Light finds you first.
It drapes across your skin in soft, golden ribbons, filtered through HQ's infirmary windows. The dust motes in the sun's path seem to hang motionless, as if the world itself is holding its breath. The warmth of it touches your cheek, gentle, steady.
The air smells of lavender salve, sun-warmed wood, clean bandages, and something faintly metallic beneath it—the memory of blood, perhaps, or the tools that worked to keep you here.
The blankets weigh heavy over you, unfamiliar, and beneath them the bandages pull tight against your ribs. The ache beneath them is deep, a constant reminder, sharper when you dare to breathe too full.
You stir, and pain blooms—bright, searing. The gasp it pulls from you is small, but it shatters the silence.
A chair scrapes softly.
"Y/n."
His voice is low, cracked at the edges.
Levi.
Your eyes open slowly. The light hurts, but you find him, drawn to him as if you'd known where he'd be even in sleep.
He sits at your side, too close, not close enough. His uniform is rumpled, sleeves pushed up, collar open. His hair is mussed, shadows dark beneath his eyes. His face is pale, drawn with sleeplessness and grief.
And his eyes. His eyes don't leave yours.
"You're awake."
The words come out on a breath, soft, almost disbelieving. As if he's afraid the dream will break.
Your throat is dry. Your voice is little more than air. "The mission...?"
His hand twitches toward yours, like he wants to close that last inch of space. "It's over. Vaergan's in a cell. The manor's gutted. The Survey Corps did what we couldn't finish. You're safe now."
You try to rise. The pain blinds you. Levi is there, steadying you, hand at your shoulder. His thumb grazes your collarbone without thinking. "Don't. Just breathe."
You sink back into the pillow, breath uneven. "How long?"
"Three days." His voice cracks, his gaze falling to the floor, to his hands. Anywhere but your face. "I thought I'd lost you."
—
The door opens gently, as if even Erwin and Hange don't want to disturb this fragile quiet.
Erwin's presence steadies the room. His gaze softens the moment it meets yours. You see the weight slip from his shoulders, just for this breath.
"You did it. Both of you. The evidence you brought out—it's more than enough. Vaergan. Titus. The truth can't be hidden now."
Your chest tightens. "Marla..."
"She'll be remembered," Erwin says, voice low, reverent. "Without her, none of this would have been possible."
Hange lingers by the window, their silhouette framed in late afternoon sun. Their grin is broad at first, relief pouring from it, but it softens as their gaze shifts to Levi.
Hange glances at him—at the way his eyes never leave you, at the way he's leaning in as if proximity alone can protect you now. Their smile turns smaller, sadder, touched with knowing. "About time," they murmur, soft enough only the two of you hear.
Erwin's glance follows theirs. His mouth lifts at one corner, the barest ghost of a smile. "We'll give you peace. It's good to see... that some bonds are forged stronger by fire."
—
When the door clicks shut, the quiet deepens. The room glows with late sunlight, soft and gold, stretching long shadows across the floorboards.
Levi stays motionless for a moment, as if moving would break whatever fragile thing is holding him together.
Then he leans forward. His elbows rest on his knees. His hands knot together so tightly his knuckles blanch white.
"I shouldn't have moved," he says, voice rough, like it hurts to speak. "I should've waited. But when I saw him—when I heard him—I couldn't take it. I moved. And because I did... because of me... you almost died."
His head bows. His breath shudders out. His shoulders shake once, silent. "I tried. I tried to stop the bleeding. I tried to save you. But I failed."
Your heart aches at the sight of him like this—a man who never bends, bent to breaking.
You reach for him, your fingers brushing his. His breath stutters at the contact, his head lifting slowly, as if he dares hope.
"You didn't fail me. You saved me."
His eyes meet yours. Red-rimmed. Hollowed by guilt and fear.
"I thought I'd lost you."
"You didn't."
He swallows hard, voice breaking again.
"I can't lose you. I can't."
"You won't."
And this time, you don't hesitate.
You pull him in.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative, his lips brushing yours like you might dissolve. But then the dam gives way, and the need that's been building for so long surges through. His hands come up, cradling your face like you're something precious, fragile, irreplaceable. Yours twist into his shirt, pulling him closer, as if closeness could heal the cracks.
The world outside the room fades. The light, the air, the silence—all of it is wrapped up in this one moment, this one breath you share.
When you part, you stay close, foreheads resting together. His thumb strokes your cheek, slow, reverent, as if trying to memorize the shape of you.
"No more pretending," he whispers.
"No more masks."
His voice softens, steadier now. "What do we do now?"
Your smile is small, tired, but real. "We start over."
And his hand wraps yours fully now. And he doesn't let go.