's presence at mealtime is as constant and reliable as the North Star, and his absence is puzzling.

His thoughts are interrupted by Hange’s arrival at their table. Slipping into the seat next to them, Hange clutches a thick stack of documents, catching snippets of their financial woes.

Mike eyes the papers in Hange's hands warily. "Those wouldn’t happen to be about Levi's expensive tastes in gear, would they?" he quips.

Hange leans forward, their eyes narrowing as they gauge the tense atmosphere. "Seems like money’s already tight, huh? Well, perfect timing—I've got news about Levi's gear that might just add to our headaches."

They fan out the documents across the table; each page brimming with dense annotations and intricate technical diagrams. The flickering torchlight casts fluctuating shadows and gleams briefly on the metal cutlery and the aged wood of the tables, highlighting the detailed annotations sprawled before them.

Exchanging a weary glance with Mike, Erwin braces for more unwelcome news. Mike turns to Hange, his tone half-serious, half-resigned. “We’re already tackling funding issues, and now you're adding to the sh*t pile??"

Erwin shifts his focus to the documents Hange has laid out. “What’s all this?” he inquires, gesturing toward the paper-strewn table.

“The timing is admittedly terrible,” Hange starts, their finger gliding over a particularly dense diagram. “And I wouldn’t bring it up if it weren’t critical. It's about Levi's ODM gear.” They pause for a moment, holding up a finger. “Now you’re not going to like everything I have to say, but hear me out first. The custom enhancements we’re engineering for him aren’t cheap.”

Erwin’s eyes trace the lists of components and costs. "We’ve already stretched the initial budget for this, haven’t we?"

"Yes and I appreciate that," Hange acknowledges. "But we've run into some complications that require further modifications. The new systems are cutting edge, meaning custom parts, extra testing... the works." They wave their hand. "We’re looking at a cost that’s nearly double our usual expenditure for standard gear."

“Double the cost?” Erwin murmurs. He scans the complex schematics. Could they really justify this expenditure? His jaw tightens at the thought of defending it before the council amid their already scrutinous gaze.

Hange, pushing a loose strand of hair from their face, seems unfazed by Erwin’s apprehension. “Yes, it’s a steep increase, but consider the potential, Erwin!” Their enthusiasm surges as they continue, “Just last week, Levi took down a dozen of my mechanical titans single-handedly. The modified gear is clearly making a difference."

Mike interjects wryly, "Levi been giving you any trouble lately, Hange? Or should I say more than usual?"

They pause, a rueful smile flickering. “I mean, yes! Levi can be taxing—always so surly, questioning every decision and he still dodges every request to revisit my workshop. But setting that aside! We’re seeing improvements in speed, agility, everything.”

"So how much more are we talking about here?" Erwin asks, his voice tinged with trepidation.

Hange flips through the papers to a cost breakdown. "It’s going to cost us an additional forty percent on top of the original budget."

"Forty percent?" Mike’s fork freezes mid-air, his expression one of disbelief. The utensil clatters down as he leans back "Every credit we divert here is one less we have for taking on the Titans. We need to think hard about this. Hell, at this rate, Erwin’s gonna have to sell himself to the nobles to cover all of this."

Mike scrutinizes the documents, his brow furrowing as the reality of the cost sinks in. “Hange, these numbers are through the roof,” he says bluntly, jabbing a finger against the page. "How are we supposed to defend this at the next budget meeting? The council’s already pissed about our spending."

He turns to Erwin, his expression serious. "Levi’s really worth all this?"

Erwin's worry spirals as he absorbs the staggering numbers, feeling a tight knot in his gut. He presses his palms flat against the cool wood of the table, striving to maintain composure under Mike’s skeptical gaze. "It's about the long-term gains," he insists, his voice firm. "If these modifications give us an edge, then it’s an investment worth making."

Mike's expression tightens. He leans forward and meets Erwin's gaze directly. “Look, long-term gains don't mean squat if we're bleeding cash now. It's not just about Levi; we're betting the whole operation on gear that costs a mint. What if it fails? We're royally screwed if this backfires,' Mike argues with a heated intensity.

Erwin holds Mike’s intense stare, unblinking. “We’ve committed to this path. There’s no turning back," he counters firmly. "And how is his training progressing under your watch, Mike?”

"Levi's an asshole with a chip on his shoulder.” Mike exhales deeply, then concedes, “But he’s damn talented, faster and more agile than anyone I've seen. If we’re talking effectiveness, then his results speak for themselves. Guess if anyone's worth the cash, it’s Levi. But with these extra costs..."

"It will undoubtedly complicate our next discussion with the nobles," Erwin admits, “but we must leverage every advantage we can muster, especially now. Levi’s role is critical, and Hange’s enhancements could set a new standard for all our Scouts.”

Hange, still poring over a diagram, looks up, their expression earnest. "Exactly, Erwin. You just have to communicate how important it’s to properly support Levi."

"Looks like Shadis and you have your work cut out for you in Mitras," Mike comments dryly, returning to his meal. The air is thick with the rich smells of roasting meat and the earthy scent of wood smoke from the hall's open fire.

Erwin sighs, rubbing his temples as he contemplates their next steps. “We’ll have to make sure to articulate the importance of maintaining our key assets at peak condition.”

Hange gives them both a sideways glance. “This isn’t just about keeping a ‘key asset’ in top shape." Their expression is a mix of amusem*nt and mild rebuke. "It’s about Levi, right? We're making sure he can perform at his best despite everything.”

Mike raises an eyebrow, his skepticism palpable. "Yeah, I get it. But Levi’s still a wild card. That’s a whole lotta money tied up in one guy who might not stick around," he mutters, his fork attacking his food with unnecessary vigor. "We're betting real heavily on someone who hasn’t been with us all that long.”

Undeterred, Hange grins knowingly. "True, he’s a wild card, but he’s outlasted any trainee we’ve seen so far. That’s not just luck." Their voice takes on a teasing lilt, "Recall our own rough starts? Weren’t you the one who took on a Titan armed only with obsolete gear and sheer audacity?"

"Hell yeah, those were the days. Almost got squashed going head-to-head with a Titan. Thought I was invincible." Mike takes a hearty bite of his bread, grinning. "And remember when I almost took out half our squad trying to flaunt a new maneuver? Ended up tangling everyone’s cables."

"I had to cut you down from that mess!" Hange laughs and slaps the oak table, causing a few nearby candle flames to flicker. "Took hours to sort out the equipment afterward. You were a real piece of work, Mike. You kept us all on our toes."

"Suppose I was a bit of loose cannon back then.” Mike snorts, while a wry grin sneaks across his face. “But I learned, didn’t I? Got my sh*t together. Ended up alright.”

"That's my point," Hange responds warmly, their smile fond. "You turned out more than alright—you became one of our best. Levi's got that same potential—I give him the right tools, and who knows how far he’ll go with us."

Mike leans back, arms crossed but his stance softened. "For Levi’s sake, he better not screw this up. He’s got the guts, no doubt. Just needs to channel that energy properly, not go off half-co*cked all the time.“

"You mean like you used to?" Hange teases, their grin wide.

“Ha! Yeah, just hope the little man's smart enough not to follow my early antics."

"Well here’s to learning from the best," Hange replies with a toast-like gesture with their fork. "And to making sure our wild cards turn into aces."

Erwin's laughter rumbles warmly, his eyes crinkling with amusem*nt. “If Levi’s half as stubborn as you were, Mike, he might just outlive us all."

ooo

The dining hall thrums with vitality, its ancient walls reverberating with the laughter and boisterous conversations of the Scouts gathered within. The comforting aroma of simmering stew and freshly-baked bread fills the room, mingling with the delicious warmth of hot drinks.

Erwin, having finished his meal, reclines slightly, the old chair creaking under his weight. Warmth radiates from the grand fireplace at the hall's heart, casting shadows against the rugged stone walls and lending the space an almost celebratory air. His thoughtful gaze mirrors the dance of flickering flames.

In the corner, a mismatched choir of Scouts, several mugs of ale deep into the evening, attempts to sing an old regimental song. Their voices, far from harmonious, are loud and off-key, but brimming with enthusiasm. They laugh at their own discordant notes, clapping each other on the backs and raising their drinks in toasts to fallen comrades and future victories. Their carefree joy fills the hall with a raucous, infectious energy.

Across the hall, a circle of seasoned soldiers engage in a subdued but intense discussion. Their dialog, threaded with strategy and experience, flows with the ease of well-practiced familiarity. Their weathered faces tell stories of survival, each scar a physical reminder of the costs paid to defend their cause. There is a reassuring sense of continuity in knowing that these veterans are the backbone of their defense.

Around Erwin, the rest of the Scouts indulge in their own conversations, but there's a common thread that links them all—bonds forged through adversity and triumph. When rank dissolves in the warmth of shared meals and laughter drowns out the drum of duty, the Corps's real strength crystallizes.

This is what sustains them all, keeps them human in the face of the inhuman.

Erwin's eyes linger on his companions, noting how the firelight accentuates the deep laugh lines around their eyes and throws their features into sharp relief against the flickering shadows. Their laughter blends harmoniously with the crackling of the fire. Erwin watches them with a smile. It’s rare to see such unguardedness in his hardened friends.

Hange, always animated, laughs as they weave yet another tale from their endless repertoire of escapades. Their hands move expressively and their eyes gleam with enthusiasm. Mike, reclining next to them, listens with a relaxed demeanor, a wide smile curling his lips. His rugged features soften with nostalgia as he reminisces along, the memories a balm for their weary spirits.

Erwin's gaze drifts back to the empty chair across the hall, where Levi is conspicuously absent. Since their return from the forest, Levi's behavior has grown increasingly peculiar. He’s been lingering longer in Erwin's office, as though the room itself provides a momentary shelter from whatever weighs on him outside those four walls.

After their lessons, Erwin often glances up to find Levi preoccupied with seemingly mundane tasks. With deliberate slowness, Levi adjusts the objects on Erwin's desk—a book slightly askew, a pencil not quite aligned with the edge. His movements are perhaps unnecessarily meticulous, each adjustment a silent conversation with his own thoughts. Occasionally, he catches Levi’s gaze, hesitant and probing, assessing Erwin from a careful distance.

Their eyes occasionally lock, the air between them thickening with unspoken words. Levi’s glance holds for a charged second before he abruptly looks away. The behavior mystifies Erwin. He knows his soldiers well—their straightforward camaraderie, their uncomplicated bonds. Levi, however, does not fit neatly into these familiar molds. He seems to exist slightly apart, his demeanor not quite matching the usual rough-and-tumble brotherhood of the barracks.

Erwin often finds himself pausing, words catching in his throat, as the clock ticks down towards the end of their lessons. He watches, fixated, as Levi hesitates, hand on the doorknob, the line of his back a silhouette against the light filtering through the curtains. He feels a stir, an unusual impulse to speak. perhaps an invitation to stay.

Yet Erwin remains silent, the words unformed, as Levi finally opens the door and steps out. A trace of Levi's presence would still hang in the air, stirring something unnameable within Erwin. It's a sensation he can't quite define—a blend of curiosity, concern, and something more elusive, something that tugs at the edges of his consciousness.

ooo

As the laughter and chatter around Erwin dwindle, plates are pushed away, and utensils set down, signaling the end of their communal meal time. Hange and Mike rise, their movements languid, contented sighs escaping them as they stretch. Curiosity outweighing protocol, Erwin decides to look for Levi. The wooden chair scrapes against the floor as he stands and bids his companions goodbye with a nod.

The dining hall's warmth dissipates as Erwin steps out into the compound’s backyards. The brisk air greets him, tinged with the earthy scent of horses and the faint whiff of hay. Twilight stretches across the sky in bands of deepening blue and purple. Erwin's breath hangs before him, a misty cloud in the chilling air.

Acting on a hunch, he heads toward a dimly lit corner of the scouts' compound. His boots crunch against the gravel path, the tall wooden fences creating a secluded pocket cut off from the compound's usual bustle. The silence of the evening is punctuated by the occasional snort from the horses and the distant murmur of voices winding down for the night.

As Erwin rounds the corner, the sounds of movement rustle through the evening air. He spies Levi crouched in the dirt. Before him stands a small, scruffy dog, its wary eyes scanning every motion. The dog's coat is a patchwork of neglect—mangy, peppered with black spots, and a half-bitten tail complementing its torn left ear—a life marred by hardship and survival on the fringes.

Levi extends a hand slowly, letting the stray catch the scent of his skin before setting a scrape of meat down on the ground. The dog’s gaze shifts rapidly, eyes flicking from the morsel to Levi, torn between the instinct to flee and the pangs of hunger. Levi remains still, as if understanding its need to assess safety.

The dog pauses, its ragged tail showing a flicker of movement, a hesitant wag as it edges closer. Its nose twitches as it sniffs the meat, a feast for an animal used to scavenging. Encouraged, it inches forward with growing curiosity. Finally convinced of the safety, it takes the food, tail wagging, its first real meal in days.Levi watches intently, a faint smile on his lips. He remains crouched, and winces slightly as he adjusts his position, a shadow of pain crossing his face. Despite this, he remains focused, his eyes never leaving the dog.

Once the meal is finished, the animal lifts its gaze to Levi. Sensing a fragile connection, he holds out another piece of meat, this time drawing it closer to himself, coaxing the dog to breach the barrier of its fear. The stray stands motionless, its torn ear twitching, eyes locked on Levi's hand.

Minutes pass; Levi continues his patient vigil, his hand outstretched. The dog’s eyes soften, a slow recognition of safety dawning within. It approaches, torn between hunger and hesitation. It reaches Levi’s hand, sniffs tentatively, then finally takes the food.As the stray eats from his hand, Levi begins to pet its head, each touch light and reassuring. The dog’s tail, though half-bitten, begins to wag with more conviction, its rhythm picking up with Levi's gentle strokes.

Erwin observes quietly, this gentle unfolding of trust. He knows Levi must still be hurting from being thrown by Hange’s clockwork Titans. Yet, despite his injuries, Levi remains steady. His crouched form, unwavering and calm, offers a promise of safety to the wary stray.

After a few minutes, Erwin decides to step forward. His steps are soft, careful not to disrupt the moment. Yet, the unavoidable crunch of gravel underfoot betrays his presence. The dog's ears perk up, its body tensing in an instant. It retreats a few steps, eyes wide and alert. Levi turns sharply. A flicker of confusion passes over his face as he meets Erwin’s gaze.

Erwin raises his hand in an apologetic gesture as he steps fully into Levi's view, ensuring clarity. The dog, still wary, watches them both, its body tense and ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger.

‘You really can't leave me alone, can you?’ Levi signs tersely.‘Why are you here, Captain?’

“I could ask the same of you. You left in the middle of dinner. What are you doing?”

Irritation flickers across Levi's face. ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’

“You're aware that stray animals can be carriers of diseases?”

‘Then it's a good thing I'm not kissing it,’ Levi retorts, clearly annoyed.

Erwin sighs. "Is this what you're doing with your dinner these days? Where did the animal come from?"

Levi ignores him, focusing on feeding the dog instead. After a moment, he signs, ‘He must have dug through one of the fences. Found him hiding behind the barn.’

"Wouldn’t a better cut of meat be more appropriate for your new friend?" Erwin offers, a bit clumsily.

‘I didn't ask for your charity.’

"Not you, necessarily. But perhaps the dog could benefit from it." Erwin takes a tentative step closer as the dog’s tail begins a slow wag. "I could bring more food for it. Maybe even some blankets?"

Levi hesitates as he considers the help. He glances at the dog, now sniffing around for more scraps, clearly still hungry. With a reluctant shrug, Levi signals his tacit approval.

Erwin returns to the mess hall where he secures a bowl of leftover stew from the kitchen. Bringing it back, he hands over the bowl, its savory aroma wafting through the air. With keen anticipation, the dog sniffs eagerly, the rich scent stirring its appetite.

Levi carefully sets the bowl on the ground. The animal inches forward, nostrils quivering. A brief pause to gauge safety, a silent calculation of risk versus reward, and then it devours the meal, hunger triumphing over fear.

When the bowl is finally empty, the dog lifts its head, its eyes brighter, its tail wagging with hopeful swings. Levi extends his hand again, and this time, the dog nuzzles it briefly. Levi's face softens, the hard lines of his expression easing into something gentler. He glances towards Erwin, a quiet thanks evident in his eyes.

Sated, the dog begins to explore its surroundings with renewed vigor. It sniffs the perimeter, nudging pebbles and probing tufts of grass by the barn, each wag of its tail a stronger stroke of confidence. Levi follows its movements, his eyes alight with wonder, as if seeing the world anew through the dog's cautious but determined exploration.

Erwin remains beside him in a companionable hush. He watches the dog with a slight smile, amused by its curious investigation of every nook and cranny.

"Levi," he finally says. "You should be resting."

‘I'm fine. The dog needs this. He looks too thin.’

"Perhaps we can find him something more nourishing tomorrow," Erwin offers gently.

‘Alright,’ Levi signs, his movements more measured now. ‘But don't make a big deal out of it.

Erwin smiles faintly. "No big deal," he agrees.

Levi settles onto the earth, patting the ground beside him. The stray pauses, its cautious eyes locked on Levi, considering the invitation. After a moment's hesitation, it pads over slowly, and finally curls up next to him. As Levi's hand gently strokes its fur, a sense of calm descends over them both. The dog's eyes slowly droop closed, its body relaxing fully for the first time. From somewhere nearby, the persistent chirrup of crickets weaves through the air, the sound blending with the soft snuffling of the dog.

Erwin stands back, his heart warring with his disciplined mind. The bond forming before him—a man and a stray—challenges the stringent boundaries he upholds. Rules and discipline—they are spine of everything he is supposed to embody. An unauthorized animal, no matter how seemingly benign, carries risks—diseases, parasites that could silently compromise their ranks. They are necessities that cannot be overlooked in the face of personal sentiment. Allowing such a breach of protocol could erode the rigid structure of discipline that defines the Survey Corps.

And yet, as Levi's hand pets the dog with uncharacteristic gentleness, something shifts inside Erwin. He should intervene, should remind Levi about the rules, but the words stick stubbornly in his throat. Demanding the dog's removal could damage the fragile trust building between them. Perhaps allowing this minor deviation from protocol could deepen it instead.

And maybe, Erwin muses, the rigidity of their lives needs the occasional softening—to remember that amidst the demands of duty, there lies strength in simple acts of kindness.

The aroma of evening blooms fills the air, cool and slightly sweet. Erwin's gaze softens as he watches the dog nudge its snout into Levi’s hand, prompting a rare smile. Trust, Erwin reflects, might indeed arrive on silent paws and with tentative, wagging tails.

With another glance back at the pair, Erwin turns away, his footsteps echoing in the night as he retreats inside.

ooo

The following morning, Erwin walks into the bustling mess hall kitchen, where the warm aroma of freshly baked bread melds with the spicy tang of herbs. He nods to the head chef, exchanging a few quiet words. The chef nods back, understanding that particularly generous portions are to find their way to Levi’s plate. The kitchen staff, accustomed to Erwin’s commands, comply without question. The clatter of pots and pans soon resumes its familiar symphony, a harmonious backdrop to the morning’s routine.

Later, Erwin makes a swift trip into Trost, returning with an assortment of dog treats nestled in a wicker basket. He finds a secluded corner near the barn where the grass grows tall and wild, placing the basket there with careful deliberation. The rustle of leaves in the breeze stands as the only witness to his quiet deed.

Levi never acknowledges the assistance, yet Erwin notices the changes. The stray looks increasingly healthier and more spirited with each passing day. As the sun dips lower and shadows grow longer, Erwin often finds himself peering out of his office window.

From his vantage point, he watches Levi’s evening routine with quiet satisfaction. Levi sits beside the scruffy dog, his movements gentle as he feeds the animal his extra portions. The setting sun casts a warm glow over them, over the bond forming in their stolen moments.

ooo

The grandfather clock chimes in the background, marking the hour as Levi slips into the office. Late afternoon sunlight lays a golden path that he follows to his usual seat across from Erwin. As Levi settles into the chair, the ambient noises of the office—the whisper of wind through the cracks, the muted creak of old wood—blend into the backdrop.

“Good afternoon,” Erwin greets, receiving a nod and a fleeting smile—a rare spark of warmth. Since discovering the dog a week ago, a subtle transformation has been unfolding within Levi. Where he once sat stiffly, back rigid as if braced for a blow, there is now an ease to his shoulders, a relaxation as he leans forward. He isn't softer—Levi doesn’t do soft—but something in him seems less fortified against the world.

Golden light spills through the tall, dusty windows of Erwin's office, casting shadows across the clutter of maps and papers. Levi reaches for the quill, his fingers closing around it with familiarity. A flicker of pride crosses Erwin’s face. Only a month prior, Levi had wielded the pen awkwardly, his script shaky and uncertain. Today, however, his grip is secure, the quill poised elegantly at the ready.

The rustle of paper and the scratch of pen nibs fill the space between them. Levi focuses intently on the content of their lessons—practicing handwriting, constructing sentences. The scent of ink mingles with the faint aroma of parchment. Erwin watches him with a mix of concern and admiration. Despite the lingering welts from the forest incident, Levi moves with unexpected grace. His resilience is almost unnatural—most would have been bedridden for months. Yet Levi scarcely falters, his stride only marred by a limp.

Erwin’s mind races with hypotheses. Levi’s recovery could hint at something more—perhaps an unusual endurance, an exceptional stamina, or even a remarkable lineage. Each possibility floats through Erwin's mind as he scrutinizes Levi, trying to piece together the enigma sitting before him. The light frames Levi’s lithe figure, accentuating his bruises—hints of recent conflicts. Erwin’s eyes narrow; these could be remnants of Mike’s rigorous training or perhaps Schmit’s heavy hand; he isn’t sure which one yet.

"Let's start with something simple today," Erwin suggests. "Write your name. We'll build from there."

Levi nods, his focus narrowing. The quill kisses the inkwell, a droplet of ink clinging to its tip, before he guides it to the parchment. He begins with his name, the characters unfurling more fluidly than ever before. The initial 'L' arches with grace, the 'e' sweeps in smoothly after, while the the 'v' and 'i' stand firm.

He’s a lot smarter than many give him credit for, Erwin muses, his eyes tracing Levi’s handwriting as it flows onto the page—still not quite steady, but certainly clearer. The lines are defined, the loops more deliberate, and the overall flow more confident. It is clear Levi is grasping not just the mechanics of writing, but also its essence.

Erwin bites back the questions that almost escapes him. He has not yet breached the subject of Levi’s hidden notes. It would be so easy to mention them, to ask Levi about his strange new habit. Yet, despite his curiosity, Erwin can't quite determine why he chooses to remain silent. He hesitates, wary of misreading the situation. Perhaps he fears disturbing the delicate equilibrium they've established, or maybe it’s the uncertainty of Levi's intentions.

After all, those notes could merely be Levi’s exercises in literacy, practical applications of their lessons. Maybe Erwin is reading too much into the gestures, seeing connections where none are intended.

"Good job," Erwin murmurs, leaning forward to inspect the work. "Now, let’s try something different. Write about something you saw today that caught your eye, just a sentence or two."

Levi's gaze flickers to the window, where the light casts geometric patterns on the austere Walls. He seems to draw inspiration from the view, a small flock of birds perched on the edge, their feathers catching the light in a dance of hues.

He returns the quill to the ink, then slowly begins to transcribe his observation onto the parchment. Each letter is carefully shaped, revealing his still-developing proficiency. Erwin observes the concentration etched in Levi's brow, the slight bite of his lower lip as he focuses.

'Birds rest on the Wall. Their feathers are bright in the sun. They look frajile against the stone but they’re free to spred their wings and fly away. birds have no concept of bordrs.'

Erwin's eyes widen as he reads over Levi's sentence, taken aback by its unexpected depth. He had anticipated something more straightforward, more literal. Instead, Levi's observation carries a poignancy, despite the basic language and misspellings.

He studies Levi, this small, hard-edged man, with eyes like silver—wary, always on guard. Years of hardship have shaped him into something tough and unyielding, a creature of survival. Who would have expected such introspection from someone so hardened by life?

"This is... very good," Erwin remarks. "It’s impressive how you notice these details—how you find beauty in places others might overlook."

Levi watches him intently as if bracing for critique. Then, a faint, nearly imperceptible smile tugs at his lips, and Erwin catches the flush creeping up his neck. It's a rare sight—Levi, disarmed by praise, exposed, and perhaps a touch pleased. He shrugs, his expression masked by practiced nonchalance. Yet Erwin detects something beneath the modesty, a quiet satisfaction that Levi cannot entirely conceal.

His hands move fluidly as he signs, ‘Sometimes I watch the birds from my bunk window. I rarely saw them growing up.’

Of course, there were no birds in the Underground, Erwin thinks. No wonder Levi is captivated by them now. Raised in the subterranean slums, he would have been deprived of the natural world. Birds—creatures that soar freely above the oppressive ceilings—must hold a special allure. Erwin reflects on Levi's past, marveling at how it nearly crushed such potential.

"That makes sense," Erwin nods. "Birds represent a kind of freedom that must have seemed very distant to you."

A quiet moment stretches between them. Levi reaches for another fresh sheet of paper. The colorful stacks on Erwin’s desk are now as much a permanent fixture as the books lining the walls. With meticulous care, Levi begins folding, aligning each edge with precise control. Today, he crafts a horse, each fold bringing the creature to life, its mane and tail taking shape under his deft fingers.

Erwin watches, fascinated by the transformation—not just of paper into art, but of Levi himself. Origami, once merely a tool Erwin had used to teach vocabulary, has become something more for Levi, a form of comfort from their harsh reality. In the careful control and precision required for origami, Erwin sees Levi’s desire for order, a way to assert dominion over one aspect of his life, a small way to provide a quiet sense of mastery and peace.

Levi sets the finished horse between them, its mane and tail finely creased, standing proud on the desk. Erwin shifts his gaze Levi.

"It’s impressive, how you’ve embraced this craft," Erwin remarks. "Does it bring you a sense of peace?"

Levi's eyes linger on the horse, a soft expression crossing his face. After a moment, he nods.

Erwin leans forward, his curiosity piqued. “Is that why you continue to fold these during our lessons? Because it helps you find some calm?”

Levi’s expression tightens. ‘ Never done anything good with my hands before. They have only brought violence, known death. This…,’ he gestures to the delicate origami, ‘feels like this is the first nice thing they’ve ever created.’

Erwin's heart clenches in a tight fist. How many burdens does Levi carry? “That’s not true,” he counters, his eyes never leaving Levi. “What about the concern you’ve shown for your friends? That takes qualities far removed from violence.”

Levi’s skepticism is etched into his features, years of self-recrimination reflected in his eyes.

Erwin maintains steady eye contact, “Your hands hold the capacity to create as much as they do to destroy. They inflict pain when necessary, yes, but just as easily bestow comfort. This craft shows the duality within us all—capable of both destruction and healing.”

Levi’s eyes narrow, skepticism deepening. ‘Duality?’ he signs, his movements slower, more hesitant. ‘That's a pretty story to tell myself. The truth is, savagery is all I know.’

Erwin shakes his head. "There are objectives that can only be accomplished by violence. Some forms of love, for instance, cannot exist without bloodshed. What we do, the protection we offer, it comes with a cost."

Levi considers this, his eyes flicking back to the crafted horse. ‘Sounds nice in theory.’ he signs, almost scoffing. ‘But in reality, how does folding paper change anything? The world is still the same brutal place, and I’m still the same thug who’s had to kill to survive.’

"We all carry the potential for both creation and destruction. It’s the choices we make that define us. And you, Levi, more than anyone, have the strength to choose a different path."

Levi looks down at the paper horse, his fingers tracing its delicate edges. His nails are red and raw, the skin around them rough and peeling. The bruises on his knuckles are dark and mottled, each one telling a story of recent violence.

"And Levi," Erwin leans forward and steeples his hands. "I’ve noticed your bruises. It seems you’ve been in quite a few altercations recently."

Levi's gaze hardens, a shard of steel. The room is bathed in the ebbing light of dusk, shadows creeping across the bookshelves. Erwin waits, patient, giving space for the storm he senses brewing.

‘There's nothing to discuss,’ he signs curtly. ‘I can take care of myself.’

“Your actions suggest otherwise." Erwin says calmly, but concern creases his brow. "You're not one to engage without reason. What's been provoking you?"

A vein pulses at Levi's temple. Erwin watches, as he remains unnervingly still, the seconds stretching into an eternity. He wonders if Levi might simply just rise and walk out.

‘It's your doing,’ he finally admits, ‘The others resent me. They think I'm getting special treatment, having to learn sign language because you ordered it. They take out their annoyance where they can.’ Levi shakes his head, frustration etched into his face. ‘You make decisions and people fall in line. I was doing fine before you got involved.’

Erwin’s eyes widen slightly. He had envisioned his men united by understanding, not divided by resentment. Every decision he makes is for the Corps' best interest, each one carefully weighed. He has always considered himself a considerate man. Not perfect—far from it. But not inconsiderate."

"I was only trying to help," Erwin says, "It never crossed my mind—"

Levi’s eyes flash and the corners of his mouth twitch upward in a mirthless smile. 'Of course not. You didn’t consider how it would affect me. You order, they comply—the chain of command at its finest. It's not you who endures the reality of those orders.’

Erwin feels the sting of the accusation, sharp and sudden. He takes a slow, measured breath. “Is it Schmit? Is he stirring discontent among the ranks?"

Levi's eyes hold Erwin's gaze. His lips press together, a line drawn in defiance. He does not move to sign a response, nor does he shift his focus away from Erwin's earnest eyes.

Of course, Erwin thinks. Levi is no snitch. Such behavior will probably get your throat slit in the Underground. He doesn’t need confirmation anyway; he is well aware of Schmit's reputation of course. A talented Scout but volatile, perhaps even dangerously ambitious.

"I know you won't name names, but I need you to understand that these fights are drawing unwanted attention from the higher-ups.” Erwin holds his hands out in a plea. “If this continues, it won't just be Schmit you’ll have to deal with. I will speak to him and address his behavior, but you need to avoid these confrontations. It’s putting a target on your back."

'You put that target on my back,' Levi’s eyes flicker with irritation. ' And what would you have me do? Stand there while they push? I'm already holding back.'

“I know that you are,” Erwin leans forward "I'm not asking you to be passive. Defend yourself if you must, but be smart about it. The attention you're drawing isn't worth the risk. We need you, Levi. You're too valuable to lose over petty squabbles."

Levi’s jaw clenches tighter, the strain palpable. Erwin can see it all—every unspoken frustration, every swallowed retort.

"I never intended to make things harder for you," he says softly. "I thought it would help you integrate, to bridge the gap. But I see now that I've missed something crucial."

'You just can't help yourself, Captain. You love meddling, don't you?'

Erwin raises an eyebrow, genuinely taken aback. "What do you mean?"

Levi shoots him a withering glare. ‘The extra cuts of meat. The dog treats. Don't act clueless.’

"Ah," Erwin shrugs with a faint smile. "I thought your new friend could use better nourishment."

‘He’s not my friend,’ Levi snaps back, his hands moving with clipped precision. ‘It's a stray. I was just helping him.’

Erwin’s smile softens. “Okay, I just wanted to help you too. Are we not friends by now, Levi?”

Because that’s what friendship is, isn’t it? An exchange of emotions, of trust?

Erwin finds himself wondering - are they becoming friends? It would certainly be an improvement over Levi trying to kill him. He often catches Levi eyeing the letter opener on his desk, a glint of consideration in those sharp, calculating eyes. Still contemplating the possibilities, perhaps. Yet Erwin doesn’t feel the need to hide it. Concealing the letter opener would imply some sort of defeat, an admission of fear. He’s confident Levi wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t cross that line, not now.

It’s a peculiar dance they perform—Levi shadowing him, slipping secret notes everywhere, yet seeming repulsed by proximity. Magnetized. Drawn close and then repelled, an invisible force keeping them just out of sync.

Erwin remembers the forest, how Levi tensed under his care, breath held as if at any moment, Erwin might shatter him. He remembers it all so vividly. The warmth of Levi’s cheek against his wrist, lips parted, eyes closed. And then, the recoil. His face flushed, staring with a mix of humiliation and reverence. Such a tantalizing array of emotions in those stormy eyes. And Erwin knows then that Levi has barely—perhaps never—been touched that way.

His eyes drift to Levi's hands, noticing the way he fiddles with his bitten nails. Fingers twitching, nails scraping lightly against the rough fabric of his trousers. Levi’s eyes dart to the side, lips pressing into a thin line, the anxiety barely contained.

So tightly wound, Erwin thinks, like one of Hange’s clockwork Titans. The thought intrigues him. He can almost sense the threads holding Levi together, wound so tight they seem ready to snap. What would happen then? If he pushed, if he tightened those screws just a bit more, would Levi crack under the pressure, or would he finally relinquish control?

Finally, Levi shrugs. His hands still, fingers curling into his lap, signaling the end of their conversation. Erwin watches as Levi stares at some distant point, steadfastly refusing to meet his gaze. The tension between them is a living, breathing thing.

Erwin decides not to push further, sensing the fragility of the moment. For now, he will wait. There will be other moments, other opportunities to bridge the gap. He must be patient, must allow Levi the space he needs. The trust they are building is tenuous, a spider’s web—intricate and gossamer-thin.

ooo

A week later, after the remnants of dinner have been cleared away, Erwin decides to seek out Levi. The night air is cool, infused with the earthy scent of grass and the promise of rain, a tranquil hush settling over the Corps headquarters. He steps back out of the mess hall, his destination clear in his mind—the unused barn in the back compound, where the stray dog has found refuge. It's a place of solitude for Levi, away from the constant bustle and watchful eyes of the others.

As he approaches the barn, Erwin slows, taking in the sight of the old structure. The wooden beams, though aged and with patches of peeling yellow paint, stand resilient against the elements. Soft rustling sounds and a low murmur emanate from within, hinting at life inside. Gently pushing the door open, Erwin steps into the dimly lit interior, his eyes gradually adjusting to the muted light.

Levi is there, sitting on a pile of hay beside the stray, his hand moving in slow, soothing strokes along the animal’s back. The dog, with its distinctive torn ear, glances up at Erwin with wary eyes but remains still, trusting the calming presence of Levi.

Levi turns, seeming entirely unsurprised to see him. Erwin walks closer, the wooden floor creaking under his weight. Draped over one arm are several blankets, and in his hands, he carries a wicker basket filled with simple dog care supplies—an old brush, a bottle of diluted soap, a water bowl and thick cloth rags.

Crouching down to Levi’s level, he offers a tentative smile. "Mind if I join you?"

Levi shrugs, a gesture of reluctant acceptance.

For a moment, they sit in silence, the only sounds the quiet panting of the dog and the distant chirping of crickets outside. Erwin studies Levi, noticing the way his fingers occasionally twitch as if fighting the urge to retreat. He places the basket beside him, the contents softly clinking.

"I brought some things," Erwin says, gesturing towards the basket. "Thought they might be useful."

Levi's eyes flicker to the items, curiosity mingling with caution. ‘What's all this?’ he signs, his gaze lingering on the brush.

"Just some basic supplies," Erwin explains, lifting the brush. "Some blankets for comfort. And I figured the dog might appreciate a bit of grooming. There's some soap in case he needs a bath."

Levi's gaze lingers on the items, intrigue in his eyes. He reaches out, taking the brush from Erwin's hand. He watches as Levi tentatively begins to brush the dog's fur, the coarse tangles gradually smoothing under his strokes. The dog leans into the touch, it’s torn ear twitching. It’s contentment seem to mirror Levi's growing calm.

Erwin shifts slightly, ensuring he has Levi's attention. "Does this little guy have a name yet?" he asks.

Levi pauses, his intense gray eyes fix on Erwin's lips. ‘There's no point,’ he finally signs, the motion of his hands tinged with resignation. ‘I'm sure he'll leave me once he feels better. Names just make things more... permanent.’

"Sometimes, permanence isn't a bad thing," Erwin says. "It can mean stability, a sense of belonging."

Levi's fingers twitch again, but he doesn't turn away. Instead, he resumes brushing, his movements slower now, as if deep in thought. The dog's soft brown eyes flicker up at him.

Erwin reaches into the basket and pulls out a folded blanket, shaking it out and draping it over the hay. He settles beside Levi, giving him enough space.

"You know," Erwin gestures towards the stray, "just like how we name our horses, naming him could be a way to honor his journey. A sign of respect for what he's been through."

‘I’m just no good with names,’ Levi shakes his head. ‘I wouldn't know what to call a dog anyway.’

"What’s the first word that comes to mind when you look at him?"

Levi thinks for a while. Finally, he shrugs. He signs the word ‘Mutt.’

Erwin chuckles, nodding. "A mutt, huh? It's honest and fitting. Sometimes, simple is best."

Levi looks down at the dog, his expression softening. He reaches out and scratches behind the dog's healthy ear, a small smile playing on his lips. He signs the word 'Mutt' again, this time with more confidence.

The dog, now named Mutt, looks up at Levi adoringly, his tail thumping lightly against the ground. Levi's smile grows a bit wider, and he continues to scratch behind Mutt's ear.

"You seem to have a way with him," Erwin observes, his tone light.

‘He's a tough little guy. Takes time to earn his trust, but it's worth it.’

"Trust always is."

After a moment of comfortable silence, Levi seems to gather his thoughts, the dog’s warmth a soothing presence between them.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he signs, looking up at Erwin. ‘About what you said before, about my hands being worthy of more than just violence.’

Erwin nods patiently, his eyes urging Levi to continue.

‘I told you I never made anything good, but that’s not really true.’ Levi hesitates, the memory casting a shadow over his face. ‘In the Underground, I used to find discarded wood. Pieces people threw away. I’d take them and carve them with my knife. I’d try to sell the figures to the merchants that came from Above. Made bowls, animals, whatever I could imagine.’

Erwin absorbs every word, his attention focused entirely on Levi. “That’s impressive,” he says. "Woodworking requires skill and patience."

‘Wood was scarce. Most of it was rotten or stolen for fuel in the winter. But sometimes, I’d find a decent piece. I’d dig through piles of trash, sneak into abandoned buildings, even fight off others looking for anything of value. When I found a piece worth carving, it felt like striking gold.’

Erwin listens intently, picturing the harsh reality of Levi's past. "Was it a difficult skill? I can imagine it must have been quite intricate work."

'Yeah, it took a lot of time, patience,’ Levi admits. ‘I’d sit for hours, sometimes days, whittling away. My hands would cramp, my fingers would bleed. I cut myself more times than I can count. But it was something to do, something that felt... constructive.’

Levi’s face remains thoughtful, his gaze distant as if he was seeing scenes from another time. ‘It didn’t always work,’ he admits. ‘Sometimes, no one wanted to buy. Sometimes, the wood would break, or I’d mess up the carving. But when it did work, it felt like I was doing something right.’

‘One winter, Isabel got a fever. Stealing was too risky with the guards cracking down. I’d come across a rare piece of cedar. I remember its scent filling the air as I spent days carving it into a fox, hoping someone would buy it. I barely slept, my hands were raw, but I finished it. Sold it to a merchant who came down from above. He paid just enough to get medicine and a little food. It wasn’t much, but it kept her alive.’

Erwin’s expression softens. “You used your skill to save your friends, Levi.”

A heartbeat. ‘It was nothing. Didn't have a choice.’ Levi shrugs dismissively.

“Do you still keep any of those figures?”

‘No, needed the money more than the memories. But sometimes, I wonder what happened to them. If they’re still out there, sitting on a kid’s shelf or tossed in a drawer somewhere.’

Levi's eyes narrow, a mixture of bitterness and nostalgia coloring his expression. ‘I can just picture one of my carvings perched on a rich bastard’s mantle, a nice little decoration they never think twice about. I bet they don’t have a clue the hands that made it were those of a criminal. Probably think it’s some high-end art piece.’

A flicker of cynicism crosses Erwin’s features. "The rich love to buy stories more than the objects themselves. Maybe if they knew, they’d appreciate it even more. Nothing like a bit of 'criminal' backstory to make their mantelpiece more interesting at dinner parties."

‘So, my carvings might be worth more than I thought? Should have splattered some blood on each one.’

"Without a doubt. You could say each one was fashioned from the remains of some infamous outlaw. They’d eat it up, imagining the thrill of owning something so steeped in infamy." Erwin’s eyes twinkle with amusem*nt. "You could have had a second career there, Levi. A notorious artist from the depths of the Underground. Quite the selling point."

Levi tilts his head. ‘And how do you know all that? You seem real sure of yourself.’

Erwin chuckles softly. "I've seen it and heard it straight from the horse's mouth. When I attend parties at noblemen's houses in Mitras, I hear them bragging about their exotic acquisitions and the stories behind them. They revel in the drama and the intrigue, makes them feel adventurous without leaving their cushy lives."

Levi huffs, a mixture of amusem*nt and disdain. ‘Oh, I bet. What else do they do at those gatherings? Trade the latest scandals over overpriced wine and cheese? Compare how many rare trinkets they can hoard? Must be exhausting, all that privilege.’

"You’re not far off. The nobles gather in their opulent salons and compete to tell the most outlandish stories about their possessions, each trying to outdo the other. One might boast about a painting from a far-off land, depicting some mystical scene, while another raves about a rare book by an obscure philosopher, claiming it holds secrets of the universe. And of course, there's always someone who swears their latest trinket has a history steeped in mystery and danger—like a dagger that once belonged to a famous assassin or a gem rumored to be cursed."

‘And they just eat that sh*t up, don't they?’ Levi snorts, shaking his head. ‘Sitting there in their cushy lives, feeling a thrill from someone else's struggles. It’s pathetic.’

Erwin nods, a hint of resignation in his smile. "They romanticize the danger and the hardship because it’s so distant from their reality. They love to imagine the peril, the adventure, while they sit in their velvet armchairs. It is all just a game to them."

‘For all its faults, at least the Underground is honest. You know who your enemies are, and you know who you can trust, even if it's only to be exactly what they claim to be. They wear their scars and sins openly. There's no pretense, no grand illusions. You know exactly where you stand.'

Levi leans back, a grim satisfaction settling on his face. ‘I'd take that over gilded lies any day.’

”Indeed,” Erwin smiles down at Mutt as it sniffs his hand. He pets the dog, its warmth a comfort against the cool, musty air. Its tail thumps against the ground in contentment, a rhythmic sound that blends with the rustle of hay. “The nobles' idea of 'roughing it' is running out of their favorite wine," he says, a wry smile playing on his lips.

Levi studies him, eyes narrowing with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. His usual sharp demeanor falters, hesitating for a moment under the glow of the barn’s lantern lights.

‘You know, I'm surprised you feel this way about the nobles.’

Erwin tilts his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Why is that?"

Levi shifts uncomfortably, his gaze darting away before returning to Erwin. 'You seem like you belong in their world,' his hand sweeps towards Erwin. 'With the way you carry yourself, so polished with that perfect hair and that ridiculous face—'

"Levi,” Erwin pauses, his eyes glinting with amusem*nt. “Are you implying I’m pretty?"

A bright bloom colors Levi's cheeks. His composure slips as he stammers through his signs, 'I—I didn't mean it like that. I just... you always seem so put together.'

Erwin's smile widens. The tips of Levi’s ears have turned pink and Erwin is surprised by how charmed he is by it.

Still flustered, Levi averts his gaze and rests his hands awkwardly at his sides, before beginning to spread the blankets around on the hay. Once settled on the neatly arranged blankets, he absently pets Mutt, fingers tracing through its fur. His eyes, however, never stray far from Erwin, watching his every move.

With a sigh, Erwin shakes his head. "Appearances can be deceiving," he murmurs. "Just because someone looks a certain way doesn't mean they don't understand the realities of our world. I've seen enough to know that the prettiest facades often hide the darkest truths."

ooo

A comfortable silence settles between them, the barn is filled with the earthy scent of hay and the aroma of aged wood, permeating the cool, musty air. Levi shifts, adjusting his position to find a more comfortable spot. Leaning back against the barn wall, he stretches his legs out in front of him. The dog, sensing the change, moves to lie across Levi's lap, its head resting on his thigh. Levi's hand starts rubbing its head gently, his fingers moving in slow, soothing circles. The dog's eyes close in bliss, its tail wagging lazily.

Erwin's curiosity sharpens. There's a question that has been lingering in his mind. “So…who taught you how to carve those figures?”

Levi remains so still that Erwin begins to wonder if he overstepped, fearing Levi might be retreating into his shell once again. The silence stretches on, filled only with the distant rustle of leaves outside. Just as Erwin considers changing the subject, Levi sighs—a long, deep breath that seems to release a piece of the tension within him.

‘There was a man who looked after me,’ Levi finally replies, his hands moving, fingers weaving through the air.

Erwin watches intently as Levi’s expression shifts, the hard lines of his face tightening. Sensing Levi’s deepening emotions, Mutt whines softly and curls closer to him.

‘He taught me how to carve wood,’ Levi continues, ‘but also how to survive in the Underground. How to move silently, strike quickly, and take what we needed to live.’ Dust motes drift lazily through the beams of light, a surreal contrast to the darkness of Levi’s memories. His fingers slow, each word seeming to weigh heavily.

‘At first, carving was just another skill he taught me, a way to earn a few coins and keep my hands busy. But it was more than that.’ He looks down at his hands, scarred and calloused. ‘I came to realize it was also to sharpen my skills with a blade, to hone my precision and control for darker purposes.’

Erwin can only guess what those darker things might be. His mind fills with possibilities, each more unsettling than the last. He wonders how old Levi was when he learned these lessons, imagining his quiet resilience that went unseen in a world valuing toughness over tenderness. Levi must have seen his fair share of death, Erwin muses, in a place where life is cheap and death even cheaper. A Scout’s life is not much better, with death as their constant companion.

"Do you ever miss it?" Erwin asks, careful not to push too hard. "The carving, I mean. Do you ever find yourself thinking of it, just out of habit?"

Levi's fingers twitch, as if the memory of the feel of a knife is almost tangible. His eyes flicker with a distant, haunted look. 'Sometimes, I’ll find a piece of wood and wonder what I could make from it. But it brings back memories I’ll rather forget.’

Levi looks down at his hands, examining the scarred knuckles, searching for the boy who once created beauty out of nothing. ‘Hard to imagine finding the purpose for it now. These... are not what they used to be. They carry too much history, too much blood.’

Erwin watches Levi’s face, the turmoil evident in his eyes, as shadows of the past play across his features. He thinks about the fragility of words, how they often fail to capture the depth of what lies beneath. "And yet, with those hands, you craft beauty every day," he says softly.

Levi blinks, his hands pausing midair. ‘Is that what you see?’

“You use them to communicate with people, don’t you? Every gesture, every sign you make brings your thoughts, your feelings into the world. Every time you reach out to connect, you’re creating something meaningful.”

Levi stares at him, his expression unreadable, his eyes flickering with something unspoken.

Erwin leans back against the rustic barn wall, smiling. ‘I talk to many people every day, Levi. Their words often pour out, meaningless and empty. They’re afraid to say what they really mean, using words as a shield to keep the truth at bay."

He pauses, his eyes becoming distant. “When they say, ‘Take care,’ what they really mean is, ‘I hope you don’t die today.’ I’ve lost faith in words. I believe in their power, yes, but not in their honesty."

Erwin’s gaze is drawn to Levi’s fingers, the way they move, the silent language they create. “But you... you don’t have that luxury, do you? Every sign is deliberate. You can’t hide behind words. Your fingers narrate stories no one else might see. They’re honest and powerful in ways that go beyond violence.”

Levi closes his eyes briefly and swallows hard. For a moment, just a heartbeat, Erwin catches a glimmer of emotion threatening to spill beneath. Fireflies dance in the light, casting ephemeral shadows over Levi’s face, highlighting the darkness of his lashes, the soft curve of his mouth. The world around them seems to hold its breath, with the hum of cicadas adding to the stillness. Levi's shoulders rise and fall with a deep, shuddering breath.

Then he tilts his chin up, almost in defiance. ‘You’re a real poet, Captain. Didn’t know you had it in you.’

Erwin's smile broadens, warmth filling his eyes. "I fancied myself a poet once," he admits. "In my youth, I would spend hours lost in books, writing stories and letters that no one would ever read. I used to hide under the covers, scribbling by moonlight." He pauses, his gaze drifting to the slice of sky where the first stars begin to shimmer. "Writing felt like a secret language, a way of expressing thoughts that I couldn't share out loud."

'But you stopped?' Curiosity flickers in Levi’s narrowed eyes. ‘What changed?’

Erwin sighs, the weight of years pressing down on him. "Life happened," he says simply. "Responsibilities, expectations... somewhere along the way, I lost touch with that part of myself. I suppose we all have to grow up sometimes." He looks at Levi, his eyes softening. "But you remind me of what I once loved. Your hands convey so much without a single word, much like how my pen used to capture my thoughts."

Levi’s fingers pause in Mutt’s fur, their rhythm halting as a contemplative silence settles between them. Finally, he signs, ‘Then find it again.’

Erwin’s heart tightens. He lets out a weary sigh. "Maybe," he says. "But sometimes I wonder if some parts of us are lost for good, buried under too many layers of what we’ve had to become."

Levi nods, his gaze shifting to the sky visible through the barn door, as if seeking answers among the stars. The night is alive with sounds—the distant hoot of an owl, the whispering of the wind through the cracks in the wooden walls, the creak as the structure settles into the earth.

His hands remain still, bringing an unspoken end to their conversation. They sit side by side, taking in the barn's rustic charm, with its creaking timbers and the soft rustle of straw underfoot. Erwin’s eyes drift to the small details: the way Levi’s hair catches the moonlight, the quiet strength in his stillness. Erwin watches him, this small, enigmatic man on the dusty floor, and he wonders how they ever ended up here together, in their quiet, isolated corner of the world.

Time seems to stretch as Levi's eyes remain fixed on the night sky, his expression contemplative, lost in thoughts that Erwin can only guess at. Finally, he pulls a blanket around his shoulders, a retreat into himself, his form shrinking beneath the worn fabric. Erwin senses the withdrawal, and stands, feeling the rough straw prickling under his palm as he pushes himself up.

He walks to the barn door, his boots scuffing against the hay-strewn floor. The sound is almost lost in the quiet. Outside, the world is hushed, the moon luminous in the sky. Erwin takes a deep breath, the breeze carrying the scent of pine and earth, steadying his thoughts.

The familiar scent stirs memories from their recent ride back from the forest.They had stopped just outside the Corps headquarters. The air had been cool, with the rich aroma of pine and the faint hint of smoke from distant fires. He remembers the strength in Levi's arms around his waist, the warmth nestled against him, the sinewy elegance of small fingers, a grip that felt both possessive and fragile.

Levi, ever skittish and distrustful, is a wild thing, one who has known too many hunters and too many cages. Yet he slept peacefully then, each inhale and exhale a warm affirmation of life against Erwin’s back. And despite all his efforts to maintain distance, Erwin couldn’t ignore the way Levi had pressed against him, the way their bodies fit perfectly together as if it were all an inevitability.

Erwin had closed his eyes then, reluctant to break the moment, savoring it. Just a little longer, he thought. Let it last. Let him rest.

Turning back toward the barn, his gaze falls upon Levi and the dog, dozing together. Fireflies' tiny lights dance in the darkening air, casting a flickering glow over them. He doesn’t know if reminiscing is more a blessing or a curse, so he tries not to dwell on it. Erwin steps quietly across the barn, his boots barely making a sound on the straw-covered floor. He kneels beside Mutt, giving him a last gentle pet on the head. Mutt stirs slightly, a contented sigh escaping its lips, but it does not wake.

Erwin looks over to Levi, observing the steady rise and fall of his chest, the slight parting of his lips with each breath. His hand lingers above Levi’s face, suspended in the air, caught between hesitation and yearning. He watches in wonder as Levi’s eyelashes flutter, the subtlest of movements hinting at dreams. Such a gift, he muses, to witness this tranquility. Slowly, almost reverently, Erwin reaches out, his knuckles grazing Levi’s cheek. The softness of skin beneath his fingers sends a shiver through him. The touch is feather-light, a ghost of a caress, barely there.

The moment feels delicately suspended in time, a finespun web fraying in the wind, ready to unravel at the slightest disturbance. Erwin holds his breath, afraid to break the fragility of it. All he can hear is Levi’s breathing, and he understands now, in a way he never quite did before. They are both human-hearted, bound by blades and loneliness. Soldiers shaped by duty, their lives pledged to others. He briefly closes his eyes, trying to imprint this moment in his memory, to hold onto the fleeting peace and intimacy.

With a sigh, Erwin reluctantly withdraws his hand, the weight of reality settling over him. The warmth fades from his fingertips, replaced by the cold, hard truth of their circ*mstances. He is acutely aware of the boundaries he must maintain, the lines he cannot cross. Emotions, attachments—these are luxuries measured and weighed carefully on the scales of survival and duty. Allowing such things, especially with his would-be assassin, would be utterly foolish, undeniably irresponsible.

And Erwin is neither a foolish nor irresponsible man.

He rises slowly, using the rough wood of the barn wall to steady himself as he stands. Erwin slips his hand into his jacket pocket, seeking warmth against the chill of the night. His fingers brush against the edges of a hidden note, a surprise, though not entirely unexpected. The paper feels crisp against his skin, a secret folded into his palm.

Erwin unfolds it carefully, the rustle of paper the only sound breaking the stillness. As he reads, a soft smile plays on his lips. The words blend with his thoughts, emotions swirling in the quiet night. It’s a piece of Levi, offered freely and without reservation, his gift of connection. Erwin’s heart warms, a delicate heat spreading through his chest. In that moment, he realizes it doesn’t matter if he can’t physically touch Levi. Not really.

The note in his hand is imperfect, the letters uneven and rushed, reflecting the hurried circ*mstances under which it was written. Yet, Erwin sees Levi in every stroke, every flourish of the quill. He prefers it this way—it means more than any spoken words that could be forgotten in the wind. It’s as if Levi’s essence has been captured in this fragile piece of paper, something tangible that Erwin can hold onto.

Erwin slips the paper back into his pocket, the crinkle of it a small, reassuring comfort. He turns, his gaze lingering on Levi, who dozes against a sturdy wooden beam. Levi's posture is relaxed, his head bowed, dark hair cascading across his face in soft strands, partially obscuring his serene features. One small hand nestles in Mutt's fur, fingers entwined in the dog's soft coat. Even in sleep, his hand moves in a slow, soothing rhythm, a subconscious gesture of comfort and protection. Mutt, utterly at ease, rests his head contentedly on Levi's lap, his body rising and falling with each snore. The moment is one of quiet companionship, of tranquility between man and dog.

The barn is bathed in a dusky glow, the soft hum of night settling around them. Fireflies flit through the air, their luminescent bodies weaving delicate, ephemeral trails of light above the pair. Erwin reaches for a nearby blanket, its fabric soft in his hands, and approaches the sleeping duo with careful steps. Gently, he drapes the blanket over them, ensuring they are both covered and warm. Levi stirs, his fingers tightening momentarily in Mutt's fur, then relaxes again, cocooned in the blanket's warmth.

Erwin stands there for a moment, feeling the weight of his presence. He knows it’s unnecessary, perhaps even intrusive. With a deep breath, he turns and quietly departs, leaving Levi in the company of his unlikely new friend—a bond woven from patience and the tender offerings of a lonely heart reaching out to another.