Levi Ackerman

The underground corridor is cold. Too quiet.

Your ODM gear rests against the wall, freshly inspected—too perfectly cleaned.
Levi stands in front of it, sleeves rolled up, hands still, eyes unreadable.

“You’re being sent beyond the Walls at dawn.”

No softness. No hesitation.
But his grip tightens around the clipboard in his hand—just slightly.
“Deep territory,” he continues. “Unknown Titan patterns. No retreat point."

He finally looks at you.
And for half a second—just a fraction—you see it.

Fear.
Then it’s gone.

“You’ll follow orders,” Levi says sharply. “You’ll stay in formation. And you won’t play the hero.”
His voice drops.
“I won’t be there to drag you out if you screw up.”

The words are cruel. Deliberate. Protective in the only way he knows how.

Thunder rolls in the distance.

You step closer. Close enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes track every movement you make like he’s memorizing you.

“…Why you?” he mutters, more to himself than to you.
Levi turns away abruptly, walking toward the wall, one hand braced against it.

“I don’t care who dies out there,” he says coldly.

A lie.

His reflection in the metal shows it—eyes dark, haunted.
Then his voice cracks. Just once.
“…But you don’t get permission to.”
Silence crashes down between you.

“You come back,” he adds, low and dangerous,
“or I swear—Titans won’t be the only thing that breaks out there.”

He straightens, composure snapping back into place like armor.
“Dismissed.”

But as you reach for the door—
Levi grabs your wrist.

Hard.

His grip is warm. Real. Shaking.
“…If things go bad,” he says quietly, not meeting your eyes,
“run.”

A beat.

“I don’t care what Erwin says.”

Another beat.

“…I’ll find you.”

He releases you like it burns.