(relationships can be read as platonic or romantic!)

(post chapter 115 but can be read as a stand-alone!)

It's either the musk of bark and soil, the sound of mating swallows, or the dewy mist of the evening's air tire him something fierce. Maybe, he thinks, it's all three.

The trees that surround him a multiplicity look as unchanging as ever, basking in their mellow yellows and vibrant viridescence. What would usually be regarded as a welcoming sight to others seem to all but annoy him as of late.

Different hues of greys and pearls seem to shroud the sky more often these days. Today it seems the clouds have adopted a much darker shade than usual. He hasn't seen the sky in months.

Right now, however, none of that matters. Right now, there's only one thing that does.

The familiar dulcet tones of green and amber have been taunting him from afar ever since he's learned how to stand on his own two feet again. It's just a simple hickory tree. It's only a few metres ahead of him, but he still hasn't been able to reach it.

This time, however, he'll make it. Just a few more steps.

Sweat beads onto his brow, stinging as it drips from his forehead. His bandages tighten around his face, neck, and thighs as he pushes himself forward.

He steps. He takes a lengthy pause. The soil latches onto his heel and flicks as he struggles to lift his leg off the ground. It piles atop his worn leather shoes and he tsks.

He steps. His weight shifts faster than he can manage and he staggers. His muscles burn like mad, as if pleading him to rest. He grips the branch by his side even stronger. His knuckles turn white.

"Levi—!"

Without his consent, he hears them approach. If he wasn't so distracted by the pain scorching his every limb, he would've given them the deadliest glare he could manage with the only functioning eye he has.

Immediately, he shouts behind him as sharply as he can, "Hange!"

A pause. "You've made enough progress today," they argue.

"Hange," Levi snarls back. He doesn't spare them a glance. "Don't."

Hange stops. Levi can feel the glare from his comrade searing at the back of his head. For a moment, nobody moves.

Suddenly, Levi feels the beginnings of rainfall tack onto his skin. He watches as the droplets cascade down the dainty leaves of the hickory tree, creating small craters in the ground as it ripples onto the dry soil. He adjusts his grip on the branch once more, determined to keep his footing for just a little longer.

Then, with a sigh, he hears Hange step back. Their reluctance is as audible as the crunch of gravel underneath their shoes, but he shakes his head with a strengthened resolve. He takes another breath, finally releasing the branch.

He steps. Droplets of water begin to seep through his bandages as they pull against his body. Some squeeze in resistance while others loosen, threatening to fall.

He steps. It's just as painful as the last. His legs are trembling despite his efforts to keep them still. He can feel himself falter, but he won't allow himself to stop. Not when he's so close.

He steps.

He steps.

He falls.

Levi's muscles retaliate, halting him where he stands. This time, the shock of pain forces him to lose his footing and he lurches forward, no longer in control of his own body. Before he knows it, he's bracing for impact.

"Levi!" A pair of strong arms latch onto his chest and shoulders, drawing him upwards before he can reach the ground. As one arm is hoisted around their shoulder, Hange stares at him, eyes chagrined, yet filled with worry.

"I think that's enough for today," they say.

And if he's honest, it infuriates him.

The clouds continue to spit steadily as Hange drags Levi back to their shelter.

Despite his clear animosity, Hange doesn't give him a chance to argue. Ignoring his silent brooding, they busy themselves with gathering the supplies splayed throughout their camp and shields them away from the sopping wet weather— lest a storm come in fruition. Blankets, pots, and the last of their bandages are stowed beside their cots in the last empty corner of their shelter.

He leans his weight against the wooden post of the lean-to, the strength utterly sapped out of his body. Hange joins him, a heavy sigh escaping their lips. They wipe away at their glasses with the hem of their cape. "This rain won't let up, will it?"

Levi doesn't speak for a moment, choosing to disregard Hange as they did him. Instead, Levi tugs at his dressings, ripping away at the ends of the soaked gauzes.

"Shitty bandages," Levi mutters, ire clear in his voice. "Shitty rain."

They're restricting my movement, he thinks to himself. I was so close.

"Levi, stop," Hange says, firmly. They grab his arm before he can ruin any more of his coverings. He jerks his hand away.

"Ackerman is coming later today, isn't she?" he counters, continuing to unravel. "She'll bring more, anyway." He signals Hange for the remaining clean bandages. They roll their eyes.

"That's not the point. Let your wounds heal, dammit."

"And how long will that take?" Levi challenges with a glare. Hange gives him a pointed look, but when Levi doesn't waver, Hange lets out a breath.

They both understand what he means.

The pitters of raindrops ricochet off of the timber of their stronghold, bouncing across the leaves and twigs binding it together. The once faint drizzling has grown into a much heavier shower. Any stronger and it could pose a problem.

"You need to leave," Levi suggests, watching as the rain gathers slowly at the bottom of their sodden fire pit. "You won't be able to reach the Marleyans in time if it starts pouring."

They nod. "I know," Hange agrees, "but I'll have to wait until Mikasa arrives."

"She'll be here any moment," Levi responds impassively, and then more determined, "you can't afford to waste time."

He recalls the sickening message that awoke him from his comatose state. Those Yeager brats have us on our toes.

"I can't leave you alone."

Levi scoffs. "I'm injured, but I'm not completely helpless."

"Exactly my point," Hange says in frustration. "You'll probably get yourself killed by slipping on a tree branch attempting to walk again."

He glares. "I'm not a child, Hange."

"Then stop acting like one."

Levi flinches in disbelief. With each second that passes, the rain falls with more ferocity than the last.

The tension stretches thin, but Hange is the first to cave, shaking their head solemnly. "Honestly, Levi . . ." they let out, gaze falling downcast. Hange pauses, deciding not to doesn't finish their thought. A wise choice, Levi thinks as he turns away, letting his head fall back upon the shelter's stake.

With a rustle, Hange flips the hood of their cloak over their head. The sound of steel and mud resonates against his eardrums as Hange drags their maneuvering gear over from its place under the awning, surely covered with grime and dust. The silence grows as Hange zips, tightens, and clips the equipment together. It takes quite a while, but soon, he hears a short breath of gas puff in a whisper and a pair of steel cylinders scraping against each other with a clink. A test.

Levi sighs to himself. All unmistakable sounds. At least, he thinks, the gear sounds safe enough to use.

When he hears their boots trot towards him, however, Levi shuts his eyes in feigned sleep. They pause, stopping for only a moment, but Levi just knows that same look of pity he so often catches in the glint of Hange's eyes is plastered onto their face. His jaw tightens.

"I'll be taking my leave," they announce with a tone of reservation. A clatter. After a beat, Levi feels the weight of a light fabric drape atop his body, unbidden. They adjust their gear once more. "Just rest, Levi. That's all you can do for yourself right now."

Then, a step, a flutter, and a zip. Hange's presence disappears in echoes and Levi is only left with the cacophony of heavy rain as his solace. He opens his eyes and straightens, one of the paper-thin sheets they've been using as blankets falling from across his body to his hips.

Leaves of the hickory tree rattle away in the water and wind, only metres away. Maybe it's the rain playing tricks on him, but the leaves of burnt orange and stark chartreuse seem to beam brighter under the evening light. With a grunt, he perches onto his elbows behind him, lifting his body weight to sit on a recline. A shock seizes his arm.

That's all you can do for yourself right now.

He clenches his fists.

The pain only lasts so long, anyway.

Levi isn't sure which is pounding the strongest— his head, his heart, or this goddamn rain.

He's at a standstill, leaning upon the trunk of a beechwood tree. His feet are planted on its roots, the muddled soil beneath him pooling water together in puddles. His energy is wrung dry already, just at the motion of holding himself upright against the odds of a simple rainstorm.

Is this what he's come to? That a mere change in weather can render him so helpless? Humanity's strongest reduced to such a state where he can barely stand without winding himself?

He grits his teeth. Like hell, he'll allow that.

With a burst of momentum, he lurches forward and away from his support, using only its branches to keep him from toppling over. His legs are positioned to hold his balance, but the strength in them is close to none.

He steps. As his legs slug behind him, he thrusts his body onwards without its consent. His feet drag and drop in place, keeping his body from hunching further. He blinks, and then again, and then again— the rain drowning his line of sight. He reaches for the next branch.

He misses.

His hand narrowly scrapes the end of the bough as his right leg lapses forward. He curses, his joint buckling on itself as he abruptly plants his foot into the crater of mud by his feet, barely catching himself from falling. The shock from the sudden movement burns at his thighs. It threatens to give out.

He heaves through the searing throes, and again, he reaches. This time, he catches it. His nails rake across the stem of the branch, clasping onto it with dear life.

He steps. The wind accelerates. His hand reaches for the next branch to his left. The rain pelts upon his face, his hair, his clothes, cutting into him like a thousand tiny knives. He feels an excruciating tension from his dressings, soaked and worn from the stress. It tightens against him again like a signal, but this time, he grabs it at its end and jerks it to his side, freeing himself from the restraints. His tendons are laid bare and the rain takes no mercy. It bites at him, relentless in its torture.

He thinks he should be sweating but the rain makes it impossible to tell. He can feel the heat of his blood bursting out from his wounds, bandages be damned.

That's all you can do for yourself right now.

He steps.

This time, he'll make it. And Levi doesn't care what it takes to get him there.

"Captain...?"

An unexpected voice calls for him amidst the booming rain.

He slips.

"Captain—!"

A gasp escapes his lips as his left knee strikes the ground, and he roars in anguish. Stabs of pain reverberate throughout every bone in his body as the sound of mud and metal races towards him.

"What are you doing out here?!" Her usual mellow voice is drowned out by the sheer volume of the torrents and the ringing in his ears. Instead, she's yelling, a temper in her voice that he, in taking a moment to think about, hasn't heard from her in a while.

Her arm stretches out towards him, reaching to grab him by the shoulder, but he doesn't let her. He swings his arm with as much force as he can manage, knocking her back. She stumbles.

"Don't touch me, Ackerman!" Levi doesn't even look at the girl, but he can feel the worry in her eyes. He mumbles under his breath, "this time, I'm going to make it."

He can't stop now.

"Sir—!" she calls him again, but he'll hear none of it.

"Ackerman! Don't you dare," he shouts— no, pleas.

A gust of wind encircles him and the storm heightens to its peak. The hickory tree crackles in the provocation.

I can make it.

The girl stays stunned in her place, clearly taken aback. She doesn't move any closer.

That's right, he thinks. Just watch me.

Levi blinks away the salt stinging at his eyes. He focuses on his breathing, inhaling deeply to stabilize the aching in his lungs. He clenches his lips shut, biting down hard enough to draw blood. It's bitter.

Watch me.

This time, he'll make it. Just a few more.

He steps. His muscles contract and resist, and Levi sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth at the strain. He's panting now, clutching at his chest. He chokes at bile building in the back of his throat. As he moves, his clothes fasten onto him like weights, working in every way to pull him down.

He steps. Yes, he thinks to himself. He's one step farther than the last.

He steps. Blood, sweat, saliva, and rain paints his face in a mask.

He steps. The hickory tree rustles.

He steps.

He falls.

"Levi!"

Finally, his legs give out, forcing Levi to surrender against his will. He wants to scream. He wants to yell. He's so frustrated at the pain— at himself.

It's all he can do for himself, anyway.

The voice that calls out to him rushes to his side to ease his fall. The rain drips from her skin and onto his own and he's realized that even though he's stopped moving, the pain still remains.

He peers into her eyes wildly, a question screaming at her despite not having enough energy to utter out another word.

Why?

Why did you catch me?

Why didn't you let me fall?

She doesn't say a word, but the sympathy in her eyes answers for her.

To some, rain is calming— refreshing, even. To Levi, rain is only a nuisance. A bother. A pain in the ass.

He hates the sound of it all the most. Irritating at its best and violent at its worst. It forces him to stay put, which to him, is never a good thing. It leaves him too much time alone in his thoughts.

A fresh bag of dressings, threads, and equipment are tossed to the side of the shelter, opened in display. A pile of old gauzes caked in bright reds and dark browns lay limply on the ground, too soddened to take in any more content.

Levi lays limply on his cot, her cape cushioning his head, paying no mind to the sheets and blankets currently drenched underneath him. They stay suspended in silence, the only exchange of words being her mumbled apologies when she inadvertently grazes over his wounds. Mikasa is very diligent, actually— careful to disinfect thoroughly, thread cautiously, and wrap tightly. She tuts when she needs him to move, shift or turn, and before he knows it, she's finished.

After a moment, her shoulders straighten, lips parting to speak before she closes it up again. He can tell she wants to say something— anything — but again, he doesn't allow it.

A sharp twinge in his side forces him to let out a hiss as he moves, turning his back away from the soldier's piercing eyes. She doesn't help him, however, and a part of him is grateful for that. Instead, she settles herself by his feet, leaning upon the stake adjacent his but still sheltered under its roof.

Their silence, however, is not nearly as comforting as he'd like it to be. Even as the sound of the rain thunders in his ears, the words left unspoken seem deafeningly louder.

Finally, Mikasa is the first to speak.

"Captain . . ."

"If you're going to reprimand me, I suggest you save it," he interrupts, unexpectedly— surprising even himself. Regardless, his eyes remain closed, sighing impassively. "I've heard enough of that with Hange up my ass."

"While that was my initial thought," she speaks, voice starting softly, "that's not what I was going to say."

Tch. "So what, then?"

"Your perseverance is admirable, Captain. Impressive, really," she states. The cadence in her voice almost convinces him to believe it, but her sentence trails. He can sense the sullen expression on her face by her voice alone. He opens his eyes but doesn't turn to face her.

"But?" The question slips free from his lips as he raises a brow fruitlessly. She takes in a sharp breath as she pauses, gambling her next words.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Just say it already, Ackerman."

She doesn't continue for at least another moment, almost as if considering her thoughts. Despite himself, he shifts uncomfortably. The ache from his injuries refuses to subside.

"While usually I look up to your strength and determination," she reveals, slowly. "I must admit, this time, I found you quite . . ." her voice falters as she pauses, ". . . pitiful."

The final word echoes off the walls of wooden planks caging them together. The breath of the wind blows against his skin.

He shivers.

"I mean . . ." she starts again. In the corner of his eyes, he sees her hand extend towards her neck, but hesitates when it touches bare skin. It falls to her lap. "I believe you could've gotten much farther had you allowed yourself some help."

A beat passes. She didn't say much, only a quiet sentence or two, but the rushing rain does nothing to impair him of the weight of her words— and the words she left unsaid — almost as if drowning him. His mind wishes he didn't prod her, but his heart is glad that he did. It's the strength of the branches as he held onto them, the sturdiness of the trees as he leaned against them, the open arms waiting to save him as he pushed them away. The help has always been there— right by his side. It's just a matter of if he chooses to take it.

He wants to laugh, really. For the second time that day, Levi is left speechless. He's been dismantled. Completely taken apart.

And it's clear to see only he can piece himself back together.

He sighs to himself, lids falling to a close, and in the back of his mind, he wonders why his wounds don't feel as painful anymore.

The heavy muck and slimy dirt cling onto his boots as the smell of the wet earth stifles his senses with dread. As if a rainstorm wasn't bad enough, the aftermath was just as maddening.

As usual, she's gone when he wakes. Hange has taken Mikasa's place by his side, a look of disapproval clear in their eyes as he stands in front in the familiar path ahead. They shake their head. "You can't be serious."

"Hange, just trust me." The wind whistles in Levi's ear as he clutches onto the vein of a branch to his left. The verdant green and maple orange of that bloody hickory tree sway about, goading him forward. "I'll make it this time."

"You say that every time," he catches them mumbling under their breath, but he knows they weren't trying to be discreet anyway.

"Really, Hange," he says with a tone of finality. "This time, for sure."

Hange doesn't say another word. Instead, they cross their arms and step back, still clearly unconvinced. Gathering himself, Levi closes his eyes and inhales. The petrichor no longer feels so suffocating.

When he opens his eyes again, he has only one goal in his sight.

He steps. His feet trudges heavily along the path of mud, forcing a pressure on his quads and flexors. It's much more difficult than he thought it would be.

He steps. His dressings pull at his skin, but don't seem to strangle him anymore. Instead, they secure him.

He steps. A grunt leaves his mouth as he reaches for a branch to his right. He grasps onto it with fervor, palms struggling to keep a firm grip.

He steps. Levi grits his teeth. He's already sweating, huffing to such an extent even when he's only a third of the way there. His tendons are calling for his attention and the humid air only makes it harder to move fluidly.

It's pathetic.

When he takes his next step, the pain from his limbs jerks him backward, forcing him to stutter.

But this time, Levi stops.

That's all you can do for yourself right now.

"Hange," Levi calls for them, turning his head ever so slightly so that his gaze catches theirs. Hange's brows are raised rather curiously in his regard. Levi 's shoulders slump as he continues to strain against himself.

You could've gotten much farther had you allowed yourself some help.

He looks towards Mikasa's cape in the distance, hung out to dry on a piece of twine. It flows eagerly in the light morning breeze.

Levi sighs, a resigned wryness entering his voice. "Lend me a shoulder, will you?"

Hange blinks. For a moment, they remain in their place and their arms fall from across themselves to their sides. It's usually a small victory, catching Hange so off-guard, but he's a little preoccupied to feel anything but irritation.

Then, in the next moment, Hange smiles.

A hand is tucked onto the right of his waist as his arm drapes across the back of Hange's neck and shoulder. He draws in a ragged breath as they shift, but this time, there's no pain accompanied with it— instead, it's just the contented sneer of his comrade beside him. Funnily enough, the dancing colours of titian and fir no longer feel so out of reach.

Together, they step.

This time, Levi doesn't fall.