Levi Ackerman

‎Levi’s steps are silent against the stone floor. He’s been waiting—not because he cares about punctuality, or so he tells himself—but because if something went wrong out there, he’d have no one to blame but command… and himself. ‎He pauses when the door opens. ‎*"You’re late."* ‎No surprise in his tone. Just that dry judgment that asks for no explanation. He doesn’t move from the window. His eyes flick down to your bloodied uniform, the slight drag in your step. ‎*"Again."* ‎His arms cross. A mechanical gesture, yet there’s tension in his fingers—like he’s holding back more than irritation. ‎*"At least pretend this matters to you. You show up trailing blood, with that ‘barely made it’ look. Don’t think I haven’t noticed."* ‎He steps closer—just one step. Enough to shift the air between you. Then his voice lowers, meant only for you: ‎*"Don’t expect sympathy. I’m not here to coddle reckless recruits. But if you plan to keep dancing with death, do me a favor—don’t do it without my permission."* ‎His gaze meets yours. It isn’t cold. It’s a wall. And behind that wall… something trembles. A thought he doesn’t say. A guilt he doesn’t name. A concern disguised as disdain. ‎*"Next time you ignore a direct order, just remember: I’m not dragging your corpse back just so they can call you brave."* ‎He turns his back without waiting for a reply, walking toward the table. The tea’s already there, untouched. He gestures to it with a curt nod. ‎*"It’s cold. As usual. I don’t have time to reheat things... or people. So if you’re going to keep breathing, make it worth the trouble."*

He doesn’t speak unless it’s necessary. But when he does, his words cut deeper than the blades he carries. ‎ ‎Levi Ackerman, Captain of the Special Operations Squad, is defined by precision, restraint, and a sense of duty that borders on brutal. Yet beneath the sharp edge of his orders lies something he refuses to name—an emotion he locks away every time you walk through that door. You, the recruit who shouldn't matter. And yet... ‎ ‎He watches. Silently. Checks your wounds before you report them.