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(Manga spoilers; swearing - apologies for the delay, we were experiencing technical issues. Please continue to hold and the following chapter shall be proofread shortly.)

In the end, it takes a full two weeks before Linus finally relents and permits your release. He's let you walk around a little, but never far, and never for long. The lack of physical activity hit you harder than you'd have expected. At times, it felt as though the restlessness inside you was an explosion in slow-motion, being constantly smothered and contained even as it threatened to burst out. So today - the day you regain a measure of freedom - there's an impatient energy in everything you do. You finish packing the last of your books, irritated at how long it takes to finish with only one hand, and then sling the bag over your shoulder when a sudden knock sounds on the open door. You turn to see Hange smiling in at you.

"You're officially back on duty as of this moment, Captain," she says, brightly. You straighten up, as befits an officer on duty. "I expect to see you in the mess hall for meals, and you'll have plenty of paperwork to get on with."

"...Is that all?" Meals? Paperwork? Her definition of 'on duty' is not like your definition of 'on duty'. Your definition involves not sitting on your ass all day. You've had your fill of that, thanks.

Her smile doesn't falter. "If you don't feel up to it, I'm sure the doctors would be happy to keep you in the infirmary a bit longe—"

"I'm up to it!" you break in, sharply. "I'm more than up to it, in fact. I could at least oversee some of the training..."

"I'm sure you could," Hange says, amiably. "You are physically capable of watching the recruits train."

You purse your lips. "But?"

"But the moment one of them stubs a toe, you might leap in to rescue them and break your other arm." Her eye glints.

People are being seriously unreasonable about this. You saved a soldier's life, damn it! He was legitimately plummeting to his death when you intervened, and everybody is behaving as though you overreacted. Perplexed and more than a little annoyed, you debate over your next words for a few moments, then settle for, "What if I cross-my-heart pinky-promise to let the next one die?"

"Captain, I do appreciate that you rescued a soldier in mortal danger," Hange says, with a strange sharpness in her tone. "But you've forgotten a few key points here. Foremost of which is that your life is more valuable than a recruit's."

Standing alone by your bed, you stare at the woman in the doorway as though you've never seen her before. The curtains move in a slight draft from the window, letting waves of sunshine into the room. "Hange...?" Is this a joke? A really weird, twisted, not-funny joke?

She's still smiling, but it's a small, hard smile that does not reach her eye. "For several weeks, I've managed an ever-growing Corps with the help of one officer who keeps affectionately calling me furious obscenities because he can't clean anything. The reality is that I'd rather have my second officer than a recruit who almost killed himself during training. Face that reality, Captain, or I'll never let you out of the building again."

She's... she's pissed off. You frown, wondering if she has been angry with you this whole time and just hidden it until you were given the all-clear. But how could that be? You can read her too well; you wouldn't have missed that, would you? Your first instinct is to placate her, perhaps by apologising for the eleventy-billionth time, but that would mean agreeing that you shouldn't have saved Felix. Whatever she says, whatever cold logic or nasty mathematics she uses, you can't imagine having chosen any other path. Scratching the back of your head, you eye her cautiously for a bit. "I see the point you're making," you say, guardedly.

Her brittle smile fades. "Yes, you do," she says, quietly. "You just don't agree." Then her face suddenly lights up again. "Well, anyway, welcome back to the world! Can I help carry something?"

For a few long seconds, you just blink at her. She changes moods like other people change their shoes. "No, I've got it," you say, adjusting the bag and taking off for the door. She moves to fall into step beside you, hands behind her back as the two of you pass down the corridor, austere doctors glaring down at you from the oil paintings along the walls. "Is there something you need?" you ask a minute later, thoroughly discomfited by her visit.

"A better laboratory," Hange answers, immediately. "The one we have is atrocious compared to what they've got in the capital. Oh, you mean do I need something from you? Well, yes. I need you to catch up to speed as soon as possible, if not sooner." She frowns. "As soon as possible cannot actually be sooner, but I was aiming for hyperbole. I may have accidentally landed in redundancy." Er? "Anyway. We've taken on more administrative staff from the Garrison, largely from the permanent transfer list, and that's making a big difference in day-to-day functioning. We'll be prepared for the first intake of recruits within the next month or so - once the new officers have been selected and you're back to work properly. What are you doing?"

The moment you stepped over the threshold into the sunlight, you faltered, trailing behind as you tipped your face up to the sky. Clear, blue, with a blinding sun that sheds heat over your skin in a way you haven't felt in weeks. The fresh, cool air surrounding you is intoxicating. When Hange questions you, you hurry up, feeling stubby grass being crushed under your boots, the scent of it wafting to your nostrils, your uniform jacket flapping slightly where it hangs loosely over your shoulders. You wouldn't know where to start with an answer to her question. Except... yes, you would.

Have you ever been awestruck by the fact that there is weather, Hange? That there is this incredible phenomenon called 'weather' that changes the whole world around you? No, that would be too weird, even for you. You grew up beneath a sky. You walked on grass. You struggled against the wind, and cursed the rain and snow. You saw the stars at night.

I just read about them in books.

You grew up with the ground as your sky. It never changed. There was no wind, no rain or snow, no sun, no grass. No day, but no stars, either. Crossing the threshold of the medical building echoed that indescribable emotion - the moment you broke out of the Undercity and saw the world. Felt it. Textures, smells, sensations that you had only ever imagined. Five weeks inside, with only a window to the world, have shown you how easy it is to forget these precious things. But while you can't tell her that, a shadow of these words must be showing in your face, because her pace lessens to a stroll and she looks around thoughtfully, as though suddenly noticing the landscape around her.

After a breath of that crisp, flowing air, you try to get past the strange, bittersweet stab of nostalgia. "How did the war council go?"

"Fine," she says shortly, and a fleeting grimness passes over her. "Allocated more resources for weapons research, and they approved our infiltration plans."

Then why isn't she happier? You frown, recalling your last meeting. "And what about conscription?"

She's silent for a second. "Nile brought it up at once. We argued that a recruitment push should be tried first. He argued that it's best to draft now, so the conscripts have more time to be trained."

"That's a... valid point," you say, begrudging every syllable that puts you in agreement with the Military Police. "But volunteers make better soldiers. It's beyond doubt."

"I said as much." She smiles a bit, looking at the barracks in the distance. "For the moment, we will recruit." Her smile turns almost melancholy. "But conscription will come."

Fuck. It's hard enough to command a bunch of nutters who want to be here. You shove the notion out of your mind; nothing to be done about it right now, anyway. "I take it you'll be heading up the research?"

"Started last week," Hange says, sounding considerably lighter. Unsurprising, since this is the first time Shiganshina that she's been able to research. Your own heart lifts a bit. "I'll send you my notes; there's no use getting into it until you've covered at least the first forty pages." Forty... pages?! "I'll have the minutes of the war council sent over, too. We didn't discuss much beyond what I've told you, except for the... oh." She trails off, verbally and physically.

You stop beside her, holding on to your jacket with your good hand when the wind tugs at it. "That's your Bad News face. What is it?"

After a few seconds of Hange looking perfectly blank and unfocused, clearly focusing inward, she conjures up her cheery mask. This is never good. "Nile brought up another matter," she says. Her voice is very bright. Too bright. "The annual Officers' Ball."

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. You're aware of it in the same way that a duck is aware of a runaway cart; it's there, somewhere in the world, but you've had no cause to get involved and life has been very good without it. "Do they still have that? Huh. I presume they cancelled it, considering." Hange's face manages to get brighter; this is the very antithesis of good. "...They didn't cancel it? Are you joking?"

"Almost all of the officers advocated it for to proceed," she says, and if you didn't know her any better, you'd believe she was in full agreement.

But you do know her better. Poor Hange. She has about as much interest in it as you do. "You did tell them that you don't have time for that kind of bullshit, right? You don't have to go just because Erwin did." He needed to attend because of the politics required just to keep the Corps afloat. That's not necessary anymore, not with the Scouting Queen.

Hange's determined grin suddenly looks like a rictus. "I believe I said something to that effect."

The fact that she's not relaxing is a matter of concern. It implies that this is not the bad news part of her bad news. Cold suspicion slithers through your chest. "Hange," you say, drowning under the weight of that ominous smile. "What have you done?"

"Since I am, most unfortunately, too busy to actually attend myself..."

"No. Don't you say it, Hange. Don't you say it!"

"Mycaptainswillattendinstead." The words tumble out in one fell swoop, like a bandage being ripped off. She raises her hands to ward you off - you've rounded on her instantly. "Don't kill me, I've only got one eye!" She blinks as another thought occurs to her. "And I'm a commander!"

You slam your hand to your forehead, sucking in a steadying breath to keep your emotions down. "You threw me under the carriage?!" Traitor!

"Levi, too," she says, like this will make it better somehow.

"I'm not going." The words ring out flatly. "You know how I feel about the capital. I am not prancing about in my dress uniform eating miniature eggs from miniature birds when there's a bloody war on!"

"I know you're not," she says, almost meekly. "Because... it's formal-wear." She sees the look on your face and averts her eye.

"No." You will brook no argument on this. "Let the shortass go alone. Make it part of his punishment."

She rubs the side of her face. "Well, that's the thing. He hates this sort of thing even more than you do. And he hates half of Command. Openly. So..."

"No." Is she kidding with this?! "I'm not going to be his babysitter again!" Karanshe was the first and last time, damn it! Just because she used to run interference for Levi's attitude, she expects you to take over? You love the man, but you do not get paid enough to clean up his verbal messes. You'd spend the whole night running around apologising to superior officers because he called them shitbags or something. No thank you!

Hange looks down for a moment. When she lifts her head, the commander has arrived. "Yes, you are. That's an order."

The swift change from friend to superior is like a bucket of icy water to your face. You care about being a good soldier, and you're programmed to say 'yes, sir', but... "Then send me by myself," you say, even though this is offically Pushing It. But if this is to be your fate, you can at least spare Levi. "It's no fun watching him suffer if I have to grovel for him all night."

The commander resumes walking, leaving you to scuttle in her wake; her legs are much longer than yours. "All the other commanders are attending, alongside every one of their officers. Apparently they enjoy drinking and dancing more than science." Clear but unspoken is the judgement that they are obviously fucking mental to hold such a preference. "If I only send a captain, we'll look like we're criticising them."

Would that be so bad? You're preparing for an invasion! Anyone faffing about with fancy clothes and expensively tiny food deserves to be criticised! Despite her severity, you persist. "Hange, please. I don't even own a skirt, never mind formal-wear! I would rather gouge out my own eyeballs than go to this thing." Desperation edges in, especially when you remember that you just said that to someone with one eyeball. You try to get your point across in a slightly different way. "And I'd eat them, too. I would eat my own gouged-out eyeballs rather than go!" Maybe use a pinch of salt? "I'm asking you as a friend - please don't make me."

Hange looks at you sidelong, still wearing that detached mask. "It's in a few weeks' time. We'll sort out your attire by then."

You tilt your head back, gazing up at the pale blue sky as though some benevolent deity will take this cup of suffering away from you. How many of your theories have I listened to, Hange? How many bottles of booze have we worked through together? How many resultant hangovers have we endured? How many fits of laughter, and incoherent rants? You resent this. You resent that a promotion has stolen someone so dear to you, turned them against you like this. Because she isn't betraying you; she's right. She's as socially maladjusted as you and Levi, and one night in her research lab would be more productive to the war effort than one night of you and Levi not being at some stupid ball. And she tried to speak to you about it as an equal, but your flat refusal forced her into a corner. Besides, even if it is betrayal by the standards of friendship, it's not one by the standards of command.

Which you should understand, because it's not something foreign to you now, either. You looked her right in the eye and lied without flinching. You swore to her that the lie was the truth. And, if that by itself didn't suck enough, you used her own trauma from Shiganshina against her to further your agenda. You've even orchestrated an increasingly elaborate false relationship with a gay man to convince her of the lie.

Because... there are times when Hange can be your friend, and there are times when she cannot. It's sad, and it's okay to grieve for that, but you can't let yourself be hurt by it. Because when it comes to Levi, you can't be her friend, either. And you know how painful it is to make that choice.

"Understood," you say, finally. "You said it's in a few weeks?"

"Yeah." She glances at you. "Will your cast be off by then?"

"I don't know."

Out of nowhere, she grins massively. "Let's dress it up to look fancy. We can give it a monocle and a top hat!"

Yeah, it's probably for the best that she's not attending.

It's dinner time. You drag your heels as you walk down the corridor, dreading this - sitting at a table with Hange, Linus and Levi? Nothing could possibly go wrong, except for absolutely everything. Your mind recoils from the thought of this impending trial, plagued by a sensation that has been growing stronger every day - weariness, of the mental variety. You're getting fed up with the subterfuge and lies; they take so much energy, so much thought and effort and anxiety that, in a way, being caught would come as a relief. But the cost of that relief would be Levi, so hey, who cares if it's exhausting? You'll figure out a way to cope. More protein in your diet, or something.

Noise reaches you through the empty halls - the sound of many voices chattering away like irritable birds. It stuns you for a second. The mess hall hasn't sounded like that since...

When you step inside, the number of people shocks you. There's your table, almost empty as usual, but there's another four tables at maximum capacity. Squad Levi are at one, your officer-recruits at another, and another two are packed with Garrison soldiers - the administrative support. Thrown, you walk in slowly, taking in the sight of soldiers laughing, talking, arguing and eating on benches left so incredibly empty. You're lost in a daze, your thoughts threatening to turn down the path towards Shiganshina, when a whoop jolts you back to the present. It came from your recruits' table, and... now... they're... clapping?

They are clapping.

At you.

The entire room turns to stare.

Embarrassment begins to ooze up your neck, a tide of redness that cannot, will not be stopped.

"All right, thank you," you say, as politely and quickly as possible. "That'll do." Now some of Squad Levi are clapping, too. Sasha uses the opportunity to sneak some food off Connie's tray. "Really, that's enough!" The red tide soars over your face, searing it, and turning you into a beacon of embarrassment bright enough to guide ships at night.

Abruptly, Lange stands up, followed a moment later by Ida. They're attempting a standing ovation.

Just for you.

Oh god, I'm so red. No, I'm beyond red. I've gone through red and out the other side. I am a previously undiscovered spectrum of embarrassment. You duck your head as you careen blindly for the officers' table.

"Shut. Up." The cold voices cuts through the sound of applause and the murmuring of the Garrison soldiers, most of whom had joined in the applause out of baffled politeness. Silence falls immediately. With a few awkward coughs and laughs, your recruits sit down, and gradually the chatter resumes - albeit at a quieter, more nervous level than before.

You catch a glimpse Levi scowling at the tables as you sit down opposite him, choking on gratitude for his rescue, trying to control the wild surge of gladness just to finally be in the same room as him. God, I love you. I love you more than cats, Levi. Beside you, Linus provides a well-timed distraction by slipping a tray of food in front of you. "Thanks, Linus," you mutter, trying hard to make the redness go away. You avoid looking at the dark figure facing you, glancing instead to Hange at its left.

"And how are we feeling?" Linus asks, scrutinising you. "You've not been using that arm, I hope."

"Nope." You wave it inside the sling to demonstrate its impeccable condition. "Absolutely unused."

Linus halts the demonstration by gently grasping your cast. "Kindly refrain from doing that, my love."

You let your arm rest against your abdomen again, more admonished by the endearment than the medical request. Of course, you have to keep up pretences even if Levi is there, but... Your mind does that thing again where it recoils from the pit of miserable yuck threatening it. You lift your fork to start the Great Food Struggle of the Year, only to realise that your meal has been carefully cut into forkable portions already. "Oh," you murmur, genuinely touched. "That's very thoughtful," you say to Linus.

"Thank you," he answers, spearing something green and unidentifiable on his tray. "Apparently someone was looking forward to seeing you struggle to eat with one hand. I thought I ought to deprive them of that pleasure." He does not look pointedly at Levi, because he does not need to.

It's pure imagination, but you can picture Levi sitting down and noticing that Linus had gotten a tray for you like before, and then - perhaps - remembering Erwin's early adventures in one-armed meals. By the time he'd returned to the mess hall for meals, he'd found his own way of handling it, but that first night, you'd caught Levi covertly swapping his own sliced and buttered bread roll for Erwin's - wordlessly, secretly trying to help. You'd looked away and said nothing; catching that quiet kindness had been devastating. As this is. He hadn't said that to Linus because he wanted to look like he hated you. He'd said it because he wanted someone to help you.

More than cats.

You force yourself to eat, even though you're too full of feelings to have an appetite. Hange spares you a smile, but she's distracted by a stack of paperwork beside her tray. You can't look at Levi at all. You'd... burst, or something.

"The commander tells me you'll be attending the Officers' Ball this year," Linus says, leaning his chin in his hand. "I haven't seen you there before, have I?"

Somehow, your lack of appetite... lacks more. "Yeah. I mean, no. I mean - I'm going, but I haven't gone before." You poke at the nameless green thing, perilously close to sulking.

"Fabulous," Linus says, and nudges your shoulder with his. "We can go together."

"All three of us," Levi says, the unexpected sound of his voice making your heart clench. You brace yourself to glance up; he's casting Hange a dark, fuck-you-very-much look, to which she is oblivious. You check his tray before you turn back to yours. It seems he isn't very hungry, either.

You idly imagine leaping across the table and kissing him. It's cut short when you realise that in doing so, you'd make a mess. No kisses for you.

Linus stirs, and smiles at you. "What a pleasant experience for all of us that will be."

Quite. Now you imagine Hange calling your bluff on gouging out and eating your own eyeballs. At this particular moment, you think you could manage at least the first part. "Mm." Hey, maybe you could re-break your arm? It would probably be less painful.

"Still, it'll be nice to see you in a dress," Linus carries on, cheerily. "I didn't think you owned one, dearest."

"I don't." That's the least of your problems with this.

"About that," Hange breaks in. "Doctor, would you be able to take the captain to get one?" She pauses to shovel into her mouth a massive forkful of mystery green, and then continues talking around it, her words mangled. "I 'o't ee'eh 'oh 'ere 'oo geh 'uh."

Linus blinks, mildly offended and severely confused. You think for a second, and then venture a translation: "'I don't even know where to get one.'"

Hange nods. "'oo cah 'oof vuh pe'ee caff.'" The plosive 'P' is accompanied by flecks of green; Linus' face is growing rather horrified.

Huh? All three officers are looking at you expectantly. Oh. You process the noises again. "'You can use the petty cash'," you offer, and Hange seems pleased with this interpretation.

"'ih 'er caff 'ee off eye 'ehn?"

Again, all eyes are on you. You squint. Egh... this one's tough. "'Did your cash feel off... guy, when?'" Across the table, Levi snorts. "Okay, I didn't get that one. Hange, don't talk with your mouth full. Or at least accompany it with mime, or something."

After a bout of intense chewing, Hange swallows. "Will her cast be off by then?"

Oh, that would be helpful. You'll need both hands to restrain Levi from killing people.

"We're making steady progress, sir. It was a severe injury, however, so I can't be certain." Linus brushes the back of your left hand with his right, and then closes his fingers over yours. Your stomach turns over unpleasantly, as if Hange had spat half-chewed green at you and not him. "I find it best to begin motion exercises as soon as possible, but with the infection, we were unable to begin a proper regimen. We provided standard rotations on her behalf during the illness..."

His voice fades into a background hum as your eyes fix to his hand wrapped around yours, trapped by cast and sling. Then, in spite of yourself, you lift your gaze to Levi. He's holding his cup of tea in that careless, unique way, slouching a little and paying Linus about as much as you are. His lack of interest is unsettling until his grey eyes fall to your joined hands for a long moment. Then his gaze flick up to yours; for the first time in five weeks, you meet his eyes. They don't seem pained or angry... but they do look tired. Even by his standards. You know you should look away, but you can't. Direct eye contact with him is doing things to you, strange, terrible, wonderful things. You're stuck, your breathing slowing to a stop but your heart hammering. He's not looking away from you, either. His eyes narrow slightly--

Linus gives your fingers a warning squeeze. "...wouldn't you agree, my love?"

"Of course," you answer, immediately tearing your gaze from Levi's and giving Captain Doctor a smile. Hopefully it doesn't look flustered.

Hange, too, seems to be stuck gazing into someone's eyes - Linus'. "Doctor, they told me you were innovative — they told me you were a genius, but I had no idea..." She's breathless. "You say you wrote a paper on the subject? Did you happen to bring it with you?"

Linus is turning pink. "I have some current studies with me, Commander, but nothing complete."

"CURRENT?!" Levi leans away from Hange, who just lost her volume control. "What are you working on now?"

There's nothing intimate about the look you and Levi are now sharing. It is the time-honoured 'Hange is going full-on mad scientist' look, and the grimness factor only ramps up when Linus releases your hand to lean in towards her. No! Someone is encouraging her! "Well, sir, it's early days, but I've been thinking about sterile metals. We already use them in surgery, but what if we were able to affix them directly to the bone itself?"

Hange starts gushing questions at him. Long questions. Complicated questions. Incomprehensible questions. Questions about alloys and densities. Linus understands her, but you've got nothing. They need to dumb this down for you and Levi. "Um—" you manage at the first pause, but Captain Doctor cuts you off with something about... smelting. Uh, okay. He knows stuff about smelting. All right, then. You wait for your next chance. "You guys—" Hange answers him. In numbers. A string of numbers. A numerical answer. "I don't know what's happening," you say, resigned to having your words fall on deaf ears - which is precisely where they land. You could spontaneously burst into flame right now and they wouldn't notice. My god, this may be where I die. I always thought, 'A Titan, outside the walls, eats me up' - but all along, it was Linus and Hange, in the mess hall, with bewilderment.

Suddenly, Levi's voice draws your attention away from the cerebral chaos beside you. "I think we can just leave." His eyebrows are raised as he watches the scientists throw words at each other at terminal velocity.

You listen for a moment. "What's an... intra... medullary... wait, nail? That's how that sentence ended?" They're taking no notice of you whatsoever.

Levi takes notice. "Something normal people aren't meant to understand." Still no response from the other two.

"Hange? Linus?" Hange doesn't register your words at all; Linus holds up a hand to tell you to wait. "You know what, I think we can just go." You shrug at Levi, unable to explain what is happening or why. He responds with a minute jerk of his head, and smoothly stands up, walking out of the mess hall without another glance.

"Well," you say, distantly. "I think I'm going to go lie down. Bed rest. Very important."

"...what about proximal and distal..."

What about what and what?

"...the potential sequelae status post open reduction internal fixation..."

Okay, he's making that up. That can't be a real sentence.

Giving up, you slowly get to your feet; neither of them bat an eyelid. All right, then. You two enjoy your... whatever this is. Abandoning your tray, you lope out of the room, head down to avoid catching anyone's eye. You start through the corridors at a stroll, but gradually your pace increases to a jog. By the time you reach the stairs, you're pretty much running, making your left arm throb in time with your pounding heart. You ignore it, shoving the pain into a well-used mental box marked 'UNIMPORTANT', which in fact has about one unimportant thing for every ten incredibly important things shoved in there. Only when you near your quarters do you slow down, composing yourself, steadying your heartrate. He's probably not even there. He just said 'let's leave', not 'let's go meet up in your room, wink wink nudge nudge'. Woah. Weird mental image of Levi trying to wink-wink-nudge-nudge. You shake the thought out of your head and raise your hand to knock on the door. In the nick of time, you yank your hand back from the wood. It's your room. Don't be a weirdo who knocks on your own door. Especially if nobody's inside.

You quietly let yourself in, and there he is - standing over your desk, turning the folded paper his squad sent you over in his hands. He frowns at it for a few seconds before glancing over. "This is a waste of paper."

Over the course of the last month and a bit, you've imagined all sorts of emotional - generally segueing into sensual - reunions. It's fortunate that you've also imagined more realistic scenarios, so you aren't disappointed that he hasn't rushed to sweep you into his arms. You aren't going to stand there all awkward and nervous, no sir; you have prepared for this. All the same, it takes a serious amount of courage to approach him, passing the level of distance that would be polite and being the first one to break the barrier by wrapping your good arm around him from behind. Courageous or not, you rest your forehead on his shoulder to hide from his reaction as he tenses. But he's warm and real in your embrace, and his clean, sharp scent is intoxicating. You breathe it in, your eyes shut, letting his presence fill up the hole that his absence had created. It's goddamn magical the way weeks of pain, boredom and loneliness melt away, erased just by holding him.

"What's this?" he asks sharply, with an undercurrent of surprise.

"This is a human ritual called a hug," you answer, and wince at yourself. You're doing it again; playing emotions down with humour. You open your eyes and lift your head slightly, jaw tightening as you find your resolve to face the terrifying world of feelings head-on. "It's because I missed you," you say, very quietly, as though he might not hear.

There's a short pause. "Hmph." Another pause. While he remains rigid, Levi turns his dark head slightly, resting it against yours. "Sounds shitty."

You smile a little. "You know, it really was."

"Well?" he asks, still staring ahead at the wall as he leans against you.

You raise your eyebrows. "Well what?"

"Usually when you say crap like that, you ask me some stupid-ass question like, 'didn't you miss me?'" he says, thoroughly unimpressed about it.

You try not to wince again. "Ah, that. Yeah... I'm sorry about that. I'm not going to do it anymore." He's not comfortable with it; your epiphany about him was that he speaks with actions, so you're not going to drag words out of him and make him all awkward and grumpy. No matter how adorable that is. "Want to know a secret?"

His expressionless face doesn't flicker. "Don't care."

Ahaha. You shift to rest your chin on his shoulder, grinning. "It's your insolence I fell for. I went five weeks without someone calling me an idiot. I missed that more than any amount of sweet nothings." Are you a little bit weird? Nah. "So I decided that I'll say the things." And he'll do the things instead of saying them. You'll learn his language.

Then his eyes are on you, grey and fathomless. "You'll say what things?" he asks, coolly.

This has the aroma of a test. You pull away slightly, and suddenly he's holding your arm, keeping you in place. You narrow your eyes at him. "You know... the... things. Emotional-type... things."

"Like what?"

His face is so close. What was wonderful a few seconds ago is now making you panicky. "Like... the thing I just said, about... you know, missing you."

"Is that the best you can do?" He leans in and snatches a split-second kiss from your lips, striking like a snake, gone before you've even registered his lips against yours. "Try harder."

Your train of thought has crashed. "Has anyone ever told you that you're very unpredictable?"

He lets go of your arm and steps away, leaving you empty. "I don't have time for shitty chit-chat. See you later."

As he starts to turn, your brain kicks into lightning mode. He does not Affection, so I assumed he didn't want me to Affection. But what if he does? What if he didn't ask me if I liked him because of anything I did wrong? What if it was just because he wants to hear it? Holy shit, could Levi actually want me to be... like... mushy?! He calls it pathetic and looks at you like you're crazy... but if he really disliked it, would you be having this conversation? He'd surely have sprinted a marathon the first time you confessed to him if he thought it was so bad...

He's only taken two steps when you grab him by the back of his jacket. He turns slightly to glare at you; it brings back memories of dozens times you've snagged him in mid-exit, usually when he was abandoning a social situation he had no interest in. But he's interested in this one. "I missed you," you say, turning off the filter between your heart and your mouth. "I mean, I seriously missed you. I scary missed you, Levi. I thought about you so much it may have burned a hole in my brain. I don't want to... I don't want to miss you like that ever again. You have no idea how good it feels to see you. So if you storm off in a huff right now, I will absolutely, one hundred per cent, forbid every single soldier from cleaning anything on this base."

He's not glaring anymore; he stares at you for a long time, unreadable as ever, until he gently pulls free of your grip and turns to you. "That... was fucking terrible."

You weigh up this assessment. "Give me a break, I'm trying." Possibly the threat was a bit... unromantic? Well, he threatened to leave if you didn't say something, so you're even.

He tilts his head slightly. "You actually are."

Ooh, acknowledgement! It gives you a warm fuzzy feeling.

"But you're still shit at it."

There goes the warm fuzzy. "That's too harsh," you argue, feeling your face twist into a frown. "I said all that stuff about missing you and thinking about you and... and suchlike!" Why did you just say 'suchlike'? Have you ever used that word before? "What else do you want?"

Suddenly his hands are holding your face, his own just inches away. "You just had to say that you wanted me."

What?

...

Wait, so... so you thought he wanted a bunch of sentiment, but really he was looking for you to flirt with him? But he said... ah, but then he kissed you in a distinctly non-tender manner...

Oh... god...

"Oh," you say, mechanically, nodding as best you can in his grip. Kill me. "Oh, I see now. I misunderstood." Please kill me.

His voice is very soft when he responds. "You did."

"I misread the signals," you say, agreeably, as though you're not curling up in a ball of embarrassed self-loathing inside. "These things happen."

A whisper of a smile plays on his lips. It's beautiful, and would ordinarily kill you stone dead, but now you regard it with a sort of glassy detachment. "You getting sick again? You're flushing."

Indubitably. "Oh no, I'm fine. That's just the abject humiliation." You thought he... so you said that... Ughhhh...

"Hm? Why are you humiliated?" The whisper of a smile grows louder.

He's enjoying this...

...the bastard. You blink away your horrified daze, the annoyance bringing you back to your senses. "Well, that's very nice," you say, your voice starting to normalise. "If you like seeing me embarrassed so much, why did you rescue me from that scene in the mess hall?"

He lifts his chin slightly, looking down at you, the smile more of a smirk. "I'm the only one who gets to make you this colour."

That makes your heart stutter. He deserves an insult for that, but for some reason, you just can't think of one.

Then his lips are by your ear, his breath warm as he whispers, "You look good in red." Your eyes are drawn to the sweep of black hair next to them; the shadow of his undercut, the smooth curve of his neck.

You clench your hands into fists, causing a twinge of pain along your left arm. He knows exactly what he's doing. He might suck at actual affection, but when it comes to being sexy, he has no qualms about speaking his mind or touching you. And it works. It works far too well. He's got the upper hand in this area.

And if one thing has not changed about your relationship, it is that you get competitive when Levi seems to be winning.

Eyes narrowed, you move your lips to his ear in return. "You look good in nothing at all," you say, darkly.

He pulls back slightly to look at you sidelong, caught off-guard by this. Then he trails his thumb over your lips, rising to the challenge. "You can see that any time you like." Hfff sdgsfa?

"I'd like to see that all the time," you answer, and part your lips to bite the tip of his thumb, running your tongue across it.

His eyes widen with surprise, and he draws back fractionally, before suddenly leaning in, slipping his other hand to the small of your back. "Ah?" he says, taking his thumb from your lips and - hfff?! - placing it between his own. Then he licks his lips. "And what is it you want to see?"

"Your..." Your brain creaks warningly as it flails for something sexy. It somehow settles on... "PENIS."

For a moment, you both stare at one another, wide-eyed and jolted.

I said that. I really said that, in real life and everything. Why...?

Levi suddenly makes a strange coughing sound. "Aha..." His face has gone all strange, too, tightly screwed up. "Ahahah—"

He's laughing.

You clap your hand over your mouth, an unconscious attempt to smother your horror at abruptly shouting the word 'penis' at someone, your delight at seeing Levi laugh, and the grin that's threatening to split you in half. "What? Did I kill the mood?"

He's still laughing, but he pauses long enough to say, "Penis?!" and then keeps going.

In spite of the almighty cringe inflicted upon you, you're ecstatic. His laughter is... it's puppies and kittens and fucking rainbows, all wrapped up with a giant bow. It sounds so carefree and innocent, which just isn't fair. He should have a cold, sharp laugh of superiority, but he doesn't. It's a warm sound that fills you up, engraving its musical notes on your heart. This is too much emotion. You cannot cope. "Yeah, that's what I said," you say, lowering your hand and letting your self-deprecating smile see the world. Just steer into the curve. You said the ridiculous thing, so own it. "That's my dirty talk; don't you like it?"

His laughter dies down and he shakes his head, smiling.

"You don't? Well, I find that hard to believe. That was top quality sexiness, right there."

He laughs slightly, and then his arms encircle you, his cheek against yours. He holds you gently, compensating for your sling, and the world is good. You've known it as a shithole your entire life, haunted and haunting, full of violence and death, but now - just for now - it is good. It has warmth, and laughter, and affection. It has love. You wrap your good arm around his back, hesitantly, as though making the slightest move could break this perfect moment. But it doesn't.

"I did," he murmurs.

You snort. "You did what? Like it?" It did make him laugh. Figures that, after years of elaborate insults, sharp witticisms and dry humour, all it took was someone unexpectedly shouting 'Penis!' to make him crack up. "I mean... I guess I can work with that."

He touches your jaw, urging your face to his, and captures you with a kiss. Like his embrace, it's delicate; when your part your lips to seek his tongue, he pulls away. "Of course not, idiot," he says, his voice low and gruff as he frowns at you like normal. "I was answering your other question."

"What question?"

"The one you didn't ask."

Eh? Before you can pursue this, he gives you a short, sharp kiss and steps back. "Have to go. Squad training."

"So soon?" You can't help the pang that crosses your face. "You've only been here five minutes..."

"I shouldn't be here at all. It's not smart."

Of course. The ever-present problem: it's not smart to be together, to look at one another too long, to visit each other. "Wouldn't it be nice if - someday - we could stop being smart?" you ask, though you know that's impossible.

Levi turns for the door, unbothered. "It would be nice if someday you started being smart."

"You're such a brat," you answer, lightly. At the last word, he pauses at the door and treats you to a look of pure ice over his shoulder. "Oh, please. It's not like you own the word."

"Tch." He rolls his eyes as he looks away and reaches for the handle. "Later." And he leaves without another word.

You look around the room a little, trying not to feel sad simply because he's no longer in it, and remember what he said before suddenly leaving. 'I did.' He said it was the answer to the question you didn't ask. What the hell is that about? How irritatingly cryptic. There's no way you can figure out what question he was answering considering you never asked it, whatever it was. Or... wait... he said something earlier about you asking him a question, didn't he?

"Usually when you say crap like that, you ask me some stupid-ass question like, 'didn't you miss me?'"

Oh, god.

You sit down blindly, and by good fortune there's a chair behind you. You clasp your right hand to your chest, physically stopping your heart from breaking loose.

He missed you.