Left Behind - Tumblr Posts

I think of her still and I hate it, that no matter what I try to do to fend off my mind. Distract myself from stuff, still I think of her even on my busiest days. This mind keeps replaying all those memories like a playlist without stop button. Sometimes I think that there's a reason why I cant get her out of my mind. I wanna believe that superstition where when you cant get someone out of your mind its because they are remembring you.

-a love trashed

The memories of you in my mind is like a thousand song in a playlist on repeat all.

-and all the song titles was your name.

Winter Whumperland Day 9: Jólakötturinn (Left Behind)

Fandom: Star Wars The Clone Wars

Summary: After Obi-wan and Cody are assumed to be dead and left behind, Obi-wan tries to find a way for the two to survive

Part 2: soon.

  It was snowing. Battles in the snow were always somewhat strange. The snow was so elegant and pure yet so deadly. The stains in the snow as well as the footsteps had become something of a warning.

    But as the others retreated, Cody wasn't sure what to do. He could barely move. He felt so cold. The snow fell around him, making him look like just another body in the snow.

    He needed to get the general to safety. After the clone had been shot, Kenobi stayed near him. He had called for a medic but not to long after, he was shot in the side.

    It was unusual for a Jedi to get shot when on the battle field. He had to have been destacted. Cody feared he had been why. They were close, too close for a Jedi to be with someone.

    The man tried to call out for someone. His voice never left his throat. It had been a while. Medics had never gotten the chance to find them. The droids hadn't moved forwards yet.

    Kenobi regained consciousness. He tried to look around. All he saw at first were bodies. When his eyes landed on Cody, he panicked at first. Then he saw him shift. He was alive at the very least.

    "Co-Cody?" His voice shook as he shivered.

    The voice brought comfort to Cody. He hadn't even realized Obi-wan was alive. Once more he tried to speak. He tried to stand or even sit up but slipped back into the snow.

    Obi-wan looked around again. He realized they had been left behind. But they were alive. Now the two were on their own. He looked down at his injury then back to Cody. He needed to get over there.

    Slowly he tried to stand. After a moment, Obi-wan was able to get on his feet. He only walked a few steps before falling to his knees in pain. He half dragged himself the other few feet.

    "Dear?"

    Cody looked at him. Again the Jedi looked around. The forest wasn't far. The droids would be less likely to find them there. But so would anyone else. Then again, I was likely no one was going to look for them anyway.  

    It was terrifying. They were alone now. It was cold, they were hurt, and there was no saying if the separatist would take prisoners or if they would kill them on the spot. More than likely, taking a Jedi would be more likely than taking a clone as well.

    It looked like it was getting darker. The forest was their best bet for survival. So Obi-wan grabbed Cody's arm and started to drag him to the woods. He barely knew what was going on. The snow would hopefully cover their tracks.

    It was painful, for both of them. It took a while to get into the forest and far enough away for Obi-wan to be comfortable resting. When they finally stopped, Kenobi collapsed.

    Time passed and he woke up again. It was night now and there were clear sounds of battle droids nearby. Obi-wan looked at Cody. He saw the steady rise and fall of his chest, though he was nervous he was breathing too slowly.

    Gently, Obi-wan draped his cloak over the other. He leaned against a tree and pulled him onto his lap, hoping their body heat together could help them.

    There was nothing else to think about. The Jedi was left to grapple with the feeling of betrayal by the others. Cody and him were still alive. The two had done so much and had given up everything they could to keep the others alive. Now they were alone in the cold.

    But Obi-wan also knew they had to. If they hadn't left them behind, someone could have died. They had to have thought that they had been killed. It was the only answer that brought any sort of comfort to the general.

    It didn't change the fact that it hurt. It hurt in the same way the snow against his fingers hurt.

    Frostbite was inevitable at that point. Hyperthermia would follow. It was freezing. Obi-wan laid his head against the tree and sighed. He watched his breath disappear. He looked down at Cody.

    He was still alive. He hoped the same thing would be true come morning. There was nothing else he could do for now.

    A few hours later, Obi-wan was still awake. He couldn't find a way to sleep. There was too much to try and plan for. Getting them out of there in the condition he was in felt impossible. He felt Cody shift. He looked down, tears in his eyes.

    As they fell, his face burned. "I don't know what to do" he told Cody. "I'm so sorry."

    The clone raised a shaky hand up to the other's face. He tried to dry his tears. Obi-wan smiled slightly. He took Cody's hand in his own and held it. It was more life than he had shown previously so that was at least something. Maybe morning would be kinder to them.

Who are the “Earth Dwellers” in the Bible? And Will There Be a Zombie Apocalypse?

By Award-Winning Goodreads Author & Bible Researcher Eli Kittim 🎓

There are many pre-tribulation pastors today who are preaching that the so-called “earth dwellers” of the Bible represent a particular class of people who are distinct from the church of God (i.e. “the elect”) and are therefore under God’s judgment. To prove their point, they’ll typically take a verse where the phrase seems to be used in that particular way, and then they’ll make false generalizations that this is how it’s typically used throughout the Bible. Revelation 13.8 (SBLGNT) is a case in point. It reads:

καὶ προσκυνήσουσιν αὐτὸν πάντες οἱ

κατοικοῦντες ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς

Translation (KJV):

And all that dwell upon the earth shall

worship him [the beast].

The pre-trib expositors typically argue that since the church has been raptured by the time we get to Revelation 4, then obviously the phrase “all that dwell upon the earth” (in Revelation 13 and elsewhere) must be referring to those who have been left behind, namely, the damned. However, since the *great tribulation* is mentioned several times in the Book of Revelation, one would naturally expect that all the inhabitants of the earth, both good & bad, will experience much suffering and turmoil (cf. Rev. 8.13; 13.12; 13.14; 17.8). Besides, this is not the way the Greek phrase οἱ κατοικοῦντες ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς is used throughout the Bible. Therefore, these pre-trib pastors are deliberately taking the *meaning* of the phrase οἱ κατοικοῦντες ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς (all that dwell upon the earth) out of context!

Their teaching is actually erroneous and misleading. It all starts from a false pre-trib rapture position. The logic goes something like this. Because the church will be supposedly raptured early on, this means that the so-called “earth dwellers,” who are mentioned later in the Book of Revelation, must be a particular class of people who are left behind (i.e. the *unsaved*). Moreover, these teachers often try to impose their own view by wrongly interpreting every instance where the “earth dwellers” are mentioned, in both the OT and NT, as the *unsaved.* But this is a false teaching. It’s not only false because the original Hebrew & Greek do not support these interpretations, but also because they’re mangling scripture by the inaccurate eschatological eisegeses concerning the sequence of end time events. This mishandling of scripture is suggestive of gross incompetence on the part of those who are making these claims!

For example, the Greek phrase τοὺς κατοικοῦντας ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς simply means “those who inhabit the earth,” or “those who live on the earth.” Whether we look at the OT, the NT, or the LXX, the meaning is the same. This phrase is obviously referring to all the people who live on the earth, irrespective of belief or unbelief. Yet pastors like Tiff Shuttlesworth, as well as other pre-tribbers, falsely interpret the so-called “earth dwellers” as the “damned,” or as a particular classification of people who are left behind. They obviously don’t understand Koine Greek!

When the Hebrew OT talks about “earth dwellers,” it implies the entire world, not just the damned. For instance, Isaiah 18.3 (BHS) reads:

‎ כָּל־יֹשְׁבֵ֥י תֵבֵ֖ל וְשֹׁ֣כְנֵי אָ֑רֶץ

Transliteration:

kāl (all) yō·šə·ḇê (inhabitants) tê·ḇêl (of the

world) wə·šō·ḵə·nê (and dwellers on)

’ā·reṣ (the earth).

Alternative Translations:

All you people of the world, everyone who

lives on the earth (NLT).

All you inhabitants of the world, you who

dwell on the earth (ESV).

Contrary to what pre-tribbers are claiming, the OT is referring to all the people of the earth, both good and bad, not simply to the damned per se!

The LXX follows suit and uses the Greek terms κατοικουμένη and κατοικηθήσεται to mean “inhabited.” These terms are obviously cognate with κατοικοῦντας, the word that is used in the NT for “inhabitants.” The Greek terms in the LXX are referring to all the inhabitants of a country, not simply to the damned. For example, Isaiah 18.3 LXX reads:

πάντες ὡς χώρα κατοικουμένη·

κατοικηθήσεται ἡ χώρα αὐτῶν.

L.C.L. Brenton Translation:

Now all the rivers of the land shall be

inhabited as an inhabited country.

The LXX uses the terms κατοικουμένη and κατοικηθήσεται——which are derived from κατοικέω (G2730)——to refer to the “inhabited” land, and, by implication, to the “dwellers” or “inhabitants” thereof. In other words, it’s referring to the entire population of a country as a whole, not simply to its evil constituents!

The cognate κατοικοῦντας (G2730) is the word that the NT uses for those people who are “inhabiting” cities (Acts 9.22, 32), provinces (Acts 19.10), as well as the entire world (Rev. 11.10)! For example, the phrase τοὺς κατοικοῦντας ⸃ ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς (Rev. 8.13) simply refers to all those who inhabit (or dwell on) the earth. In and of itself, this expression does not make a value judgment. Neither does the Greek term κατοικοῦντες (i.e. “dwellers”; see Acts 2.5). Depending on the particular context of a verse, it can take on different meanings. But the above-mentioned phrase is simply referring to the inhabitants of the entire world, not to a certain class of people, let alone the damned. See the *Blue Letter Bible*:

https://www.blueletterbible.org/lang/lexicon/inflections.cfm?strongs=G2730&t=MGNT&ot=MGNT&word=%CE%BA%CE%B1%CF%84%CE%BF%CE%B9%CE%BA%CE%BF%E1%BF%A6%CE%BD%CF%84%CE%B5%CF%82

Blue Letter Bible

Genesis 1:1 (MGNT)

Inflectional distribution for the Greek word κατοικοῦντες in the mGNT text

The aforementioned confusion stems from the false theory that Christians will be raptured early on, prior to the great tribulation, which implies that the “earth dwellers” who will remain——and who are later mentioned in the Book of Revelation——must be the damned. But the church is mentioned many times after Revelation 4. And the church will certainly go through the tribulation, which is *not* God’s wrath. So, the Biblical references to the “earth dwellers” concern all people, good and bad, unless otherwise indicated by the context!

Will there be a Zombie Apocalypse?

In the OT, Daniel 12.2 (NIV) was prophesying a general resurrection of the dead:

Multitudes who sleep in the dust of the

earth will awake: some to everlasting life,

others to shame and everlasting contempt.

This means that the general resurrection of the dead will include both the saved and the unsaved. According to Daniel 12.2, both groups will be resurrected together. But keep in mind that, according to 1 Thess. 4.16-17, the *rapture* and *resurrection* events will be contemporaneous with each other. So, if the *saved*——who will be resurrected from the dead——are “caught up … in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air,” then there will definitely be a *zombie apocalypse* because the *damned* will also be *resurrected* and roam the earth!

——-

For further details, see my essay:

Three Questions On the Rapture: Is it Pre-Trib or Post-Trib? Is it Secret or Not? And is it Imminent?

https://eli-kittim.tumblr.com/post/628794727776632832/three-questions-on-the-rapture-is-it-pre-trib-or

Eli of Kittim

Three Questions On the Rapture: Is it Pre-Trib or Post-Trib? Is it Secret or Not? And is it Imminent?

By Goodreads Author Eli Kittim ——- Is the Rapture Visible or Invisible? The putative “secret rapture” and the “futurist eschatological vie

——-

[20:50] It sucks to be the only one left behind. People moving forward and you are strapped down by force of mind and by force of nature, your own mind trapping you in an endless spiral of self-hate. No one seems to aknowledge your mair existence, let alone your fears and needs and the tears skimming down your face night by night. 

I have been the strong one for so long. I can not take it anymore. And if someone does not notice it soon enough, I’ll explode,and my blood and my insides will spill on your feet and you’ll have to ask where did you go wrong, what did you not do right. 

Cause you’ll have my blood on your collarbones and my throbbing heart in your palm.

PLEASE END THIS TORTURE 

Slipknot | Left Behind | Released October 29, 2001 | Dir: Dave Meyers

Flashing gif warning ‼️

Slipknot | Left Behind | Released October 29, 2001 | Dir: Dave Meyers

Flashing gif warning ‼️

It's so painful to see that people that you had happy/fun times with are slowly leaving you behind and you know there's nothing you can do, but live with the thought. Now you're left with feeling unwanted, that after a long time the place you thought, you finally belonged to, turns out that you're not really belong there.

hear me out guys

when Ellie Williams says "given them back" in (left behind ep) a single tear fell from between my legs. I don't know why it makes me so horny, I think I like to see this Loser begging for something

But what happens when they leave you more brokenhearted then before? Tell me what happens then?

SO GOOOOOOD!!! one of the best aot fics I have ever read!! 😭❤️

Left Behind Pt. 5 (Finale)

<<< Part Four

Levi x FemReader

Established Relationship

(~14k words)

Concept: You're gravely injured during an expedition that goes wrong, and in the confusion you're abandoned in Titan territory.

Pt. 5 Summary: Home is not the steaming cavern of warmth you made for survival in the one docile titan in existence. Home is not chewing on snow for water or rationing jerky made from your own horse. Home is not a limping gate and flashes of your dead comrades in the edge of your vision. Home is his fingers grasping your wrist so you know he's real and the look in his eye when he realizes you aren't Hailey Mitchell.

Home is not the empty bed that frightens him more than gnashing teeth the size of people. Home is not his desk piled high with paperwork he either avoids or uses as a distraction, in perfect view of a warn-in and soft blue reading chair. Home is not bleeding knuckles and broken pinkies and grief-filled conversations with his fellow soldiers. Home is you, a little worse for wear, but alive and in reach and fuck - he really hopes this isn't some new nightmare rearing to tear the floor out from under him.

Warnings (if you made it this far, you know the drill, but just in case): Angst, cursing, graphic descriptions of injury, injury recovery, hallucinations, frightened violent outbursts, sedation, needles, aftermath of dehydration and starvation, threats, trauma, dissociation, suicidal ideations (If I missed anything, please let me know)

A/N: Did I make myself cry writing this? Yes, yes I did. I briefly debated make this into two parts because it's so long, but I promised you a 5 part series!

The POV will be switching between characters in this one, I tried to make it as obvious as possible with page breaks (-----) so hopefully no one gets confused!

I know this is a long one (~14k words) so if you think I should split it into two parts for easier reading, let me know!

As always, thank you to everyone who has supported this story and all of my work thus far. It means so much to me that you enjoy my writing and it absolutely makes my day when I see people engaging with my work and the kind words you have. More content is coming from me, but for now this is goodbye to Left Behind!

-----

Sometimes - the kind of sometimes that's often and exhausting - when the dead members of your squad are taunting and jeering and stalking the corner of your eye, it's their corpses trailing behind you.

Instead of Benny's kind, laugh-lined smile and strong broad shoulders, his arms hang twisted and bloody at his sides with a concaved chest arching his torso forward unnaturally. Only half a crooked grin with gore between his teeth and the chunk out of his skull festering with flies. He hobbles and winks and reaches with fingers bent all the wrong ways like he wants to caress your cheek and listen to your sorrows.

Hailey has to hold tight to Benny's neck and shoulders as what remains of her torso bounces like a backpack with his every lumbering step. No hips to sway or legs to dance with. Her innards hang loose and bloody, eyes always wide and frightened despite the cheery teasing she spits between bloodied lips. She often asks for her goggles back or makes biting little comments about the endless steps you take as if you're actually getting any closer.

She makes you think of purgatory and afterlife and traps you in the one chasm of hopelessness you're desperate not to fall down. That this is your eternity. That you died that first night you fell asleep in the cold and the damp and this is the forever you deserve. Wandering and thinking and never knowing if you're actually breathing when the air tastes stale and metallic. It's hardest to tune her out.

Daryl usually hops quietly beside them, precariously balanced on the one leg, but when he wants his turn at licking insults and screaming blame, he has to bend his torso in half so his twisted around head can face the right way. He mostly stares and weeps, the tears wetting his forehead instead of his chin, and begs to trade places with you because his sister is small and kind and needs her big brother.

You're rarely sure you wouldn't trade places given the chance.

Sometimes the injuries stay the same but the faces change.

It's Hange's manic grin leering over Moblit's wilting torso as they fire question after question like bullets into the marrow of your bones. Questions about Preston more often than not that have your head spinning and your heart longing and your feet sometimes backtracking to the forest you left him in when you're not paying attention.

It's Mike bouncing and shifting on one leg, nearly toppling in a way that has you wondering if the ground would shake when he has to bend clumsily forward to sniff in your direction, but Nanaba catches him before he can with a gnarled arm bent in too many places for elbows while she buckles under the considerable weight of Erwin's severed torso clutching to her back. They hiss at you and stare and weigh you down without saying much at all.

The roles shuffle between members of your squad and members of Levi's squad, cackling and sobbing and raging. Petra screams and Oluo's split tongue lolls out of his missing jaw and Eld laughs between bouts of choking on blood and Gunther snarls passed the tear tracks burning from popped eye sockets.

Sometimes all three of them are Levi.

Sometimes all three of them are you.

Sometimes there's no injuries at all and you want to sink into a blissful ignorance as if the glimpses of their smiles or the light sound of their comforting voices are as real as the blisters on your hands or the cramping in your stomach. But those thoughts are dangerous and cruel and almost always leave your eyes twitching painfully.

You're not sure which is the greatest hell, but you find that as long as they stay at the edge of your vision, unacknowledged, unwitnessed, untouched by your attention, focusing on taking one step after another is manageable.

So when you're fresh off two titan kills and you hear your love's voice calling out taunts to the make-believe hero playing with stolen gear, you don't blink twice and instead inspect your blunted blade. The edge is jagged and dull and likely wouldn't cut through your own soft skin let alone the tough hide of a titan's nape. You decidedly toss the useless metal to the ground and reach for the final blade in your arsenal as a replacement. Levi is adamantly stomping towards you in your periphery, a characteristic frown to his brow and hands prepped near his gear, but you know he'll only get close enough to teasingly breeze by your skin before fading away like he does every time.

Close but never close enough. There but never actually there.

Your focus narrows on the reattached blade, jaw clicking and tongue like dry dirt in your mouth. Water, the last time you had water was a muddy puddle nearly half a kilometer back. It's been harder to find since the snow melted, however long ago that was, you're not really sure.

"Mitchell? That you?"

Huh? Your head tilts, brows furrowing when Levi's voice drifts closer to you. With a quick scan, you try to spot Hailey's mirage tag-teaming with Levi - wouldn't be the first time - but her ghost doesn't seem to be haunting you like Levi's at the moment.

"Hailey? Hailey Mitchell? It's Captain Levi." He says that like his voice isn't ingrained in your mind, more familiar to you than the sound of your own at this point. Levi's gotten closer, hands raised like you might jump out at him if he steps wrong. "C'mon brat, let's go home, yeah? See your mom?"

"Mom? Mom's dead," you murmur, the words are garbled and slurring between your dry sticky lips. Your tongue feels swollen, teeth too thick with plaque and gums raw. Everything tastes coppery. "Home, 'm goin' home. That - that way." Your head bobbles, satisfied with the direction you picked. Firmly planting your blade in the grass, you hobble along despite the sharp twinge that pulses in your hip with every step. For a moment, you think Levi must have faded like he always does, but then -

"Mitchell stop! I order you - tch, Hailey!" You're not sure why your brain has conjured a Levi that thinks you're Hailey, but as you absentmindedly listen to his footsteps racing closer, you think how you've lost enough control of the fragments of your mind that the why probably doesn't matter much.

You wish he'd fade away already. A Levi who can't recognize you is more painful than the one that hates you. Ignoring him is easy though when you know he'll never reach you. He never does, an eternity of reaching but never touching.

But then there's a pressure, a tightening around your wrist that you logically know must be fingers, except that's impossible so it has to be something else. Something that isn't the steady grip of a hand you know so well, fingers long and always always so gentle despite the gruffness he tends to carry in his shoulders. Your whole body tenses, rigidly freezing like stone so acutely you think you've stopped breathing. It's impossible for that grip to be real and you're suddenly terrified that you've fractured again, that your mind has gotten crueler, that you can't even trust what you touch anymore when it's been your last tether to a reality you're no longer sure is actually real.

Eyes flickering, you spot Benny, clean and unharmed and daring you to turn around with a kindness in his eyes you've missed more than clean water. You decide to trust the version of him you knew in life and brave a look over your shoulder.

It's still Levi, though admittedly a part of you thought it wouldn't be, and your chest stutters cruelly with hope when you eye the way his hand wraps your wrist. You can feel the heat of his skin, the pressure of his fingers, the small tremble in his palm when he flexes just so. Your breath catches because he's there and he's close and he's touching you.

The goggles are in the way and - and the cloak, you need them off, you need to see. Your blade drops to the ground when you reach for the green fabric, feeling unbalanced and small and terrified. The leather straps on the goggles catch in your knotted hair and the cloak is sticky with your sweat, pulling unpleasantly at your skin in your haste to take it off, your makeshift glove unraveling in the process. But then they're gone and your eyes are clearer than they've been in months and he's still standing there, holding your wrist, holding your racing pulse between his fingers.

He's so beautiful.

You risk a step closer, and another until you're nearly chest to chest. His breathing is off, silver eyes wide and sparkling and alive in a way you're sure your mind could never replicate. Not this, not your Levi. You raise your hand, fingers shaking as you hesitate half a second at the curve of his jaw. What if this is what shatters his image? What if this takes him from you again? Is that worth gambling? Your lonely heart chooses for you.

He's solid under your fingertips, warm and soft and everything you've missed about your life together. Your hand moves to cup his cheek, thumb swiping at the stray wetness under his eye when he leans into your palm, and for a moment you wonder if you've somehow crossed the threshold into a heaven you were never meant to find.

"A-are you real?" Your eyes sting when you ask the question, only slightly shocked you have any water left to spare for tears, and your voice grates like razors in your throat, but there's no room to care when salvation is in your reach. "Are you my Levi?"

You meet his gaze again, startled by the pure heartbreak you find in his eyes and you think this is it...he's going to fade and you're going to whither in this purgatory forever, always waiting, always alone, always on the edge of oblivion. Your hand drops to your side, cold without his skin beneath your touch, and your eyelids slip closed as you stumble back.

"Trick, another trick, ano - " you choke, words lodged in your shredded throat as you suck in air, in and in and in until you're on your knees and all you can do is scream...

-----

Terror holds a vice on his windpipe that Levi isn't sure he can shake because you're here, in his reach, in his hands, and if he blinks you might just disappear. Good things don't just happen, not to him, but there you are, breathing and touching him and your fluttering pulse is under his fingertips.

Except you're asking if he's real. As if the miracle is his beating heart instead of your own.

Agony rips through his chest because he knows...he knows. Good things don't just happen, and nothing good has lead you to standing before him now, broken and battered and shaking in your very skin. Before he can take that next step, hold you close and assure you that he's very real, that he's taking you home, that he'll protect you this time, you're already pulling away from him so abruptly that panic joins the cluster of emotions in his throat and he stutters forward after you too late.

Levi knows that your scream will haunt him for the rest of his life.

He's on his knees in front of you with no memory of taking the steps to do so, your name a repeated mantra on his lips as he reaches out for you. His palms find your cheeks, pulling you up just enough that he can press his forehead to yours.

"I'm real, I'm real, I'm real, I promise I'm real," he chants over your scream, hoping to soothe you with his words and his touch and your name on his lips because he doesn't know what else to do when you're unraveling between his fingers. Minutes or decades pass kneeling in the grass, trying to grasp onto any thread of calm, until eventually you quiet into small hiccupping whimpers that pull at his heart. "I'm here, I'm real. It's over, you're safe, you're safe...I've got you now, I've got you."

Your hands dance across his wrists, up his arms to grasp his shoulders tightly, and Levi knows he'll bruise under the grip of your fingers, but he couldn't care less. You're breathing and you're shaking and you're so fucking alive that Levi feels euphoria pulsing in his veins. It's a kind of relief, a kind of gift, he never thought he deserved, but this...this second chance the two of you have been given, he'll cherish every breath of it.

He can't help the small curve of his lip or the tears in his eyes when your voice joins his mantra. The repetition of, "You're real, you're real, you're real, I'm safe and you're real, you've got me, I kept my promise, I kept my promise," in your parched raspy voice is like music to him.

A wet laugh bubbles in his throat, thinking of the silver ring hanging by his heart. You came back to him, you kept your promise.

But then he's reminded where they are when Petra calls to him over his shoulder. "Captain! Captain Levi, we heard a scream, we - "

Levi chances a look behind him, not even surprised when your iron grip tightens further, as afraid of him disappearing as he is of losing you, but this is still titan territory. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Walls, he has so many fucking questions, but he bites his tongue.

His first priority now is getting you home.

Petra and the others are huddled a few meters back, as shocked into stillness as he had been, with wide eyes and gaping mouths. "C-Captain, is that - ?"

"Fire off every purple signal flare we have, I need Hange and a med cart here now!" Levi wonders if they can hear the tremble in his throat or spot the wetness in his eyes. "And Petra, my waterskin!"

It takes nearly three seconds for them to move at his orders, but Levi's already turned back to you, still mumbling that mantra under your breath.

He taps your cheek, trying to get your shining gaze to meet his own again, swallowing at the haziness he finds there, the desperation he's been feeling for months sparkling in your eyes. And then he's really seeing you, heart cracking in his chest at the hurt he finds in every divot of your face, every stain on your clothes, every stuttered breath in your lungs.

You're here, and you're alive, but you're definitely not okay.

Your cheeks are sharper than he's ever seen them, gaunt and hollow with a starvation he knows all too well. Eyes sunken into their sockets, heavy purpling bruises darkening under the curves of your lids. There are red blotchy sores along your jaw and neck from the sun or itching or both, scabs bubbling on your dry lips, dirt and sweat and blood freckling across your sallow oily skin. Your hair is longer, tangled with knots and grass and who knows what else. He's suddenly terrified what they'll find under you tailored scraps of a uniform.

"A-are they real?" You ask him so quietly he has to strain to catch the words. Brow arching in confusion, his mouth drops open to ask what you mean when you speak before he can. "Which...which ones are real? Petra...she must be because you - you spoke to her dire - directly, but the others...you - I - which ones - " You ramble on air, eyes flicking between him and the purple smoke now drifting over his shoulder, panic sharpening the tense curve of your spine.

Levi holds back a frown, tapping your cheek again in the hopes of helping you focus. Your ramble stops, but your breaths are too quick and eyes too wide. He carefully places your hand over his chest and takes a deep calming breath, finding he needs it as much as you probably do. "Follow me, breath with me, I've got you," he coaches with a soft voice. "I'm real, Petra's real, Oluo is real, Eld is real, Gunther is real. Say it with me."

"You are real," you begin hesitantly, pupils flickering. "Petra is real. Oluo and Eld and Gunther are real. They're real. Petra, Oluo, Eld, Gunther. You, you're real." You lean forward, burying your face in his neck and sighing through the stutter of a sob as his arms automatically wrap around your body. You're solid in his grasp but thin, so fucking thin and he wants to snap at whatever's taking Hange so long.

"I love you, so fucking much." He whispers into your hair he pretends doesn't smell rancid, pulling you closer. Levi can't believe he's holding you again, heartbeat against heartbeat. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he mumbles between reverent sighs of your name because he can't remember when he last said it before your disappearance and he's not willing to let another second pass without making sure you know. He hates himself for ever hesitating to say the words before.

Petra is quickly kneeling by his side, waterskin heavy in her shaking hands as she stares at you in his arms like she's seeing a ghost. Which, for all intents and purposes, she is. Her eyes meet his above your head, and the horror of what it means to find you here alive is clear on her face.

Levi reluctantly pulls back from your embrace, motioning at Eld, Gunther, and Oluo to stay where they are, cautious about overwhelming you. He takes the waterskin from Petra, who's still staring awestruck at his side, and carefully encourages you to tilt your head back.

"Drink," he orders, pressing the spout to your chapped lips, minding that you go slow. Your eyes flutter closed, throat constricting with every swallow, small drips trailing down your chin. He moves the watershin away when you push at the pouch, watching your tongue lick away the extra droplets, and for a moment he's actually startled to see tears in your eyes.

"It's so clean," you whimper through the barest of smiles. It has him both wanting to scream at the unfairness of it all and worship the joy pulling at your cheeks because maybe...maybe you will be okay. Levi trails his thumb along the prominent edge of your jaw and offers as reassuring a smile as he can.

Petra turns her head away beside him to hide the wetness he can see building in her eyes, her hands tucked between her knees to cover their shaking.

Dozens upon dozens of hoofbeats thrum the ground below them, Levi looking over to see not only Erwin's squad, but Hange's thankfully close behind as well. He's relieved to spot a cart among the herd of horses.

You tense in his hold, but he swiftly calms any rising panic with soft words and little shushes. "It's okay, it's okay. They're real, they're here to help." His brow furrows at the way you seem to shrink into yourself, shoulders hunching forward and eyes trained resolutely on the grass. "I want you to say it. I'm real, they're real, they're here to help."

"You're real, they're...are they all real? There's to-too many, not all - they can't all be - " And he watches your gaze lift, stalling on a spot behind him that he knows is nothing but grass and dirt, and you look so scared. How does he protect you from something he can't even see?

"Petra, get Hange, now." Levi doesn't even acknowledge his subordinate stumbling to her feet, keeping his eyes and his hands on you. Your name slips from his lips, attention shifting back to him. "I'm real. Hange is real. We'll figure out the rest when we can."

You nod, leaning into the palm still cupping your jaw. "You're real, Hange is real. They're here to help."

In no time at all, Hange is sweeping you up in their arms, obnoxious sobs quaking their shoulders and all but spinning you around in relief and glee and grief. Babbled combinations of your name and apologies and questions race from the scientist's quivering lip. You're clutching just as tightly to their chest, though he's not sure if it's in relief or fear as you lose any control over your balance.

Levi can feel panic crackling between his teeth when you're no longer in his reach, quickly jumping to his feet to pull you from the vice Hange has on your body.

"Damnit Shitty Glasses, be careful, she's not exactly in top fucking form," he growls, steadying you with on hand at your elbow and the other resolute between your shoulder blades. You're clearly favoring your left leg, and he remembers the heavy limp you stumbled with earlier, the now discarded blade practically the only thing keeping you upright. Levi makes eye contact with an approaching Erwin, but speaks directly to Hange with a curt order searing his words. "We need to get her in the cart so you can do a basic assessment of her injuries on the way back. We're taking her home, now."

That last bit may have been directed at more than just Hange, but he's not about to negotiate anything right now. And neither is Hange if he's willing to trust the resolute look in their eye and the uncharacteristically serious jut of their jaw when they nod in agreement. The two of them stand strong at your back when Erwin finally reaches them, ready to argue and defend and fight if they need to...but they don't.

Erwin engulfs your small trembling body in his broad hold, one hand cradling your head to the beat of his chest and the other wrapped firmly about your waist. "I made the wrong call all those months ago, but I'll make the right one this time." Levi isn't sure if he imagines the tremor in Erwin's voice when he says your name, but the shock flashing in Hange's glasses makes him think he probably didn't.

Slowly, your hands come around Erwin's back, fingers grabbing at the green fabric of his cloak for purchase. "Erwin...Erwin's real," you hum, rocking further into his arms for balance. "I want to go home."

"We're bringing you home, soldier."

Levi sticks close, joining you in the back of the cart with Hange not far behind. He's careful to settle you gently in his lap, legs on either side of your waist, with your back pressed to his chest. You rest your head just below his chin, tightly lacing the blistered fingers of your right hand with his own. He's as grateful for the physical tether as you probably are.

While they wait for the convoy to regroup and prepare to set out back towards Wall Rose, Levi encourages you to drink more water with a not so subtle nudge of the waterskin against your lip. The flicker of a teasing grin he spots, small and gone between two blinks, has his heart warming in his chest and a fresh wave of relief curving over his shoulders.

He's never been so grateful for his reality before.

As much as he tries to refrain from indulging in fantasy, there's always been a small part of himself - locked away in a tiny box at the corner of his mind with the memories of his mother's singing voice and Isabel's cackling laugh and Furlan's gentle smile - that yearns for a reality without titans. One with a quiet tea shop to his name, no blood staining his fingers, and your soft hand twined with his own.

Now all he can think is he wouldn't care if their world burned to the ground, ravaged by the beasts of burden, not as long as your heart beats and your warmth permeates his chest.

Levi's knocked from his musings when Hange rocks the cart, loudly clattering around the tight space with a medic bag at their hip. They take a cautious knee by your side, an awkward lilt to the curve of their toothy smile and tears still shining in the corners of their eyes.

"Right then, what hurts sweetie?" They ask, but from the way you squirm in his hold, Levi's sure everything probably hurts. He gives Hange a look over your head, nostrils flared and stoic brow arched just so. They laugh nervously, scratching at the back of their head. "Okay, okay, um any open wounds? Anything bleeding or in dire need of stitches?"

"Nothing life threatening or that I haven't already taken care of," you whisper, words hesitant like you're ashamed to be hurt at all. Levi bites on the scoff he wants to let out. "My um, my right leg is pretty fucked up. It's why, uh, why I was - why I couldn't..."

"It's okay, it's okay," Levi mumbles close to your ear, tightening his hold. He knows what you're saying, that your leg is the reason you didn't catch up or make your way to the wall. His lips brush against your temple, reminding himself you're here, in his arms, alive.

Hange is eyeing your leg, clearly wanting to see the injuries for themself, but they shake their head instead. "Well, best not to mess with anything as long as you're stable until we know what we're working with. The medics at headquarters will be far more thorough, but in the mean time, just tell me the most pressing parts."

You nod against Levi's chest, body stiff and uncomfortable in his arms. He can feel you twiddling with Hailey's goggles in your lap. Questions about your squad float behind his teeth. Your voice sounds far away, and he can tell you're back there, back to that day. "A titan had, um, swiped at us - me and...and Bully." Levi mouths the word 'horse' at Hange's confused brow, not wanting them to interrupt you. "Just out of nowhere in the rain, this massive hand...then I was on the ground, leg stuck under Bully's body. She was - she was already..." You take a deep breath, whole body shuttering with the flutter of your ribs. "Broken." You gesture to your thigh. "Dislocated." Your knee. "Cut open." Your calf. "Broken" Your ankle. "I did what I could...I - " You turn, looking up at Levi with wide watery eyes that have fear pulling at his throat. "I had to eat Bully."

Levi closes his eyes in sorrow, touching his forehead to yours. "You did what you had to, you survived."

Hange clears their throat, looking awkward as they pull at their collar. "Any, um, anything else?"

Levi finds himself wanting to ask about the hallucinations, about what you're seeing that has you so frightened, but he swallows the words.

"I'm pretty sure everything is bruised in some way," you actually joke, pulling half a smile from Hange. "Oh, and - um..." You pause, pulling your hand from Levi's lingering grasp to unwind the scraps of fabric on your left hand. Levi's chest constricts at the sight of two severed stumps, burned on the ends. The silver ring he gifted you all those months ago with a promise in his heart shines safely on your thumb. "Frostbite, weeks ago, before the snow melted. I didn't want it to spread."

He knows the image of you having to cut off your own fingers will appear in his nightmares. He knows every injury, every tear, every scared whimper will haunt him with the rest of his failures.

Hange stops asking after that, holding their tongue and carefully hiding the horror in their eyes with a flash of their glasses. They try to make you as comfortable as possible with spare blankets as the jostling of the cart knocks you all back and forth. Erwin heads the convoy, obviously, with Levi's squad and Hange's squad flanking the cart on either side as a protective guard. Levi spots Mike's squad joining their ranks, stationing themselves at the back of the cart with hard eyes focused intently on your trembling form in his arms. He shares an understanding nod with the larger man.

When they pass through the gate into Trost, blissfully lucky to have not encountered any titans on their retreat, Levi can feel the tension bleeding from your body, a heavy breath lowering your shoulders. A hiccupping sob stutters in your chest that has him shielding your head from the crowd that gathers in the streets to greet them home with complaints and insults and misguided assumptions.

Levi grits his teeth, holding back on the same urge to knock heads and split jaws that hits him every time ignorant assholes scream about tax dollars and wasted time and worthless sacrifices. Instead, he places his palms over your ears and wraps his body around yours as a protective barrier, burying his glare in your neck.

The medics are waiting for them at headquarters, Erwin having sent a scout ahead to warn them about their arrival, so Levi is quick to pick you up in his arms, stable behind your back and under your knees, careful about the movement of your leg. He hops off the back of the cart, jerking his head to the nearest wide-eyed medic, an older woman named Martha if he remembers right, to get her to follow him. She's close on his heels, listening to Hange as they explain the basics of what they know of your condition to Martha.

He handles you like delicate fractured glass, carefully placing you on the nearest bed in the infirmary. You frantically grapple with his arm, panic surging in your eyes. Levi traces your cheek, pressing his lips to your forehead. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here the whole time." He ducks his head, holding your gaze steadily. "Say it with me. I'm real, Hange's real, Martha is real. She's here to help."

You smile so beautifully through chapped bloody lips that his breath catches in his throat. "You're real, Hange's real, Martha is real. She's here to help," you repeat, tapping his hand on your cheek.

Martha steps up to the other side of the bed, pulling a tray of supplies behind her and shuffling a clipboard in her hands. "Okay, Squad Leader Hange has filled me in on your situation. I'm so sorry, dear." She speaks calmly and clearly, a gentle authority to her tone. He can tell she's experienced with frightened and traumatized patients, she'd have to be working within the Scout Regiment. You wilt away from her, but still offer a hesitant curl of your lips in return. "This may be scary to hear, but I think we can do our best to help you if you're sedated. I know - " she continues quickly as you stiffen with trepidation. "I know that's not ideal, but I need you to trust me. All we want to do is help."

Levi frowns, not particularly fond of the idea either, but a quick questioning look at Hange makes the decision for him. The concern in their expression is evident, nodding in agreement with Martha, and Levi trusts that Hange knows what's best in this situation more than anyone. He looks down at you, meeting your quivering eyes as he says again, "I'll be right here the whole time."

You're shaking your head, hovering between pulling back from him or burrowing closer to his chest. "I - what if I don't wake up?"

"You will," he promises with a reverent whisper of your name.

"And what if I do, but I'm...but I wake up back out there, alone. I c-can't, I can't, I can't, I - " you spiral, fingers gripping at your scalp, fist pounding at your temple that Levi is quick to stop with his own soft hold.

"I need you to trust me," he kisses your hand. "You will wake up, and I'll be right here waiting for you." Your eyes are shining, wet tracks pulling through the grime on your skin, but you nod with him and turn back to Martha despite your rightful fear.

Martha carefully rolls up your sleeve, and the sight of your too-thin arm and bony wrist splotched with sores and bruises ranging from deep purple to murky green to fading yellow has despair bubbling in his throat. The needle goes in at the juncture of your elbow. Levi holds your hand through your flinch, squeezing tight when your body shudders.

"I love you," he murmurs into your ear, caressing his fingers against your cheek as your eyes slowly close, body going limp on the bed.

Martha reaches for some scissors on the tray. "We need to start by cutting away her clothes. Squad Leader Hange, if you could help me. And you, Cadet..."

"Petra Ral," the strawberry blonde answers, stepping forward from where the rest of Levi's squad is standing at attention. Erwin, Mike, and Moblit are all there as well, hovering just at the threshold of the infirmary.

"Please Commander, we need privacy," Martha implores, saluting the Commander with the scissors held tight in her fist, tone firm and bordering on orderly. "I'll take good care of her, you have my word."

Erwin clenches his jaw, looking from your prone form to Martha before settling on Hange. "See that she does."

"Of course, Erwin, you know I will."

"We'll be on standby just outside should you need anything."

As they file out, Mike lingering half a moment longer than the others, Martha turns her attention to Levi. She stares in a manner that has his hackles rising. "Captain Levi, sir, I understand - "

His lip curls into a snarl, hands clenching at his sides. "I'm not going anywhere."

She frowns, but nods in resignation. "Right then, let's get started."

They start with removing the ODM gear, a painstaking process that he's glad you're not awake for. Then they move onto cutting away all of the belts and scraps of leather you have tied securely around your wrists, ankles, waist, and collar - probably to help insulate against the cold and wind and frost of winter. The oversized clothes and boots come off next, clothes that he's suddenly realizing came from other solders - big as they are - more questions building on his tongue.

The find a dry, wilted daisy in your pocket.

The sight of your right leg has nausea stirring in his gut. Martha carefully unstraps the belt holding together the makeshift splint on your thigh, Hange focusing on the wrappings on your knee, calf, and ankle while Petra delicately holds up the limb for easier access. Your feet are blistered and raw. Deep flowering bruises, old and new, decorate your once soft and unblemished skin, dried blood browning around half a dozen different scabs and sores. The muscles of your leg have atrophied, smaller and with none of the strength he knows you to have. Your femur clearly punctured the meat of your thigh and your calf - Walls, Levi can feel a tremor in his spine. The cauterized wound stretching the entire length of your calf has memories of burning human flesh singing his nose and mixing with the nausea dangerously.

He can count your ribs and sharpen his blade on the edge of your collarbone. Joints all red and raw from sweat and overexertion and itching from the filth of months in the wilderness. Your arms are bony, the point of your elbows fragile, and your stomach has caved inward with starvation, pelvis bones jutting forward under the sallow stretch of your skin. Levi can't help the wetness in his eyes, turning away for a moment because he knows what this kind of hungry feels like, knows it better than most.

It's something he wouldn't wish on anybody, let alone you.

"She has lice, the poor thing," he hears Martha sigh over his shoulder, glancing behind him to see her reaching for the scissors again. She's going to cut your hair, she -

"No, no don't," Levi's quick to grab her wrist. He's not sure why, but the idea of shaving away your hair feels like a betrayal, like just another thing to trap you in this experience instead of moving forward. He can't undo anything, but this...this he can fix, this he can save you from. "Focus on her injuries, I can take care of the lice."

Memories of his mother's fingers combing little itchy bugs from his scalp shift behind his eyes, the smell of vinegar and the rare luxury of steaming water linger in his mind. He goes to the hallway, looking directly to his squad.

"Oluo, Gunther, go to the kitchen. I need vinegar and two large pots of hot water. Eld, my quarters. I need towels, soap from the shower, and the two small combs in the cabinet under the sink. And," he adds after a second thought, "a t-shirt and sweats from my wardrobe for her after she's been bandaged." Levi nods in thanks to their salutes.

Mike steps forward, a rare hesitancy in the deep curve of his shoulders. "How is she?"

"Alive," Levi says because it feels like the only true thing he can say. He clears his throat for a proper update. "Mostly old injuries that need cleaning and stabilizing. Sores that need disinfecting. More than anything she needs food, water, a fucking bath, and rest."

He swipes his hand down his face, suddenly so very tired.

"Hey," it's Erwin's hand on his shoulder, holding him steady when he fears he's about to fall apart. "You brought her back, Levi. You did that."

Levi frowns, brushing away his Commander's attempt at comfort. "No, she did that. I left her to die three months ago."

"Under my orders."

"You think that matters?!" Levi hisses, jaw clenched so tightly his teeth rattle. "I could feel it, I knew - my instincts were telling me to find her, that something was wrong and she needed me. I ignored every part of me screaming to look for her in favor of being the perfect fucking soldier."

Mike steps forward, shaking his head. "We thought she was dead, Levi. We thought she was..."

"Crushed," Erwin finishes, a harsh curve to his prominent brow.

Something red and hot and violent boils in Levi's chest. "Find Oswin."

-----

Waking up is harder than it's ever been. Your body feels heavy and sluggish, something you thought you had gotten used to in the cold and the damp and the rough, but this is different. This is the kind of fatigue that blurs your vision and pulls you down into the depths of unconsciousness with kind welcomings and warm caresses.

Waking up this time is hard because you're not sure if you want to.

But then you remember silver eyes and feathery black hair and the rarest kind smile that makes your heart skip and your breaths stutter. The promise of a silver ring. You remember finding the love you've been enduring eternities of hell for.

Lashes fluttering, your eyes sting at the harsh light of the morning sun shining through the window, and you're half tempted to burrow further under the blanket to chase away the light.

Window. Blanket. You're in a fucking bed. In the infirmary. At headquarters. It was real.

You scramble into a sitting position, heart pulsing in your throat and aches pulling at your limbs with every movement. Hunched forward, hands clawing at the blanket to draw it away, your eyes flicker over the fresh clothes - a white shirt and gray sweats you know to be Levi's - and the clean bandages on your arms.

Running your fingers through your hair, scalp feeling raw and itch free, marveling at the lack of knots and tangles and dirt. Everything is sore in the most pleasant way, in a way you know is healing and safe, lacking the twinge of infection.

Levi's ring is still on your thumb, a little cold and shining like it's been cleaned. You press it to your lips, a comforting habit you've formed over the lasting months.

Looking to your left, tears spring to your eyes and warmth floods your chest at the sight of Levi passed out and contorted uncomfortably in the wooden chair by your bedside. "You kept your promise," you whisper, fighting the urge to lean forward and brush the fringe from his eyes because you don't want to wake him.

"Morning!" A cheery voice calls from your right, startling you so much your neck pops when you turn to them. It's Petra, smiling, gentle, kind Petra. She's standing with her hands behind her back, relief shining in the lights of her eyes, pink in the apples of her cheeks. "How are you feeling?"

You offer a clumsy grin, small because it pulls uncomfortably at your chapped lips. "Tired, mostly."

"I bet." A soft chuckle shakes her shoulders. "Well, we're glad to have you back. It's been...it's been hard."

You frown, brows drawing together. Something about the curve of her smile is off; the way she's looking at you has your teeth on edge. You shuffle under the sheets. "How...um how was he?"

Her face seems to crack, twisting cruelly with darkened eyes and a hateful manic grin that could never belong to Petra. "You abandoned him, how do you think he was?"

"I - I didn't - I," you stammer, head shaking. You came back, you came back. Levi knows you didn't have a choice. He knows that, right?

"You left him, you let him suffer, believing you were dead for months. It's your fault."

"It's not, it's not, I didn't - I came back," your jaw shakes, tears slipping off the curve of your chin. The sheets bunched and crinkled between your remaining fingers. "You weren't there, you don't know - "

A frantic call of your name has your words stalling, whipping to your left to see Levi sitting up with a worried curve to his brow. "Who are you talking to?"

"Pet - " you swallow the lump in your throat, looking back over your shoulder to see no one there. "Petra, I thought - she was real, she's supposed to be real. I don't - I..."

"Here." Levi hands you a clear glass of water, resting his other hand on the top of your head, a kind of understanding in his gaze that has your lip quivering. He's real, you know he is from the warmth that bleeds from his hand into your scalp. "I can ask someone to get Petra, if you want. I'm sure she'd like to see you."

"No!" You nearly shout, an embarrassed blush warming your cheeks. "No, no that's okay." As a distraction, you take a deep drink of water. It's cold and clear and clean, smoothly gliding down your parched throat. You're not used to it. It cramps in your hollow stomach unpleasantly, and for a moment you think it might make its way back up your throat, but you swallow through the nausea. The unfamiliarity, the strangeness, of clean water has you practically pitying yourself and the urge to hide your face grows.

Levi sighs beside you, leaning his hip against the edge of the bed and crossing his arms. "I'm not going to force you to talk about it, any of it. But," he makes sure to hold your eye, "it might help."

"That's rich coming from you." You wince as the words escape without your permission, an unreasonable defensiveness building in your aching joints. They were venomous and cruel and you regret them immediately. "I - I didn't mean that, I'm sorry. It's just - "

"It's okay," Levi gives you a tight-lipped smile that you're sure you don't deserve. "Like I said, I won't force you." He pauses, rolling his next words on his tongue. You almost hold your breath, shaking for the moment he pushes you away, tells you he moved on, blames you for it all. "You once told me to be patient with myself, now I'm telling you the same. What you went through..." Levi trails off, and he's never felt further away from you. "You need time to heal, that includes up here." He pokes your forehead, fingers dropping to cup your cheek soon after.

Relief floods your chest, more grateful than you have words for that this bleeding-heart of a man cares for you. Loves you even. You're not sure how you managed to trick him into it, but you cherish it all the same.

You lean into his hold, giving half a smile in return. "I sound smart, when did I tell you that?"

But then he's reaching for his pocket, pulling out a crumpled, stained slip of parchment that has your blood stalling in your veins and any content in your smile to slip away. A letter, your letter. The letter he was never supposed to see; a jinxed precaution you cursed yourself for writing every time you did it. "At first, I thought this letter was the cruelest thing you could have done to me," he says softly, tracing the aged edges of the page like he's scared it will fall apart in his grasp. "Then it became the only thing I had left and...just, thanks - for, um, for writing it."

You reach for his wrist, drawing your thumb over his pulse point and reveling in the beats you feel there. "I'm sorry you ever had to read it."

"Me too."

"I love you," you're suddenly desperate to say, to chant, to scream with all the air left in your lungs. "I love you so much, Levi. More than anything. I'm sorry I got stuck." Your vision blurs with tears, happy or sad or just devastated in every way you could be.

He taps his forehead to yours, palm still warming your cheek. "I'm sorry I left you behind," he chokes on what you're scared may be a sob.

You're already shaking your head to deny his apology - you don't need one, you don't blame him - but he's already leaning into you, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is all that you've been craving for months. It's comfort and love and warmth. It's wet with your shared grief and sorrows and relief. It's safety and it's grounding and it's your Levi.

It's everything. It's home.

His lips are softer than yours, gently caressing the cracks in your skin like he's scared you might fall apart. You're scared of the same, but he's there and he's real and you can easily push away any lingering fear with Levi's perfect touch.

Martha finds you two a few minutes later, Levi nearly lounging on your bed beside you, hands laced in your lap, exchanging gentle loving whispers to each other. You're half-surprised he doesn't pull away when the woman comes in, but you think he's just as starved for your warmth as you are for his. A wonderful quiet has settled between the two of you that you could just bask in for a better eternity, for that heaven you've been searching for. You're almost upset to be interrupted, but you also really want a shower.

You look to Levi with a question in your eyes, and his answering nod is enough for you. She's real.

"So good to see you awake, dear," Martha greets with a cheerfulness you don't share, but you're grateful someone can manage that bright of a smile. "It's been nearly two full days of rest for you. How are you feeling this morning?"

Two days doesn't seem right when your bones sting with fatigue and your eyes are still playing tricks, but you remember the sedative and just decide your body probably needed it instead of questioning the absurd amount of time that's passed. You hesitate to offer the same answer you gave to the very not real Petra when you first woke up, but it's the truth, so you use different words that mean the same thing. "Just...exhausted I think, and achy."

Martha hums, nodding her head as she makes notes on a clipboard. "To be expected of course. Any dizziness? Nausea?"

A lie is on the tip of your tongue because the fact that water made you nauseous is embarrassing and weak, but lying wouldn't help anything except maybe your ego, but that's hardly your priority at this point. "I had some water a little bit ago, it stayed down but it didn't...feel right. No dizziness though."

Levi squeezing your hand grounds you in that moment.

"Proper hydration and sustenance is something you've been lacking, you're body is in survival mode, using every facet to keep you going. It will take some time to readjust, especially with food." Martha seems to stall as if she doesn't want to move on to the next part. You're not sure if you want to hear it. "Most of your major injuries have healed about as much as they're going to since they happened months ago. You did a remarkable job caring for your wounds despite your limitations."

She pauses again and your teeth rattle with impatience.

"But...?" Levi actually speaks up, a protective arch to his brow and back stiff like he's expecting an attack.

"But..." Martha repeats, a tired sigh lacing the words. "You need to be prepared for the likelihood of permanent damage. The break in your femur, especially, has healed enough that slight pressures won't be a danger, but that doesn't mean it healed well. Your limp has put extra strain on your hips that's concerning for your future mobility."

"What does that mean?" You think you know, but you need to hear her say it.

"You won't be able to move the same way you did before, and if you're not careful moving forward in this process, it may get worse. I'm aware - " she says before you can interject, " - that you were able to successfully operate the maneuver gear on several occasions despite your injuries. That doesn't mean you're okay; in fact, it probably exacerbated the breaks and made everything worse. You had to survive, no one begrudges you that, but you don't need to survive in here anymore. You can't take those kinds of risks if you still want to be able to walk at all."

"You're telling me to quit the military." Your breath catches, panic seizing in your chest. You can't leave...this life is all you've known since you were twelve. Leaving - leaving isn't an option, it can't be; and Levi, you can't lose this, lose him again.

"I'm cautioning you about taking care of yourself. With the state of your leg and your hand, I'm advising against any field work. You'll likely need a crutch for the rest of your life. However, you're still a valuable asset. I'm sure the Commander already has a place planned for you in his personal counsel." She may be sure, but you're definitely not.

A crutch. For the rest of your life? Useless, you feel useless. Weak. She called you valuable, but all you can think is you've lost all purpose beyond breathing.

Your hands are shaking, lips pulling down into a deep watery frown as you fold into yourself. Forehead pressing tightly to your knees as you try to catch air, hips and spine aching at the angle. "I ca-can't...I need to be out there, but I can't - "

"You need to heal," Levi's voice is stern by your ear, calm and steady and him. "Don't worry about anything else."

"B-but..." Your words are wet and so are your cheeks, sniffles shaking your shoulders. "It terrifies me - the thought of going back out there. Of seeing those things, of fighting, of getting stuck. But it's scarier to think that I can't stop this from happening to anyone else."

"That's not your responsibility."

You shake your head because he's not getting it, but you don't know how to form the words, how to make it make sense. Maybe it doesn't make sense, maybe you're just deluding yourself into thinking you'd make any kind of difference at all. Still, the idea of being benched is somehow both like acid in your mouth and warm relief in your chest.

It's not like you have a squad to lead anymore.

Martha clears her throat, drawing your attention back. "Are you feeling any significant pain or discomfort anywhere? Anything you're concerned about?"

Answering that is harder than you thought it would be. Everything hurts, everything needs time to fucking heal. You're concerned that you'll never be able to move forward from this. But you don't say that.

You clench your jaw, looking down at your hand linked with Levi's in your lap, that damn letter teasing the edge of your vision. Patience. You think of Levi's finger poking your forehead. That needs to heal too. You're starting to hate that word, 'heal'. It makes you feel weak. "I've been...been seeing things."

"Oh? Bad dreams? It's unfortunate, but certainly normal for your circumstances."

"No, I mean..." You pause, squeezing Levi's hand to keep you stable. "I got sick a few days after - " you wave around your left hand, Martha and Levi following the gesture to the bare scarred stumps. Levi swallows, but Martha only nods for you to go on. "I had this really bad fever and started seeing things...people that aren't real. I lost all track of time. And even after the fever passed, I still - they're still there."

There's pity in Martha's eyes that has shame shriveling on your tongue, as if you had any actual control in these circumstances. "Fever induced hallucinations are common for high temperatures. You know what else can cause hallucinations? Sleep deprivation, prolonged dehydration, physical trauma and blood loss, hypothermia, extreme isolation, all of which applies here. Your body has been balancing on the edge of shutting down for weeks. Whatever you're seeing, good or bad, is part of your body's way of coping."

"My body is making me see visions of my dead friends walking around to fucking cope?!" You snap, anger and frustration curling your lip. You can't look at Levi despite his steady hand on your shoulder, the upset he feels at your words clear in the frigid grip of his fingers. You can't handle this...this thing in your head that thinks it's okay to exploit your fallen comrades. Your friends. But it's not Martha's fault, so you try to curb the bite in your next words with a deep breath that threatens to turn into a yawn. Exhaustion still pulls at your eyelids and wilts your spine. "How do I make it stop?"

Martha just smiles kindly. "Time, same as all the rest. Patience with yourself. Routine would probably help. You need to reacclimate to your life here. In the mean time, I suggest you keep up whatever you've been doing to help you differentiate between the hallucinations and reality."

You focus on Levi's hand, on his pulse under your fingers. "Touch helps." You trace his knuckles, marveling at the softness you find there, looking back up at Martha. "When can I shower?"

The woman barely holds back a chuckle at your question, and you spot Levi turning away with an amused smirk. "You're well enough that staying in the infirmary won't make much difference. The rest is up to you." The words are spoken to you, but you notice the sly flicker of her eyes up to Levi. Honestly, you can't find it in yourself to be upset, you want to be taken care of so badly your nerves ache. You're sick of doing it yourself. "Before you leave, I want you to eat something. We'll start light, of course, just some bone broth, work our way up from there, and plenty of water."

After the near miss with the water earlier, you're hesitant about the idea of food, but you know you need it and you have to start somewhere. Bone broth is easy, thin like water and stale in flavor. The inner pep talk isn't quite as convincing as you want it to be. It's a hurdle you'll cross when you get to it.

"Thank you, Martha." You reach for her hand, squeezing when her aged fingers grasp your own. "Really, thank you for everything."

That kind smile is back, the one the reminds you of a long dead mother, and you feel more tears stinging in your eyes. You'd complain about being a fucking crybaby, but you decide you've earned the privilege and bask in the brush of Levi's thumb under your cheek. "Squad Leader Hange will be in with your food soon. While you wait, you have a couple other visitors waiting outside if you think you're up for it."

You offer a crooked grin with less than half the mirth you'd normally feel, but you guess that's something else to work up to as well. "I refuse to sleep until I get that shower. I'm up for a couple extra distractions."

"Of course, dear, I'll send them in." With a last lingering smile, Martha heads to the door. "Oh, and before I forget, Welcome Home soldier. You've been dearly missed." She's gone before you can say anything else, though you're not sure you could even manage half a word with the surprise blocking your throat.

Watching Erwin and Mike step into the infirmary isn't exactly surprising, but it does have you unconsciously straightening your spine. You're not sure why, but the idea of anyone other than Levi seeing your frailty is almost upsetting.

Hailey trails behind them. Hailey with legs and a smile and the goggles you know so well. Hailey who you know is dead, but she skips like she's alive.

You look to Levi, who blinks in understanding. "Erwin and Mike," he clarifies in a whisper, and when you look back, Hailey is gone.

Again, you expect Levi to pull his hand back when Erwin and Mike approach your bedside, but he doesn't. Just holds tighter and swipes his thumb across your knuckles.

Your relationship was never a secret, but it has always been private. Touches and kisses and loving words only shared behind closed doors. It feels strange, but you welcome this new side of Levi that revels in your touch despite prying eyes. Letting go, you decide, would be as devastating as losing the air in your lungs.

Mike gets to your side first, large palm engulfing the crown of your head when he leans forward to get a big whiff of the nape of your neck. He stands tall with that gentle smile you know so well. "Still you."

"Hardly," you chuff, turning to sniff at your shoulder. "I stink like sweat, dirt, and...vinegar?"

"You had lice," Levi curtly offers, looking uncharacteristically shy with the lightest of pinks on his cheeks. You kiss his hand in thanks, barely holding back a snort at the uncomfortable shuffle of his feet.

"Under that, you're still you," Mike insists, sharp eyes boring into your own.

You know what he's saying, you're thankful for it. He ruffles your hair beneath his palm like he's reluctant to pull back. You almost don't want him to, but he does, and you choose to revel in the heavy protective weight he posts at your side instead.

Looking up at Erwin feels more intimidating than it ever has before, and you're not even sure why - except the part of you that's terrified of being discharged, of being sent away, of being blamed and scolded for mistakes that weren't your own.

Okay...maybe you do know why. You wait for him to speak first because words tumble on your tongue and you're not sure how to string together a sentence yet.

And then he moves his fist to his heart, saluting you. Everything stalls, your brain has stopped working. You can only listen and try to understand. He starts with your name, you almost don't recognize it. "Under my orders, you were abandoned in titan territory. That was my call - "

"It was the right call," you interrupt, nodding at the widening shock in his eyes. "It was the right call, Erwin. We didn't plan for rain, you had to retreat with as many survivors as you could and...you didn't know I was alive, right?"

The way he hesitates has your brows pulling together, a shiver of fear pulsing in your spine when your eyes snap from Mike to Levi - who looks almost terrifyingly angry in that moment - and back to Erwin. His voice is far too professional, far too controlled, jaw locked and hard. "We were told by Cadet Theodora Oswin that you had been crushed. With no reason to doubt her account in the midst of an emergency, I ordered the information be withheld from Captain Levi until we were safe behind the walls."

"Oswin," you repeat, the name rolling off your tongue like a foreign language. A weird satisfaction settles in your mind, you knew it started with an O. You're suddenly back to that day, rain in your eyes and Bully pinning you down. "She - I...I reached out. She looked at me and...and she turned away. She was scared, I know she was, but she - she - "

"Theodora Oswin has been dishonorably discharged from the Survey Corps, held in contempt for lying in her report detailing the death of her Squad Leader."

And suddenly you can breathe again, air stuttering down your throat as Levi whispers calming words in your ear. She's gone, she's gone, she's gone. It's a harsh punishment, too harsh, but you're grateful for Erwin's protection. "Thank you, Erwin," you sigh through a fresh wave of tears.

"Tch, she got off easy, if you ask me," Levi grunts under his breath, and part of you might agree, but you're biased.

"If it's not too much," Erwin starts, tone lowering into a gentle timber that settles your rising anxiety. "Do you have any information about the rest of your squad?"

"Dead," you say before you can think, startled by the word on your lips. The three men look just as shocked, eyes wide and concerned. "They - sorry..." you shake your head, trying to get your thoughts in order. "We got separated, I um...I found them by accident when I started towards a nearby forest for shelter. I scavenged supplies and then...then I buried them."

Erwin nods like he understands, like he was there, but he wasn't and you're so fucking tired. There's a lull in the conversation that you're embarrassed to have caused, but you also don't know how to move forward from this.

Hange makes it easy, they always do, and you can't help the startled laugh that bubbles between your lips when they stumble into the infirmary, bowl of broth balanced precariously in their palm and what you think is probably a pitcher of water splashing onto the cuff of their jacket. "Food time!"

"Took you long enough, Four Eyes," Levi grumbles, reaching for the bowl when they trip closer to the bed. "If you fucking spill that, I swear - "

"Calm down, Shortstack, I got this," Hange cackles, plopping the pitcher on the table to your right and stretching the bowl out of Levi's reach. "I can handle a bowl of soup just fine, rein yourself in, Mama Bear." They wink at you, manic grin you've missed so much pulling at their cheeks despite the murderous glint you're sure is in Levi's glare to your left. "Open up sweetie, I have some deliciously bland broth for you here."

You accept the spoonful of broth Hange feeds you, half tempted to complain about being treated like a baby, but mostly your arms are tired, and you think your left hand might pose a problem with either the bowl or the spoon, so you decide not to care. The broth is thin like water as you expected, and just as bland as Hange bragged about. It's nicely warm down your throat, but settles about as well as your earlier drink of water. You fight to keep down the next few spoonfuls because you refuse to throw up in front of your friends, in front of Levi.

"So, I've been sort of itching to ask," Hange starts a few minutes later, and you just know they're going to ask about what kind of titan behavior you saw. Thinking of Preston has a complicated mix of longing and trepidation swirling in your chest.

"Hange..." There's a warning in Levi's voice, something you're grateful for but you also don't want your friends to tiptoe around you like something broken - even if you are, just a little bit.

"It's okay, Levi, really. I actually...I wanted to ask you something first," you mumble, tapping against Levi's whitened knuckles and staring at your lap. "We know titans are slower in the cold, but...do you think the temperature makes them docile?"

They're looking at you like you're crazy, you can feel it - except Hange, of course, who's practically vibrating. You try not to wince as the broth sloshes over the edge of the bowl. "Docile?! Docile how?!"

But you hesitate because Levi already knows about the hallucinations and what if he thinks you're making it up? What if you did? What if Preston was never actually there, or at least not there like you remember him to be? You don't know how to trust your own thoughts anymore.

You're not aware you're shaking or that you're clenching your hands until Levi's murmuring close to your ear. "Just breathe, it's okay. Whatever you saw, whatever you have to ask, it's okay."

A deep breath settles your fluttering heart. Hange is watching you with barely contained excitement. "There was this titan in the forest, eleven meters I think," you begin in a soft, almost timid voice. "It, uh, never stood up, but it was big. I used it to...to stay warm. Cut all of his joints over and over so he couldn't move. The only reason I didn't freeze to death was the steam, especially during the blizzards, I - " but you stop, suddenly sickened by the memory of a bloody muscular nook in the titan's stomach. The small amounts of broth you'd managed to choke down churn dangerously. "He never hurt me, never tried to eat me, even when I didn't have the strength to cut him up again. Just laid there, just watched me, for months."

Hange squeals your name, bouncing up and down on their heals. "You're a genius! Using their steam to survive the cold, absolutely brilliant, haHA!" They start rambling under their breath about the different ways a titan's steam could be useful and the benefits of holding a titan captive in a similar manner. Their index finger curls under the jut of their chin. "You said it just watched you? I wonder why...maybe it grew attached, or it was waiting for the perfect time to attack?"

"Preston had plenty of opportunity, he never - "

"Preston?" It's Erwin that interrupts you, one massive eyebrow raised. Your cheeks warm, blush brightening the tips of your ears, and you fumble through a few words as you try not to curl into yourself.

"I like that name!" Hange laughs, slapping your shoulder that hurts more than you'll admit and sending you a reassuring wink. "The beastie saved your life, deserves a strong name, I think. Good choice!"

Mike and Erwin both nod like it's obvious, but you're still fighting the fluster in your cheeks. Levi is weirdly silent at your side, and you're too scared to look at his reaction, so you just nod thankfully at the scientist and accept a few more spoonfuls of now lukewarm broth.

"I just wanted to know if the cold could have caused any of his strange behavior."

"Hmmm," Hange taps their chin, glasses flashing. "It could have, I suppose, but it's more likely that Preston is just an extra abnormal abnormal. Could be both. Redundant, maybe, but without observing him myself, I can't really say for sure." They smile kindly at you, placing their hand on your shoulder with a gentle squeeze. "We should just be glad Preston was there to help you come back to us."

"Yeah," you nod with half-lidded eyes, deciding not to mention that he's still alive, probably lounging beneath that massive tree. Thin arms and legs twitching, fat gut steaming. Sparkling white grin wide and sharp and straight. Yellow eyes stuck on the spot you disappeared into the horizon.

You wonder if he ever tried to follow you.

A jaw-cracking yawn interrupts your thoughts, wetness springing to the corners of your eyes, and you lean heavily into Levi's side when all your energy seams to drain from your limbs. His arm winds around your back, warm and holding you close to his chest, and you've never felt safer than when his heart beats by your ear.

"Tired?" You can hear the amusement in his voice, fingers threading through the loose strands of your hair that still smell of vinegar. Your nose curls.

You hum, burrowing further into his hold. "Mhmm, but shower first." You think you hear the others laugh, but you're too exhausted and comfortable to care at this point.

There's a few more muffled mumbles between Levi and the others before you hear the click of the infirmary door. It's just you and Levi, a tension you hadn't realized you'd been holding in your shoulders and the bend of your spine loosening in one fell swoop.

You can't remember the last time you talked this long. Your throat is sore from something other than thirst. It's refreshing, but still bothersome in its own way. You blink slowly, eyelids heavy and neck slouching.

"I wan' go t'bed," you slur, nuzzling the juncture of Levi's neck.

You feel one lean muscular arm bracing your shoulders, the other snaking gently beneath your knees. Your leg twinges when he lifts you and your hips dip a little too sharply, but mostly you're just glad not to be walking. "Thought you wanted to shower?"

"Tha' too, then bed. Our bed," you add, lips lingering on the silver ring on your thumb before placing your mangled hand over the beat of his heart. "Real."

"Yeah, I'm real," he says into your hair, chest rumbling with his words, grip tightening around your body. Safe, this is safe.

For the first time since you woke up, you're not so scared to let happiness in.

-----

It's unsettling the way your shoulders poke into his skin and your legs are thinner than his arms. You're weightless in his hold, lighter than the burden of fully stocked ODM gear at his hips, and it's fucking scary.

Levi's pretty sure if you weren't in his arms and he could hide from your beautiful gaze, he'd be on his knees heaving onto the floor.

He wants to kill Theodora Oswin. It's never been something he actually wanted to do, but this time he does. He wants to do it slowly; he wants to personally escort her outside the walls and leave her there with a broken leg.

As it stands, he'd only managed a sharp jab of his elbow into her jugular before Erwin and Mike pulled him off and practically exiled her from the Survey Corps. Too easy, too soft.

He wants her to know what she did to you, to have nightmares about the hell she forced on you. Because, even though you came back and you're breathing in his arms, she killed a part of you.

You had to bury your squad. People that trusted you with their lives, people you trained with, grew up with, people you cherished. Your friends, your family. You buried your family with your bare hands.

The severed remains of Furlan and Isabel dance behind his eyes and he's suddenly terrified of the images your mind conjures to torture you, apparently to fucking cope, according to Martha. He thinks the concept is cruel and unfair, but everything over the last three months has been the same. Levi just wishes this was something he could carry for you.

Your body will never fully recover, and even if he could erase the scars and the breaks and the hollow indent of your stomach that has marred your existence for the last three months, he can't even begin to imagine the mental toll. No, not that he can't...he's terrified to because you're seeing your dead friends and your living friends and they're saying things he's sure aren't kind.

Levi thinks of your scream when you thought he was another figment of your mind and he's scared to wonder what the mirage of him has polluted your thoughts with. He's thinks of not even an hour ago when an image of Petra had you trembling and mumbling and crying. He thinks of every time you've looked to him to confirm the breathing people in the room.

And you had to personify a damn disgusting titan just to compensate for the isolation. You named it Preston. It just...it makes him so sad to think of you huddled and shaking next to the steaming meat of a disabled titan, trying to make conversation because it's just so so quiet and if you don't fill the space with something you'll shatter within yourself.

He knows that kind of quiet, and the few days he spent whispering to his mother's body before Kenny came and whisked him away were a special kind of eternal hell he wouldn't wish on anybody.

But Preston was there for you when Levi couldn’t be, and he’s bizarrely grateful to a titan for keeping you warm and alive and maybe a little less lonely until the day you stumbled back into his arms. He's not used to such gray areas of thinking, not when it comes to the monsters that pick human bits of bone out of the crevices of their smiling teeth, but every beat of your heart and puff of air against his neck has him feeling indebted to the predator he's sworn to annihilate.

When you spoke of Preston, almost gentle, almost longing, Levi couldn't speak unless he wanted the sob he'd been holding back to rip through the feathered remains of his throat.

Preston was somehow kind to you and he's not about to curse that kind of blessing.

Levi holds you just a bit tighter, hoping enough of his warmth will sink so far into your skin that the you from weeks ago shivering in the snow will feel him and know...know that he loves you, that he never stopped, and he's so fucking sorry, but he's coming for you.

The corridors are blissfully empty of any stray cadets or higher ranking officers, likely because it's the middle of scheduled training. Not that he's in any way embarrassed to be seen cradling you to his chest. Hardly. He'd keep you there for the rest of his life if his arms could take the strain. But the staring would be annoying and the whispered gossip about the squad leader risen from the dead would set his teeth on edge and he really doesn't want to disturb your rest if he can.

You've already become a bit of a legend, and all he wants to do is shield you from tall tales that'll pull you back to that place.

The halls are cooler than the infirmary had been, so Levi is sure to walk faster towards his quarters when you start to shiver in his arms.

'Our bed,' you had mumbled before and he can't help the flutter in his ribcage or the pink rising to his ears. It's amazing how one possessive word can bring so much elation to his thumping heart. He's glad he asked Eld and Petra to scrub the room of dust and launder the sheets the morning before when he remembered the state of the untouched bed. You deserve clean and fresh and soft more than anyone.

He knows you're not asleep, though you're very close to tipping over that edge, because every few seconds you murmur under your breath or kiss his jaw or dance your fingers across the exposed skin of his throat. It gives him goosebumps. Your touch is something he never thought he'd feel again, he'll revel in anything you're willing to share with him.

His lips press to your forehead briefly before his focus shifts to the door to his office. It's takes a complicated stretch of his hand behind your back and a knock from his boot to push the door open, but you're seemingly undisturbed by his jerky movement, so he counts the clumsiness as a success.

It's still technically morning, so warm light filters into the stillness of his office. He holds back a snort when you try to hide your eyes in the lapels of his uniform as he steps to the bedroom.

Not as bright because the curtains are thankfully drawn, the air is particle free, smelling of the lemon cleansing solution he prefers for his rooms, and the bed sheets have been replaced. He notices the garishly colored throw blanket usually draped on your reading chair has been moved to quilt over the bed. Gently he lowers you into the divot of your blue chair, pressing his palm onto the new point of your cheekbone to get your attention. Your eyelids flutter, irises shining with sleepiness, but an automatic smile pulls at your lips that has his heart skipping.

You wiggle in the cushion, curious brow raising. "Mhm, feels different."

"It's more comfortable than it looks," Levi says instead of admitting he slept in the chair instead of the bed, too grief-ridden to subject himself to the too-empty mattress. The imprint of his body has replaced yours in the cushion.

You don't ask, just nod, and he thinks you might understand.

"I'm going to go prepare the bath." Levi stands, squeezing your hand when you grapple for his fingers like he's about to disappear. "You'll be able to see me the whole time. What do you want to wear to bed?"

"Sof' pants, big sweater," you mumble, clearly hesitant to pull your hand from his. One more squeeze to your palm, and then he makes his way to the wardrobe.

Soft pants means another pair of his sweats. Big sweater is this one specific pullover you purposefully bought two sizes too large because you like the way it covers your hands and reaches your knees. He thinks now you'll probably swim in the fabric, but he knows how comfortable it is because he's warn it several times over the last three months.

Maybe you'll notice his scent sunken into the fabric the same way you noticed the new dents in your cushioned chair.

He remembers to snag a pair of panties and some thick wool socks. Winter is over, but the chill lingers in the stone walls of headquarters, and the last thing he wants is for you to suffer any more cold.

Levi sets the clothes and two towels on the edge of the counter, making sure the bathroom door stays open so you can see him. He keeps the sensitive skin of his elbow under the running water to test the temperature in the tub because burning you is absolutely not an option.

Going back to that blue chair he's grown to cherish as much as you, he sit you up and helps you remove his shirt and sweats from your body. Part of him expected you to be mummified beneath the fabric, but you really only needed bandages on a few especially bad sores. They're due for cleaning and fresh wrapping anyway, so he removes them as carefully as possible so he doesn't pull at your delicate skin. He tries not to let his eyes linger on every detail of pain and neglect he finds on your person and carries you to the bath.

You sigh when you sink into the water, muscles visibly loosening as the warmth seeps into your flesh. Levi hands you your toothbrush that he could never bring himself to toss away, toothpaste already sticking to the bristles. Your eyes widen like he's just handed you gold and you immediately start scrubbing away at your teeth.

Eventually, your spit comes away lathered with blood and minty foam. You spit into the cup he holds in front of your mouth. He rinses the brush, puts more toothpaste on it, and hands it back to you because he knows the fuzzy feeling of built up plaque. You brush your teeth two more times before the red fades from your spit and you scrub away the film of time on your tongue. Levi cleans the toothbrush and the cup, placing both in their rightful place on the vanity.

He uses a different cup to wet your hair, pressing his hand over your forehead to protect your eyes.

"Do you think Erwin's going to discharge me?" Your question stalls him in the midst of squirting a dollop of soap onto his hand.

He huffs, lathering his hands until the soap is bubbling. You lean into his fingers scrubbing at your scalp, the vinegar smell disappearing under the soft floral scent. "You're the only person ever to have survived in titan territory for more than a few days, and alone at that, he'd be a damn idiot to let you go."

"But I can't fight anymore..."

Levi's jaw clenches through his frown, hiding behind your head as he rinses away the soap with gentle touches. "You shouldn't have to, you've fought enough."

"I just...you don't think I'm useless now?"

"What?" He's breathless, he's sad, he's angry. He takes a deep chestful of air and focuses on rubbing the citrus body soap into the sharp ridges of your spine. "Don't be stupid, you're hardly useless."

"Enlighten me then," you grumble, wrapping your arms around your legs and hiding your pout in the caps of your knees.

"You can strategize with Bushy Brow - "

You scoff, "Like he even needs help with that."

"More than you think. And besides, I'm sure Shitty Glasses would love to recruit you into their experiments and research, if that's something you want. Or you could guide training, our cadets could learn a thing or two from you." You just shrug noncommittally, moving your body as he guides so he can wash under your arms and down to your ankles. "You can do all my paperwork from now on."

Satisfaction blooms in his chest when you actually laugh. "Yeah, you got it."

He carefully rinses the suds from your body, pulls the plug for the water to drain, and guides you into a standing position balanced mostly against his side, wrapping you in one of the fluffy towels before you fully register the chilly air. "You'll never be useless, get that nonsense out of your head," he orders, dropping the other towel on your head to dry your hair.

"I love you."

Levi melts inside at the words, hoping to hear them and say them to you for the rest of your lives. "I love you more," he says against your hand, kissing the scarred knuckles.

"Impossible," you tease, and despite the little grin he gives you, he doesn't feel any amusement. He can't imagine anyone feeling anything more than the love he holds for you in his heart.

In a wonderfully comfortable silence, he rebandages the worst of the wounds and helps you into your pajamas. He was right, the sweater swallows you up, and you look so tiny. It's as endearing as it is tragic.

The bed has never looked as inviting as the sight of you sitting on the edge, watching him while he removes the bulk of his uniform. The belts he hangs on the door of the wardrobe, boots stacked next to it, while the rest gets piled into the hamper in the corner of the room until he's left in just his briefs. He's always run a bit on the hotter side, and he wants to feel as much of you as possible against his skin, swathed in warming fabric or not.

He joins you under the sheets and the knitted blanket. You're already huddling close to his chest before he has a chance to pull you in, and all Levi can do is marvel at your head tucked under his chin, hands cupping the beat of his heart, legs twining with his own.

It hits him all over again that you're alive.

You did that, you kept your promise, you came back to him. He wants to kneel at your feet in thanks, but settles for reveling in the brush of your breath against his skin.

"Levi?" Your voice tickles his ear.

"Hm?"

"Can you make me some tea when I wake up?" You say with a gentle timidity like he wouldn't bring the world to its knees if you asked him to.

He smiles, hiding the tears prickling his eyes in the softness of your hair. "Sure," Levi mumbles, holding you just a bit closer. "With a spoonful of honey." You hum contently in his arms, already drifting into sleep.

This is what perfection feels like, what home feels like.

He's missed it.

-----

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it hurts to see your ex, someone you truly and unconditionally loved, moving on and having the best time of their life a month after they broke up with you while you are still heartbroken and sad.

It feels like life is always leaving me behind.

All my friends are with their lifetime partners. Some are family planning with their spouses.

And here I am, still searching for my person.

Has this been done yet ? I hope not.

Hope, that’s where I went wrong.

You were my first. I didn’t know what love was.

I didn’t know what it should’ve felt like.

But I’d hoped it felt like you.

I loved you, with everything I was. I gave to you everything I had. I knew you inside and out. You became a part of me.

And I’d hoped I were a part of you too

It wasn’t always a bed of roses.

We had our ups and our downs, but we fixed it for each other.

And I’d hoped we always would.

Each time time we fell apart, I was always here.

Even when you walked away, found others, more than once, I was always here.

Because you came back to me.

And I’d hoped you always will.

But you didn’t.

You killed the love I thought you were.

You ripped me right out, like I were nothing more than a button in your life.

And you walked right away.

Maybe that’s where I went wrong, I hoped.

I’d hoped to receive the love I gave.

Or maybe it was that I waited.

I couldn't walk away. Even though you did.

No matter how I tried, I couldn’t.

Because I’d hoped, deep down I’d hoped, you and me would be what we once were.

Even now, a year after you walked all over my heart, I see you, and I hope.