Chapter Text
It always felt colder in the strategy room after midnight.
The lanterns burned low, the maps were covered with Erwin’s notes, and everyone’s tea had long since gone cold.
We were all there, Hange, Levi, Erwin, and me, talking through supply routes, terrain estimates, and potential Titan density between Trost and the outer districts. It was supposed to be just another late planning session, but the silence between Levi and me had a shape of its own. One year later, and it still hadn’t gone away.
Hange noticed, of course. They always did.
“Hey, captains,” they said lightly, glancing between us, “if looks could kill, the Titans would’ve gone extinct by now.”
I rolled my eyes, pretending not to hear. Levi didn’t even blink.
Erwin’s pen paused over the map. “Focus,” he said quietly, not even raising his head. That tone, soft, patient, commanding, was one of the first things that had drawn me toward him months ago. It wasn’t the kind of authority that demanded..it just existed.
“Right,” Hange muttered, waving both hands in mock surrender.
Levi finally looked up, eyes cutting briefly toward me. He didn’t hold the glance. He never did anymore. There had been a time when he’d look straight at me without words and I’d understand everything he meant. Now, if our eyes met at all, it was like running into a wall, hard, quick, over.
We finished the meeting two hours later. Hange yawned, Erwin gave final notes, and Levi stood to leave without another word. I stayed behind, gathering papers, pretending to be busy because I didn’t want to follow him out at the same time.
Erwin lingered. “You’re quiet tonight,” he said, low enough that it didn’t echo in the big room.
“I’m fine,” I lied. It came out smooth. I’d had practice.
He gave that small half smile of his, the kind that barely reached his eyes but somehow felt real. “You always say that before missions. You know I don’t believe you Elin
.”
I looked up, finally meeting his gaze. Erwin’s blue eyes could read anyone. It was infuriating sometimes. Comforting, too.
“I’m thinking,” I said.
“About the plan,” he guessed.
“About everything,” I corrected.
He stepped closer. “Get some rest tonight. That’s an order.”
I almost smiled. “Yes, Commander.”
He looked amused, but he didn’t move away. His hand brushed mine, just for a second. It wasn’t a secret that we were together anymore, though we tried not to show it in front of the others. He always kept things professional. So did I. Usually.
“I’ll walk you back,” he said.
“I can handle it,” I said quietly.
“I know,” he replied. “I just want to.”
And that was Erwin, steady, calm, protective without ever making me feel small. I nodded, letting him.
We walked through the corridor in silence. The air outside smelled like rain, the kind that came before dawn. The sound of Levi’s boots echoed somewhere behind us, he was leaving the same building, a few meters away, heading in the same direction.
Erwin noticed him too. “He’s still awake,” he said, not unkindly.
“He doesn’t sleep much before missions,” I said. “Neither do I.”
Levi didn’t look over as he passed us in the hall. Just a curt nod, sharp and polite. “Commander. Captain.”
His voice didn’t crack, but something in it made the air heavier. Erwin returned the nod. I tried to, but Levi didn’t wait to see it. He turned the corner and disappeared.
When he was gone, Erwin sighed quietly. “He trusts you more than most,” he said. “You two worked together for years. I know it’s… complicated.”
“That’s one word for it,” I said.
Erwin gave me that steady look again, the one that made people tell him things they hadn’t planned to. “You don’t have to explain. Whatever’s in the past, I trust you both.”
“I know,” I said. But it didn’t make the knot in my chest any smaller.
Later that night, I couldn’t sleep. The rain had started for real, soft against the windows. I sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on my uniform jacket like armor, and found myself walking without really deciding to..down the hall, past the dim corridor lamps, stopping outside the training room.
Levi was there, of course. Alone, cleaning his blades, the same ritual before every operation. He didn’t seem surprised to see me.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked without looking up.
“No,” I said. “You?”
“Never do.”
The silence stretched between us again, familiar and sharp. The smell of metal and oil filled the air.
“Erwin still up?” he asked casually, like the question didn’t matter.
“I think he’s writing reports,” I said. “Why?”
“No reason.”
We both knew it wasn’t true, but I didn’t push. I just leaned against the wall across from him, arms folded, pretending to look at the floor. “You think this plan’s gonna work?”
“It’ll work,” he said. “Or it won’t. Either way, we move.”
Typical Levi. But I heard something else underneath it.. a flicker of unease that only people who really knew him could catch.
I nodded. “Still, it feels different this time.”
He looked up then, meeting my eyes for the first time in weeks. “Everything feels different when you start thinking about what you’ll lose.”
It hit harder than I wanted it to. I swallowed. “You’re not going to lose me, Levi.”
He gave a small, unreadable smile. “You already did.”
The words landed like a blade.
Before I could answer, he stood and started packing his gear. “Get some sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow’s not going to wait for you to figure things out.”
I wanted to say something, anything, but the look in his eyes stopped me. It wasn’t anger. It was regret, buried under everything else he refused to show.
When I left the room, my hands were shaking.
A year ago, I had told him I loved him.
It was late, after a mission gone wrong, after too many drinks, after a week of seeing too many soldiers die. I had said it quietly, afraid but honest. He had stared at me for too long before answering.
“You shouldn’t,” he’d said flatly.
“I already do,” I’d told him.
And he’d looked away. “Then stop.”
It had been that simple. That brutal.
He hadn’t shouted. He hadn’t even raised his voice. Just those two words: then stop.
I hadn’t seen him again for days after that. When we finally did talk, it was like someone had built a wall right through the middle of every sentence.
Now, a year later, things had changed. I’d changed. I’d built a life that didn’t revolve around Levi Ackerman. I’d found steadiness in Erwin’s calm, warmth in his quiet understanding. We fit, in a way that made sense.
But sometimes, like tonight, when I caught Levi looking at me across a table or felt his gaze when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, something old and unfinished moved inside me. Something that shouldn’t still be there.
And I hated that part of myself.