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press four for more options. | part four.
( Read on AO3 )
Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4.6k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - alternate universe (modern), sex work, pet names, alcohol, mentions of drugs, jokes about death Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics
part three. / return to part one. | masterlist
Night comes around.
You do not call.
In fact, you don't call the Scout Services Hotline a single time that whole weekend.
As you scroll mindlessly through social media in your bed, fluttering between apps without retaining a single word or meme, your cell phone weighs heavily in your hand.
Don't call.
Just don't call.
It isn't like you're devoid of things to do.
Going out is an option.
Being around people may help your mood — but you don’t feel like unearthing from your snuggie poncho.
Putting on a movie can be a great distraction — but you know your attention span would barely last through the opening credits.
It was him.
Right there.
Right in front of you.
Levi from Scout Services, alive and in the flesh, holding your phone.
No amount of mental gymnastics can make you doubt otherwise.
He has a voice like no other; one that haunts your day dreams and soothes your nightmares, one that brings this sudden urge to do better for yourself—
Ironically, to be independent and strong on your own.
Which, actually, really fucking sucks now that you’re stuck with the decision to totally disappear from the gym, too.
(Kind of thwarts the whole ‘new me’ chest-puffing you’d started Friday with.)
So you make a final decision:
You still have to go to the gym Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.
Even if you say nothing, keep to yourself, remain a shadow, you have to go.
(There’s a fragile line drawn in the sands of reality. You can toe the edge, but you refuse to. This is his livelihood. You’re not delusional to believe you’re a main character exception.)
Coincidentally, Levi goes every day, too.
Your stomach flip-flops with the unsettling realization that your perch on a treadmill actually gives you a perfect vantage point to watch him as he sets his station up every morning.
Meticulously he sets towels down to place his shaker bottle and water thermos down, as if worried the ground hadn’t been cleaned overnight.
He even takes the disinfectant cloths and cleans every dumbbell he lines up neatly before starting his workout.
The dark-haired man truly is less-than-average in height, which isn’t a turn-off to you in the slightest, but his arms — his goddamn arms.
Levi wasn’t kidding when he told you that he could pick you up.
He could probably pick two of you up, one arm each.
They’re so toned, his forearms veiny from morning dehydration.
Training vigorously in his own world, not once does he notice that you’re the bumbling idiot that’s tripped on the treadmill (see: a few times) from dissociating.
Hell, he hasn’t a single fucking clue that you’re close enough to yell across the room to him.
Would he know?
That you’re Scarlet.
His, in some made-up world.
(Does your voice stand out in a sea of lonely people?)
The cleaning ritual extends to his cooldown, where he properly cleans each piece of equipment before nestling it back in its place.
Levi sits on his phone for a second, dropping down to a bench to scroll — text messages.
(Damn it, have you really resorted to minor stalking?)
As soon as he stands, though, you drop your chin to watch your sneakers rhythmically pass one another on the treadmill belt.
He passes like a ghost, evaporating into the men’s locker room without a word.
This is torture.
You miss him.
But you still refuse to call.
Can't — because in another world you may be his, but in this world, he is not yours.
.
.
— —
.
.
Tuesday night rolls around and you decide you hate life.
Annie, Eren, Reiner, and Mikasa are already there by the time you walk into the downtown hotspot.
The boys as well as Mikasa are still in their suit attire from work, their ties loosened at their necks. Annie’s in a hoodie and jeans, clearly much more interested in having a comfortable evening.
If the emptied shot glasses are any indicator of the plans for this evening, then you steel yourself for one hell of a Wednesday.
You glide through the busy crowds of the bar towards the group.
Bodies upon bodies crowd this place — it’s never not a zoo at this hour, no matter the day. Saying excuse me would only waste breath.
A live band croons on the far end of the smoky bar, forcing everyone to talk ten decibels higher just to hear the conversation.
(Can’t you turn around and go home while you’re ahead?)
In the sea of people, a pair of emerald green eyes over by a cluster of tables in the right-hand corner catch your movement. They widen, recognizing your face, and a lopsided grin of surprise follows.
“Holy shit, she left her cave!” Eren yells, holding up a cheap beer in salute to your arrival.
(Thanks Jeager, you little fuck.)
You don’t hear what she says, but you can see Mikasa’s lips part in tandem with a sharp elbow jab straight to his ribs.
Eren instantly falters his salute, souring in pain.
“I know. Don’t be so shocked,” you state to your colleagues, leaning up against the circular high-top table. “Am I the last to show?”
“Nah, you’re right on time. Armin and Jean’re on their way,” Reiner grunts, holding onto a comically small cosmopolitan in his rather large hand. “Sasha’s on babysitting duty with Nicco.”
You look around the bar for any other familiar faces.
“And Connie?”
“Passed out,” Mikasa supplies. “Took edibles after work.”
“There’s no chance in hell anyone’s waking him,” Eren snorts. “Fucker’s toast.”
Reiner sighs. “For what it’s worth, Jean tried.”
“No, Armin tried,” Annie corrects, finally piping up. She holds something on the rocks — brandy? Whiskey? You can’t tell. “Jean just laughed and kept trying to draw shit on his face.”
“You didn’t see the Snapchat he sent?” Eren asks after a gulp of his beer.
You shake your head, knowing damn well you’ve avoided using your phone for the last several days.
Missed texts, abandoned tagged tweets, your streak in your mobile game ruined — anything so you wouldn’t be tempted to click that little number.
Damn it.
Enough wallowing.
“I’m gonna go grab a drink,” you state, disengaging with the table. “Anyone need anything?”
From your peripheral, you see a familiar mop of blonde hair walking towards your group. At his side is a much taller man sliding through the crowd, navigating the shorter one to the tiny table you’ve commandeered from the masses.
Armin and Jean.
Reiner and Annie shake their heads.
“Nope, I’m solid.”
“Good here.”
“Eren’s got the next round of shots,” Mikasa flatly states. “You’re fine.”
“Ha, hell yeah!” Eren exclaims, before he settles into a confused pause of silence. His head whips to Mikasa, blinking twice. “Wait, what?”
You don’t stick around for that aftermath.
Squeezing back into the lion’s den of people, you try not to get hit with any too-full beverages or waving hands.
You manage to weave and duck, eventually finding a small empty corner at the edge of the bar.
Success.
You rush to claim it before someone else can, your forearm on the wooden surface.
Holding up two fingers to get the one of the three bartender’s attention, she nods once to acknowledge she sees you — she’ll get there eventually.
Two empty stools are available, so you scoot onto the one closest to the wall while waiting for your turn and drop your purse onto the other while you situate yourself.
It’ll likely take a while if the busyness of the staff has anything to say about it.
An hour.
All you need to do is last one whole hour.
Chat a bit, mingle a little so everyone at work doesn’t think you’re a total goddamn recluse, then you can go—
“Is this seat taken?”
A question sounding to your left breaks your train of thought.
The seat.
The one next to you, where your purse lay.
Way to go, dumbass.
You answer on autopilot, not thinking twice about it.
“Oh — shit, yeah. I mean, no! No it’s not. I’m sorry.”
As your torso turns to grab your purse off of the deep red stool, your eyes drop to make sure nothing spills out of it.
“Hold on, let me just move—”
Your chin lifts to find yourself staring eye to eye with Levi.
Wait.
Levi?!
His cheekbones look even sharper under the warm hue of the bar lights overhead, lips parted like he was interrupted in asking a question.
The whites of his eyes grow more prominent with every passing second, making the blue-gray color of them stand out in stark contrast to the black curtain of fringe falling against his temples.
The realization that you spoke — that he’s seen your face before — seems to be hitting him like a goddamn freight train.
Your blood runs cold as your own eyes round.
“...my stuff.”
Weakly you finish your thought, wishing for nothing but death right now.
Maybe a stranger, like a secret agent with wicked strength, will simply rush the bar and put you in a headlock and knock you out.
Maybe your drink will be poisoned.
You’re happy for anything so long as it’s swift.
Levi grunts in acknowledgement, slowly finding a spot on the empty stool beside yours.
Both of you swivel towards the bar, staring ahead.
Silence.
For what feels like hours, neither of you speak. The noise of the bar becomes overwhelming.
Somehow the surrounding voices feel amplified when you’ve lost your own.
It’s trapped between a thousand apologies and half a dozen explanations that sound worse than the one before it.
You need to get up.
Excuse yourself out.
Leave.
You won’t get your damn drink, but that’s fine so long as you’re not here.
“How’s your phone?”
Eventually Levi speaks, and you find yourself wishing he hadn’t.
The effect of his voice is even worse in person — so buttery smooth, the gravel much deeper in his chest now that there isn’t a phone receiver to dilute it.
“Not… damaged,” you reply cautiously.
“Good.”
Another stretch of silence passes, and you forget about ordering drinks altogether.
Your eyes drop to view his folded hands, how the veins protrude even when resting.
His fingers are slender, strong, and hate yourself for yearning.
You have to apologize.
This is crossing a line.
You need to—
“So—”
“I’m canceling my subscription.”
You blurt a fraction later than Levi, proclaiming your innocence before he can ever condemn it.
When you meet his steely eyes, they squint with curiosity.
From the crown of your head to your chin, he assesses in a serpentine pattern before eventually finding your eyes once more.
“How come?” he asks, leaning further against the bar top.
“I— how come?”
You repeat his question in surprise.
Wildly gesturing towards the space between you with your hand, you snort.
“Uh, because that’s the right thing to do in this circumstance? Because seeing you in person is borderline unethical?”
He hums at that, not giving you much to work with.
“And for the record, I did not stalk you to this bar.”
“Didn’t think you did.”
“I’m actually here with friends—”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
Levi interrupts, seemingly unbothered by your rambling.
“At the gym. I can make an educated guess and say you knew it was me from the second I opened my trap, but you didn’t say anything.”
Why isn’t he freaking out?
Shouldn’t he be freaking out?
Just as you open your mouth to continue professing your innocence, the bartender walks over and points to you.
“What can I get you?”
You blanch, no longer remember how to order drinks.
“I—”
“I got her tab,” Levi interrupts casually, tapping his index finger into the counter. “Two hard seltzers.”
Then he has the audacity to glance your way.
“Pineapple, right?”
Holy shit, he remembers your favorite flavor?
Is this a flex?
(It kind of feels like a flex; a way to say I know you, I was there.)
“...pineapple’s fine,” you murmur in return, hesitant.
The bartender doesn’t waste another second to rummage in the mini fridge on the other side of the bar for two slim cans.
For another agonizing thirty seconds, neither of you say a word.
He raises his chin to watch whatever sport’s game is playing overhead on the television.
You stare at your mirrored reflection in the bar backsplash.
This is real life.
The man you’ve spent hours talking to over the phone to, getting off to, is sitting right beside you, yet he isn’t trying to create distance.
If anything, he’s buying you a damn drink and asking you why.
Why didn’t you say something?
“I didn’t say anything at the gym because that would have been extremely inappropriate,” you finally argue under your breath, keeping the conversation strictly between you. “What would I have said? ‘Oh hey, guy I've paid to talk to on the phone every single night for the past week. Isn’t it crazy that I actually go to the same gym as you?’ That’s so creepy.”
When he says nothing, still staring at you, you continue to bury yourself into a deeper grave.
“I mean, I thought you lived, like… a billion miles from me. Maybe from another planet.”
His brows pinch with amusement.
“On Mars, or…?”
Oh.
He’s joking.
He’s actually joking about this.
You turn your chin, brow furrowed. “This isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, and you have to force yourself to maintain eye contact.
“I wondered why you looked so scared of me on Friday. Thought maybe I smelled like shit from my workout.”
No, you want to say. Unfortunately it was the goddamn opposite.
“So you’re not…”
“Worried you’re a stalker trying to dox me because of my job?”
Levi blatantly finishes, and you wince.
Clearly he notices your embarrassment, because he sighs and relaxes his shoulders.
“I’m more pissed that you didn’t call all weekend, but then again, that’s the nature of the job.”
You both watch each other for a moment as the bartender returns, passing you both pineapple hard seltzers to nurse.
He pushes your can to your hand, nudging the icy-cold aluminum against your thumb, then picks up his own.
“The nature of the job?” you repeat, and he nods.
“People get bored. Run out of funds. Novelty wears off fast.”
Levi shrugs, sipping his drink.
“Just because you like talking to someone doesn’t mean they stick around. Wouldn’t blame 'em — shit gets expensive quick.”
“I just…”
You trail off, fighting to find the correct words to say.
“...I thought it wasn’t right to call again, knowing I knew what you looked like, so I didn’t.”
Explaining yourself makes your tongue feel sluggish, like you were caught red-handed in a crime you didn’t know you’d committed until hindsight.
“I can leave you alone,” you decide to add, holding your drink tighter. “Like I said, I’m here with my friends and… after all, you were doing your job. A great job. You’re kind of the reason I’m even here in the first place.”
Levi’s brow knits, and your eyes widen.
“Not like that!”
“Pretty shit at asserting yourself even in person,” he murmurs like it’s a cheeky inside joke, and he sips once more. “So how am I the reason?”
He’s not angry.
Hell, he’s conversational.
Not the least bit worried about how you’ve both managed to get here.
Might as well be honest.
“Because I decided to stop being a little less scared of the world,” you confess softly. “It— That’s why I got to the gym so early on Friday. I wanted to start doing strength training, like how you talk about how much you love it. And… I thought, maybe, I’d spend more time with friends. Get out there more. Be more assertive — beyond right now, obviously.”
The dark-haired man’s expression smooths at that in a mixture of recognition and surprise.
The slide of his brow is beautiful, and your heart squeezes at the sight of an animated Levi in the flesh, just as you pictured.
“Do you have to go back to your friends right now?”
At first you don’t quite register his question, but then it causes butterflies to flutter in your stomach.
He looks left to right, as if trying to find your troop of buddies, before returning his attention back to you.
“You don’t… want me to leave?”
Levi shakes his head.
You feel bolted to your stool, unable to move even if you wanted to.
Simultaneously you sip your drinks, keeping eye contact.
It feels intimate.
Too intimate.
“So, then…” You start slowly. “What does this mean?”
“Well,” Levi begins, mulling it over in his head. “Means the whole provider-client relationship has basically gone to shit. You know my face, now I know yours.”
“Right.”
“Then again, that professionalism was already well into a shit pile way before Friday morning.”
You blink, not following. “Huh?”
“There’s nothing in the company policy about what to do when you stumble into your client at the damn local gym, but there sure as hell wasn’t anything about…”
Levi trails off, clenching his jaw in debate.
“...about crossing the line I practically leapt over. I’m good at my job because of my detachment, but this was the only time I bordered on unethical myself. That wasn’t fair to you, and I’m sorry.”
Sorry.
Levi… was sorry?
The words blurt faster than you can stop yourself. “Why the hell are you sorry?”
His eyes widen with a budding uncertainty.
“I… just said I crossed the line?”
“When?”
“On the phone?”
“Okay, duh, but when?”
“Our last session.”
“So that was real.”
Levi actually got off to your voice.
If you weren’t in such shock about sitting here face-to-face with him at a local bar, then perhaps your ego would have, in fact, made a crash landing on Mars.
He considers his next words very carefully.
“It wasn’t supposed to be.”
Then he sips more before shaking his head.
“Look. It’s… a job a friend of mine got me. I’m not a real-life Casanova or any of that shit. Hell, most of my time was spent training punks to fight in a boxing ring, so I never had the energy for relationships or dating.”
You can't hide your surprise. “You were a fighter?”
He makes a noncommittal face.
“Loosely. Personal trainer, training in general — fell into it after I got out of the service.”
“Right, you were in the army,” you murmur, and the edge of his lips upticks at your recollection.
“A couple of months ago the gym I worked for went under, money got tight, so I thought I’d try it out. Guess everyone says it's hard to teach an old dog new tricks, but bossing fighters around and fielding horny-ass callers ain't all that different."
Levi turns his chin just so to regard you under a wispy black fringe.
“I can usually predict what someone wants. The people that call this hotline shit, they’re in and out."
He takes a pause.
"You, though — the second I picked up your call, you threw me through a goddamn loop.”
You use your nail on your index finger to absently scratch the side of your thumb, attempting to process everything he’s telling you.
"First night we spoke, actually, I ended up at this very bar to contemplate why the fuck I wanted you to call back. Didn't want you blowing your money on it, obviously, it's overpriced and ridiculous, but — it clearly shook me up enough for me to take then ten-minute walk in the middle of the night in the first place."
Ten minutes.
That length of time strikes something in you.
“So, your… office building isn’t far?” you slowly ask.
Levi shakes his head. “No, no office. I work remotely. Kind of the reason why I took the gig in the first place. I wouldn’t do this shit if I had an audience in a damn two-by-four cube.”
You’re not sure what possesses you to confess it, but you point past your shoulder.
“My apartment complex is actually six blocks down the street.”
Ten minutes away, is your implication.
His hand had raised to sip from his seltzer can, but it halts immediately.
His eyes narrow.
“The complex on Junction Ave?”
“Yeah," you say.
“Right across from—”
“The Reiss deli.”
That narrowed gaze shoots wide. “You’re shitting me.”
“You say the word shit a lot.”
“Baby, I live there,” he blurts.
“Wait, what?”
Now it’s your turn for your eyes to nearly pop out of your skull.
(You’re too shocked to even process what he called you.)
He huffs in a brief laugh, shaking his head.
“You gotta be fucking with me.”
“I’m not! Wait, you live in the same building as me?”
“You said Thomas was your goddamn mailman,” Levi states. “Do you know how many fucking Thomas the Mailmen there are in this world? I didn’t think we’d have the same one.”
Holy shit.
Oh, holy shit.
You sit up taller in your seat. “Wait, what floor?”
“Sixteenth.”
“I’m on the tenth!” you exclaim in your shock. “Holy shit, so you…”
Have been right above me this entire time.
Your phone buzzes, ruining your train of thought.
Reflexively you look down to see the preview of Annie’s message over your lock screen.
[A. LEONHART]: Did u die?
Right.
You’re here with friends.
“Friends wondering where you are?” Levi inquiries at the sight of your growing frown.
“Yeah, give me a sec.”
You swipe the screen north and type a reply.
[ME]: Talking to someone. Be over in a bit.
Annie’s reply is immediate, and you turn your phone from Levi’s view in mortification.
[A. LEONHART]: 🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆
[A. LEONHART]: WINGMAN??? NEED????
[ME]: NO! Do not come over here!
[A. LEONHART]: ok ok ok noted
[A. LEONHART]: i’ll keep jaeger to the left end of the bar
“Looks urgent.”
“Huh?”
You shoot a glance back up to Levi, who’s now angled towards you with his cheek squished against his clenched fist. His elbow props him up on the bar top.
“No! No. It’s just my friend Annie. She — is actually the one who gave me the number to that hotline in the first place,” you confess.
Levi hums in that delicious way you’ve come to crave.
“I don’t want to derail your evening. I’ve already taken you away from them for a while.”
Your heart is hesitant, but it grows despite yourself.
“If you want me to stay, then I’ll stay,” you quietly state. “I… liked talking to you. I mean, beyond the whole — you know.”
He nods once, setting his drink down.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t want you to disappear, either. My job’s not exactly corporate. Not many people can separate fantasy from reality. With you, I never had to bullshit what it was, but…”
Levi trails off, sighing heavily.
“...but I also understand if it’s just a fantasy, for you.”
Something nestles itself between the lines of his words.
Something he isn’t saying outright, sussing out if he has any right to try.
“Do you really mean that, Levi?”
That sigh turns into a curbed huff, smile fleeting but enough to bring your stomach butterflies.
“Damn. Sounds nice, hearing my name in person.”
Oh, sweet Jesus.
You could scream into your damn seltzer, but you decide to play it as cool as you possibly can.
“So Levi’s your real name?”
He nods.
“Not creative enough to come up with an alias."
Levi shifts, rolling out a shoulder.
"But to answer your question, I’m saying I… yeah, I mean it. I wouldn’t mind asking you out for coffee sometime, given we seem to run on the same gym schedule as it is. Just didn’t know if you wanted to leave it at the hotline and call it a day — no pun intended.”
Are you seriously hearing what he’s saying right now?
Does Levi want to step out of a fantasy and into your reality?
Your lips part with a million questions only to end up blurting a very stupid one:
“Are you single?”
That earns a bark of a laugh, causing his head to gloriously drop back, exposing his neck.
(All you want to do is sink your teeth into it.)
“Yes. Very,” he promises. “Are you, still?”
“Very,” you promise back.
“And my job doesn’t bother you?”
You haven't quite gotten that far, logistically, but it's only a coffee.
He isn't asking to marry you.
Besides, he talks about it like any other office job. You can't find any ill feeling toward it.
“Work is work,” you argue with a one-shoulder shrug. “Sure, it’s unconventional, but… I’m so used to not knowing what I want, or second-guessing what’s good for me, and I don’t think I’ve ever second guessed a damn thing with you.”
Bringing the seltzer back up to his mouth, Levi smirks against the can, mulling something over.
You smile in return, sipping your drink.
It's the truth.
He may not really know you, but he knows you.
Just as you're beginning to think you know him.
“Well, if you don’t get too wasted with your friends tonight—”
He steals a ballpoint pen from a dampened closed check from his left side.
Then he snatches a napkin from one of the bartending stations with lemons, limes, and straws.
Hunching over, he scribbles on said napkin, before turning a cheek to you.
“—and you end up going to the gym tomorrow morning—”
Levi then sits up taller, folds the napkin, and reaches for your hand resting on the bar top.
His skin is smooth.
Heated.
Your entire body melts to his whim as he turns your wrist over, palm facing up.
One by one his fingers unfurl your fingers, nestles the napkin in your hand, then closes your fist for safe keeping.
“—give me a call.”
Leaving a twenty on the bar counter, Levi lets go of your hand to slip off of his stool.
You say nothing as you watch him give you one last once-over, expression full of admiration, before turning into the sea of people.
A call.
Flexing your hand, you uncrinkle the napkin to read the number etched black on white.
Not the Scout Services Hotline.
No — his number.
Your attention flies back to the original spot where you've now properly abandoned your friends, but you know they'll forgive you for your absence.
Annie knows.
She'll cover for your abrupt disappearance.
On autopilot you yank out your phone, bypassing the texts from your friends, emails from work, and tap the little telephone icon.
Zero through nine appear.
Hastily you type the number, hesitation long gone, and press send.
One ring.
Two.
By the third, it abruptly cuts. You hear shuffling in the background. Cars beeping.
“Hello, Levi Ackerman speaking.”
Levi Ackerman.
Knowing his full name warms your heart.
Standing from your stool, you rise to your toes to search the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Levi stands there on the sidewalk, holding his phone up to his ear.
“Hi, Levi. It’s formerly Scarlet.”
Immediately he turns to the bar, searching the very same window.
Searching for you.
You smile to yourself.
"My schedule just opened up. I know it's a little late for some coffee, but..."
Trailing off, your teeth catch your bottom lip.
Be selfish.
"Are you free for some tea now?”
.
FIN
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
How are we feeling, Hotliner Nation? I teased that this may not be the end of this story. I'm not against writing a sequel, whether to continue the immediate story or time skip, but I wanted to see what people thought before I spoke too soon. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed our hotline journey together.
In the meantime I invite you to follow me here or subscribe to my AO3, as I have other projects in the works (including finishing the final chapters of my canon-based amnesia au with Levi, Silver Underground.)
The last two months have been such a wonderful journey, and I thank every single one of you for engaging the way you have. I never anticipated such a frenzy when I started P4, so sincerely, from the bottom of my heart - thank you for the comments, reblogs, inbox mssgs, etc. Every reblog gives this writer wings.
That boy’s an open oozing wound. Course, Mike knows Levi ain’t a boy but he’s got a boy’s stature and sulk. Comes from the underground, he’s gotta be used to losing people, or maybe Mike’s gone cold.
“Smells like death,” he tells Erwin in the stables. Not like the dead. Like death. Like grief. Like a brewing infection of anger and denial.
“He’ll adjust,” Erwin promises but Mike can’t step within twenty feet of that midget without having his nostrils assaulted. When they three share Erwin’s office on quieter evenings, Mike draws his breath through his mouth and avoids conversing. The latter is usual.
They got tea in common, Mike learns one late night without dreamless sleep. Levi’s in the midst of boiling a kettle when Mike joins. They nod their acknowledgements and sit at the same table with their separate teacups and a pot between them.
“Valerian,” Mike suggests, offering his personal tin. He waves his hand at Levi’s weak chamomile.
Levi hums. “We didn’t have access to it. Is it good?”
“It’ll knock ya down,” Mike says, drinks his cup like a debtor avoiding a taxman. Like a survivor avoiding nightmares. He fetches an empty tin and pours some dry tea in, then slides it across the table, his fingers brushing Levi’s forearm on the retreat. “Herbalist makes it potent so I ain’t pissin’ whole night long. Go easy.”
There’s no thanks but Mike ain’t waiting for one. It’ll be hell or high water that Levi’ll give it.
“You shared. I’m impressed,” Erwin says a week later at evening mess. “I haven’t found him sleeping in my office these last few nights. I have you to thank.”
Mike chews his bread, paced, and chokes it down past the knot in his throat. Levi ain’t got no business in Erwin’s office, let alone late enough at night to be sleeping. What the fuck? But Erwin don’t say his words without already knowing someone’s reaction, so Mike lets the expected question roll of his dry tongue.
“You gon’ let him around you like that already?”
The scab across Erwin’s neck ain’t even fallen off yet, and the man’s got enough nerve to look calculating.
“He needs a friend, Mike. He has no one else.”
“Awfully self-sacrificing ‘f ya,” he mumbles on his way out.
Levi stops stinking up the place with his emotions soon enough, and Mike’s got half a mind to ask Erwin why the runt follows him everywhere. Keeps it to himself. No point causing Erwin no grief when he don’t need to. Soon enough, too, Levi starts sidling closer to Mike.
“I was looking for you,” Levi’ll say when he finds Mike late at night. If it’s in the mess, he’ll boil the kettle to share. If it’s in an office, he’ll take down a book. Don’t matter where, really, because all Levi does is sit there quietly.
Mike ain’t got need for a babysitter or to babysit, and when he barks it out one night after Levi’s habit’s good and formed, that runt has the nerve to roll his eyes.
“Erwin told me you’d be hard to get close to,” Levi replies like it don’t bother him none. But it bothers Mike. There ain’t no bluff in Levi or he’d scent it out.
Lets it fester for a day and a half too long and lashes out at Erwin for putting Levi up to it. Erwin sits behind his desk, fingers steepled under his chin, and don’t blink until Mike’s done. Don’t respond, either, just thanks Mike and dismisses him like he’s been waiting for it.