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Chapter Text

Levi looks at her, this girl—this child of barely twelve, with features as delicate as a rosebud threatening to break in the wind. The only blemish to her beauty being a small scar under her right eye, barely noticeable if one isn’t looking—but Levi notices, impossible to miss considering he observes her so closely.

“She reminds me of you,” Erwin tells Levi on a morning when Mikasa has done exceptionally well in training, “she has an uncanny amount of skill for anyone let alone a child.”

Levi scoffs, “Is this how you think of me, Erwin? The way I was as a child, small and skilled?”

“Yes,” Erwin says in honesty, “yes I think exactly that.”

Levi ignores him to watch Mikasa fly through the air with the grace of a hollow-boned bird. Levi is nothing like Mikasa, Levi had learned the hard way how to do things—how to fight. It might have come more naturally to him than other people but Mikasa- Mikasa has an almost unearthly set of skills—inhuman, maybe it’s just her age. Twelve is hardly an age for many accomplishments, let alone ones as difficult as the Survey Corps. It makes Levi uneasy at times to watch her and wonder if this is how other people see him, as skilled and graceful as that.

She trails after that Jaeger boy with the hopeful eyes of a doe-eyed deer. It’s hero worship—Levi knows this, or is it something more? Jaeger had saved her from kidnappers, any child would be appreciative of that, but it’s not just appreciation when you are that young, no—it is not just appreciation when the person who saved you is a boy merely three years your senior with a charming smile and eyes as green as fresh grass in the spring.

She’s assigned to Levi’s squad due to her outstanding skills, and she cries when being pulled from the arms of Jaeger and Arlert; Levi feels truly wicked as he takes her away.

“She’s just a little girl,” Levi pleads, “Erwin, little girls are supposed to stay soft, and be babied. It’s not her place to become war-hardened and dead like men.”

“She is no softer than you were at that age,” Erwin says heartlessly, “she knows war, now give her the chance to win one.”

“She’ll die, Erwin,” Levi emphasizes, “she’ll die before she even gets the chance to live.”

“Then teach her to stay alive,” Erwin says, “That’s your job, isn’t it? If you’re so worried about her then train her to stay alive.”

On the first night with his unit, Mikasa makes dolls of them, her missing bunkmates. Makeshift hideous little things made from straw found in the yard and whatever else she could manage, but she kisses them with the same love and adoration as one does holding a diamond, and wishes them goodnight. Levi watches her set the crude portrayals of Jaeger and Arlert on the windowsill and wishes with every part of himself that she could be with them—that he could send her home to a place where it’s warm and she’s loved. But this is war, and love has no place in it.

We don’t make mistakes, Kenny had told him once, mistakes get us killed.

Levi discovers Mikasa in the yard braiding together flower crowns. It’s the most precious of activities, pure and girlish; it nearly kills him inside to remind her that training is mandatory and she’s currently absent from it. She nods in understanding unbothered as if he hadn’t just asked her to train for her death. As she passes him, she tries to hand off the dandelions to him. It’s not a romantic gesture, not an act of affection, but what children do when they don’t know what to do with things: give them to adults. She drops it too soon and it tumbles from her grip. Both of them are fast with reflexes practically congruent, grasping the tangle of weeds in tandem; it's a mistake, a simple but monumental mistake.

His hand is wrapped around hers, small and soft, to grip the weak dying stems knotted together. It’s a mistake, the most devastating mistake.

She doesn't pull away from his touch, doesn't flinch or yelp. The world holds its breath as Levi fans out his fingers, giving her the chance to run—pull back, but she doesn't. She mirrors his movement, hesitantly fanning out her own and letting go of the crown so it dangles off Levi’s fingers. How can she handle a blade if her hand can barely span the width of Levi’s palm? How can she kill with such accuracy and skill but still have skin as soft as the tuft on a newborn faun?

The ache in Levi’s chest is absolute, he can’t send this child—girl, she's a little girl, tiny and young—to kill titans. He cannot send her to her death, cannot watch her be consumed as so many others had. She shouldn't be there fighting monsters, she should be safe at home doing girlish things like counting ribbons in a collection as Isabelle had done.

“Mikasa,” Levi says despite himself, “why are you here? Why did you want to be a part of the Scouts?”

She glances up at him confused, eyes round and decorated with wispy lashes, “I have to protect Eren,” she states plainly as if it’s the only logical answer.

“Jaeger?” Levi says incredulously, “Mikasa he can protect himself, if anything he should be protecting you.”

Mikasa averts her gaze, “You don’t understand,” she mumbles removing her hand, but it’s too late, her warmth is already imprinted into Levi’s palm, “nobody understands.”

“Then help me understand,” Levi says as indifferently as he can, the emotion in his voice barely hidden, “tell me what will send you home.”

She scrunches her nose and glares up at him, “Why, am I really so bad at killing titans?” She spits defiantly.

“No,” Levi says, crouching to her level, “You’re too good, that’s the problem. You’ll never have a life outside of this once people figure out how good you are. You’ll be stuck here forever. It’s a death sentence Mikasa—a death sentence forever.”

When she refuses to look at him, Levi must turn her face to him, gripping her chin with the same hand holding the knotted crown.

“Mikasa, do you understand?” Levi asks not without bite, “Is it really worth it, risking it all for some boy—this boy?!”

“He saved my life,” she says in a voice all too small, “you’ll never understand.”

Rage bubbles within him, “Is that all it takes?!” Levi snaps, his voice rising, “Someone just needs to save your life and then you’re completely devoted to them? Risking life and limb, huh? Well, let me tell you what, if I ever save your life Mikasa, you better listen to me when I tell you to go home.”

Unfortunately, it’s exactly as Levi had feared. Mikasa is too good at fighting titans, and she never needs saving.

Resentment begins building inside Levi towards the Jaeger boy. Jaeger, the boy with all his hypnotizing power of being three years Mikasa’s senior with a charming smile and eyes as green as fresh grass in the spring. Jaeger, with all his power of having saved Mikasa, not using a single crumb of it to prevent her from becoming the Scout Regiment’s latest savior of humanity. Jaeger, with all his magnetism, not using any of it to scold Mikasa—to keep her home, tell her she’s foolish and that someone as young and delicate as her has no place fighting monsters. Jaeger, with all his strength, not using any of it to remind Mikasa that she’s a little girl, and that little girls should not be in war—that little girls should be protected and safe.

Mikasa stands before him in a nightgown far too big for her, a tiny hand barely able to fully grip the doorknob. He sits up in his armchair, unsure if he’s seeing her properly, “Mikasa?” He asks groggily, “What are you—”

“I had a bad dream,” she states.

You kill titans Mikasa, someone other than Levi would say, you kill titans better than anyone I’ve ever seen. A little dream shouldn’t scare you.

Instead, he says, “Yeah, I get those too,” because it’s the truth. Levi watches as she crawls up into his bed, lifting the sliding gown off her toes just to situate herself properly into the sheets.

“Can I sleep here?” she asks after already settling in; Levi doesn’t have the heart to tell her no, not after she asked so nicely and nestled in as a baby chick does in an incubator.

“Sure, you’re already there,” Levi says as indifferently as he can.

Mikasa is lulled into sleep and then Levi looks, really looks, at her all bundled up in his covers. Mikasa is identical to the dolls Isabel had said she wanted as a child, with a round face and delicately painted features, long fluttery lashes over pale cheeks. Levi feels that pang again in his chest, the ache he feels often when he observes Mikasa; his resentment for that Jaeger boy burns brighter. How could he, the boy who housed her for years, with a clean conscience send her off to be eaten by titans? That boy who had slept under the same roof as her, saw her like this every night and then had the audacity to offer her up to be eaten by monsters, it makes Levi boil inside. But Levi must think logically, Jaeger is how old again? Fourteen, no—fifteen? How could Levi in the right mind blame a teenager for being able to wrangle a small defiant Mikasa; parent her properly enough to prevent her from doing as she pleases?

Levi’s heart sinks, no—he’s being too cruel, he shouldn’t blame Jaeger, he shouldn’t put any of this on him. Yet, the small incessant buzz still eats away at Levi’s ear: Jaeger should have still done something—anything to prevent this girl—this child, from being in the situation that she’s in. Levi stares at the ceiling, his guilt and frustration gnawing away at his insides.

When news comes of Jaeger’s death, a small cruel part of Levi is relieved, nothing can hold Mikasa to the Scouting Regiment, not anymore. He’s relieved until he finds Mikasa; then Levi doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so devasting. A little girl sprawled on the floor— broken and helpless. She surprises him when she goes seeking him for comfort, gripping his cloak with the tiniest of fists and crawling into his lap with hiccupping breaths.

She kisses him then, with wet lips tasting of salt. There is nothing romantic about it, only a child seeking comfort, only a child seeking anything close to warmth and love. Levi brushes away her tears with his thumbs and holds her close, the way his mother had done for him.

“He’s all I had left,” Mikasa sobs, “he’s my only family.”

Levi wishes he had the strength to tell her all the words every orphan wishes to hear. He’s Humanity’s Strongest yet still too weak to utter the words he desperately wanted when abandoned: I’ll be your family. I’ll be the family you miss, the family you had, the family you wish to make. But those words are too strong, and he cannot mean them, not now. Levi is not ignorant of how firmly she grips him, how she places a damp kiss on his cheek.

Jaeger turns out to not be dead. Instead, he’s something much worse: a titan.

“Show them you are stronger,” Erwin instructs, “show the people that a titan cannot win against Humanity’s Strongest.”

Jaeger is trembling, chained to the podium like some wild animal. He’s just a kid—that’s all Levi can see, a child just like Isabel, an orphan just like him. Levi feels so foolish now to have villainized this boy in any capacity—and he’s truly just a boy, skin greasy and pimpling with youth—Levi let his rage fester and grow in the back of his mind too long to hold any logic. Levi knows Mikasa’s there being held to the hip of Arlert the way an infant is held to its mother just so she can glimpse over the banister. Levi doesn’t look at her, doesn’t even acknowledge her presence in the room, he can’t. Humanity’s Strongest capable of taking down a titan yet rendered powerless in the face of a child—this child. Levi doesn’t think as he makes the first kick, trying to fuel it with all his weeks of rage and aggravation towards the boy—the betrayal he feels: Jaeger doesn’t stop her, Mikasa’s willing to die for this boy, and he doesn’t stop her.

Levi hears Mikasa’s screams as he beats Jaeger—Eren, is what she cries, Eren is who her tears are for, Eren is always who her tears are for. Levi can’t look at her, and now can barely look at Eren. Eren like Mikasa is young—not as young as Mikasa, but there’s still a hint of baby fat that hasn’t left his face if Levi looks hard enough. Eren’s just a boy, a boy only fifteen—how could he stop the will of the storm that is Mikasa, the power and rage she possesses for someone so young? She probably would have thrown him across the room if Eren had told her she couldn’t go with him, how was any of this his fault? The resentment drains out of Levi with every kick, every punch, and suddenly all he feels is guilt as he steps on the boy’s head, bloody and battered.

Chapter Text

Mikasa does not talk to him, and it’s no surprise. Levi could go to her, could tell her that it was always the plan to beat Eren to a pulp, that yes—it had been an awful thing to do and he’s guilty he had to do it, but ultimately it was to save Eren’s life. But it’s not the truth, and Levi knows this deep down; he resents this knowledge of himself and knows it isn’t right. Levi would have beaten Eren with or without permission from Erwin, he would have beaten Eren if he was just in the mess hall enjoying breakfast, he would have beaten him if he was just walking from the training grounds to the barracks, it had just been easier—nobler, to beat him under the farce of saving his life. It had been therapeutic, humanizing really. Levi finally could see the kid behind the menace he held in his imagination—the crude, ridiculous caricature of this teenage boy Levi held for far too long.

Levi’s squad is designated to watch Eren; he’s surprised and a bit disappointed Mikasa does not request to be put back on the team to monitor him. To Levi’s dismay, Eren is a good kid. He responds with “yes sir” if he doesn’t say “yes captain.” He cleans his surroundings relatively well for a fifteen-year-old boy and doesn’t complain if Levi insists he does it again. He charmed Petra, which is a good barometer for character considering she won’t tolerate any bullshit. If anything, Eren reminds Levi of Isabel, with a sort of naive enthusiasm and stupidity they both seemed to share; Levi vilifying him seems practically ridiculous now.

One evening, when Hange hasn’t completely tired out the poor kid, Eren lingers around Levi at the table.

“Captain Levi, sir?” Eren asks tentatively.

“What is it?” Levi says unintentionally sternly like he usually does.

“You had Mikasa on your squad before, right?”

Levi feels a constriction in his chest, here it is, the conversation he was dreading they might have. The kid had grown on him despite Levi’s initial impression.

“Yeah, what about her?” Levi says flatly.

Eren shifts in his seat, “Well, I didn’t get the chance before when you took her away, but if she comes back onto your squad, do you think you could look out for her?”

Levi’s heart sinks—how could he ever have resented this boy, of course he cares for her.

“I know she’s really good at fighting now,” Eren continues, “but once she wasn’t like that, and honestly, she shouldn’t be here at all. It’s my fault she’s here in the first place, it’s all because I wanted to join the Scouts, so she wanted to join too. But when Armin and I tried to stop her from enlisting, well- she almost broke Armin’s arm and- I well, I couldn’t even stop her from walking out the door!”

Ah, so Levi had been correct. She did injure them when they attempted to stop her.

Eren shakes his head, seemingly unembarrassed having just admitted to getting his ass handed to him by a twelve-year-old girl, “She’s too little, practically a baby!” Eren insists, “She shouldn’t be here, she should be at home and- and it’s all my fault, so please.” Those bright green eyes turn to Levi, and he feels something wrench in his gut, this kid is just a baby too, just a baby talking about another baby only this one is slightly bigger. “Just look out for her?” Eren pleads, looking away to nervously thread his fingers in his lap, “I’m not very good at protecting her- well, I might be now because I can turn into a titan, but even now I can barely do that. It’s just me and Armin taking care of her, and we basically have to raise her as best as we can, but you know we aren’t very good at it—we’re just kids. Armin, he- he’s not very good at fighting, so neither of us can protect her very well, but not you Captain Levi.” Those green eyes look up at Levi hopefully, “Not you. You could protect her better than anyone, so please.” Eren gently grips Levi’s cloak, the same way Mikasa had done not that long ago, “Please just watch out for her. Let her back on your squad. Armin and I, we were going to tell her if I convinced you to let her back in. And I know—”

“Wait,” Levi interjects, “did she tell you both that I let her off the team?” Eren nods and Levi can practically hear the grinding of his own teeth, “Well that’s rich,” Levi says.

The bewilderment is inescapable on Eren’s face, “Captain, what do you mean?”

“I never let Mikasa off the team,” Levi says dryly, “she requested to be placed somewhere else.”

“But why would she do that?” Eren asks, “Did something happen?”

Levi snorts, “Yeah, I kicked your ass. Beat you in front of a room full of people.”

“But that was just because you were trying to protect me!” Eren protests, “It wasn’t personal! Armin and I explained this to her!”

“Yeah,” Levi says, but there’s a sour ache in his chest, “it wasn’t personal.”

Mikasa does not interact with Levi in the same way, she never returns to his team and never acknowledges him. It’s the coldest most childish display of disinterest, turning her nose up at him upon seeing him in the hall, sometimes even going as far as purposely leaving if possible. A part of it is very amusing to Levi, like it’s cute in a girlish sort of way; he imagines if he were a young schoolboy like Erwin once was, this is how little girls would have treated him when scorned. Another part of him is indifferent about it, if she wants to snub her nose at him, fine, he has other things to do. But a small part of him is bothered—a tiny ache in his chest that eats away at him.

“It’s out of your hands now, Levi,” Erwin tells him while scribbling on some documents, “you don’t have to fret any more than you have to. She’s not on your squad so she is no longer your responsibility.”

“Yeah yeah,” Levi says dully, “whatever you say.”

Erwin acknowledges him silently, and then says, “Levi, I know you are worried about her but protecting Mikasa is a lower priority—besides, so far, the girl is more than capable of handling herself. The one who needs protection is Eren.”

Levi clenches his jaw but says nothing, he knows Erwin’s right deep down—Mikasa is more than capable of taking care of herself. More capable than the majority of the soldiers they have, but it still eats away at his inside, that worry. She’s so young—practically a baby like Eren said, although Eren doesn’t have that much more room to talk, but he’s still older. Mikasa shouldn’t be there, not with him, not with any of them—Levi just wants her somewhere safe.

Levi runs into Mikasa in the mess hall at an empty table. She glances at him then crosses her arms, turning so she has her back to him. It’s such a dramatic, girlish display Levi wishes he’s more amused by it—but not today, today it irritates him.

“You have something to say?” Levi says to Mikasa’s back.

She doesn’t speak for a bit, and Levi guesses from her silent contemplation she must be debating about continuing her charade of ignoring him completely or answering. Eventually, she says, “You hurt Eren,” over her shoulder spitefully.

Levi sighs through his nose, “What about it?”

She swivels back to him and glares, “Eren said it was to protect him but- but I knew that you didn’t like him in the first place!”

“You’re right,” Levi says wryly, “I didn’t like him in the first place. What of it?”

“I knew it,” Mikasa spits, “That’s why you were so mean to him when you didn’t have to!”

“I saved his life, didn’t I?” Levi says without denying her statement, “That’s what matters isn’t it?”

Mikasa shakes her head, “No! You didn’t like him! And- and I saw it! I saw that you didn’t like him, and then you beat him up and then told Eren it was to save him, but I don’t believe it! You didn’t like Eren from the start, you didn’t like when I talked about him—”

“Mikasa, of course I didn’t like when you talked about him,” Levi says, “you told me that this boy was the reason you joined the Survey Corps, and you really thought I would just be okay with that information? It’s not Eren’s fault that he can’t manage you, he’s practically a kid himself—but think about it from my perspective, yeah? I have a little girl so lovesick-”

“I’m not lovesick!” Mikasa loudly interrupts, her tone a bit frantic.

“Mikasa, I don’t care what you think, what happens at the end of the day is that you followed that boy into war.” Levi emphasizes, “War, Mikasa. I’d get it if you followed him into—I don’t know- a dress shop but not war. Don’t you understand how serious this is?”

She scrunches her nose angrily and something aches in Levi’s chest, “You don’t get it,” she spits, “and you never will.”

“Whatever,” Levi says not without bite, “I saved your boyfriend’s life and that’s what matters at the end of the day. It protected him, and I would do it again whether you like it or not. It was the only way to save his life.”

Mikasa sits there, her lips in an angry pout. “I don’t believe you,” she says after a bit. “I still think you hurt him because you didn’t like him. Like would you hurt me if it protected me?”

“Yes,” Levi says without missing a beat, “if it kept you safe Mikasa, I would hurt you. I would hurt you without hesitation if it kept you safe.”

Chapter Text

Taken, Arlert says in a panic, Mikasa has been taken. A group of men down by the square, at the bakery on the corner of the farmer’s market, Levi’s heart sinks—the entrance to the Underground is only a block or two away. It’s not a coincidence, this he knows.

Levi tries to calm the frantic beats of his heart but he’s already moving, grabbing his cloak without thinking and out through the door.

“Don’t be rash, Levi,” Erwin instructs, “It wouldn’t look good for us if this got out. No ODM gear, no MPs.”

The scent of the Underground is always the unsettling part aside from the lack of sky: the smell of too many bodies, dirty and unkempt; the smell of death, putrid and rotting, but the smell of death underground is natural, the most human aspect of it—after all, all dead things end up in the dirt, just depends on how deep. It’s not too much of an effort to discover who took Mikasa, a solid kick here, and a couple of death threats there, Levi still has a rough lay of the land even with his absence. Not many things change Underground when it’s the same shit people stuck in the same shit place.
A church, Mikasa has been taken to a church.

Levi wishes he could find the irony in it but he’s only running on rage—a church, these men wanted to defile Mikasa in a church. They wanted to sell her, whore her out to some rich noble as an exotic little pet, Mikasa—delicate tiny little Mikasa, a pet—some disgusting freak’s pet. It’s horribly cruel that Mikasa with all her strength fights to protect and save humanity when humanity does not give her the same courtesy, stealing her personhood in an instant if there's money to gain.

Eren had told Levi how Mikasa came to be in his care, how she had been taken from the loving warmth of a home; a family; her parents killed before her very eyes. Something about her ancestry—ethnicity? No; Levi knows nothing about it, everyone is the same Underground as they are Above, it’s just Mikasa who is different, that last of a race of people who have been erased and eaten by monsters. She’s the last one—he always forgets; forgets the value that she possesses—well, in that way, especially for people seeking a profit in the desirable. It fills Levi with an ineffable rage, Mikasa—stolen. Something about it feels intimately personal, punching a distinct form of stress into his skull. He doesn’t have the time to discern why, and truthfully, he doesn’t care to know—Mikasa is in danger, Mikasa is gone.

(*)

Levi finds her on the roof of a church, dangling off a stone statue on the parapet looking atrociously small: her white day dress tattered and muddied. She had escaped her captors this brave brave girl, Levi had discovered men upstairs in ruins and knew her to be nearby—but there is no sign of that girl now, only a little girl trembling with fear.

She cries out to him with the mewls of a kitten, wet nonsense about how she couldn’t jump, how she couldn’t save herself without any gear. Levi will hear none of such nonsense, unafraid and blinded by his resolve to rescue her as he creeps down the edge of the roof.

“Mikasa enough,” he hears himself mutter, clutching her close. She has the weightlessness of a baby fowl, bones practically feathery-light with skin velvety-soft; Levi revels in it. Mikasa clings to him, reminiscent of the way he once saw her cling to Eren before Levi stole her away to train; the two of them remain like that, locked in each other’s embrace. Mikasa sobs into his throat the most pitiful cries and Levi in his relief and desperation to ease her pain—kisses her. He kisses her then, as she had done to him before, her lips still wet and tasting of salt. There is nothing romantic about it—just Levi trying to show her comfort, just Levi emphasizing warmth and care, the fear of having almost lost her completely. Levi knows Mikasa is not ignorant of how gently he presses his lips to her, how he places another kiss on her hairline.

“Where’s Eren?” Mikasa asks once she regains her voice, taking a hesitant glance around like she might find that moronic boy up on the roof with them, “Did he come with you?” Something snaps in the back of Levi’s mind, and he cannot resist the urge to grind his teeth a bit. Where’s Eren she asks, like that brat could come and get her, like Eren has any capacity to track her down while venturing into the Underground, the locals would chew him like dogs before Mikasa could even be considered.

“Back at headquarters,” Levi says unable to hide the sourness in his tone, but when Mikasa wilts he releases an exasperated sigh through his nose, “it wasn’t cuz he didn’t want to come find you, it’s because he’d be shit at it and then I’d have to save two people. He fought pretty hard to be here though, practically had to beat him again to get him to stay down.” At this Mikasa perks up rejuvenated with a rosy tint on her cheeks and that familiar ache in Levi’s chest returns. It was sweet really: Eren being so adamant about assisting him with Armin struggling to hold Eren back, begging him not to follow Levi out the door. Levi can be as upset as he wants about Mikasa’s dying devotion to the boy but in truth the feeling is mutual, Levi knows Eren would die for Mikasa too.

Upon returning inside, Levi declares, “Mikasa, I’m going to kill these men,” as a warning even though he cannot truly shelter her from horrors she has already seen, “I suggest you look away.”

She nods but does not turn, as if she understands that the murder Levi’s going to commit is for her, to protect her. There’s a tightening in Levi’s chest—it’s not for her, not really. No one can deny that killing these men will prevent future young girls from being taken, that the absence of them will remove a bit of danger from the world, but no one, no one, can deny the bloodlust that will be expunged from Levi’s body once he kills them, his overwhelming rage appeased in a moment of brutality. Someone was taken from him, and not just anyone; something about it is personal in a way he doesn’t understand. He knows deep down that some of these men are probably like he once was, thugs for hire, desperate for a job—any job, anything that can give someone dreams of putting food on the table, and gigs like stealing little girls is relatively easy, especially for the inexperienced. But this is just the game, Levi knows this—you get caught you get killed, these men know this well; everyone in the Underground knows this well, which makes Levi’s confirmation to kill them feel slightly less selfish.

It’s a wicked act, cruel even to commit let alone in front of a child, but Levi has never been a good person, no—Levi has never driven himself to a high moral code like some of the freak MPs with a god complex, it’s never been necessary, especially for survival. No; Levi is nothing like them, he’s sewer scum bred from Lower Sina like a rat in the gutters, he has never had to be held to a sense of morality, why should he feel the need now?

Because there is a child present, someone could say—his mother, probably, soft and sweet if Levi strains his memory enough, because there is a child here Levi, and shouldn’t all children be given the chance to be a child?

But has Levi given Mikasa the chance to be a child? Has he ever truly been given the incentive to do so? No, not truly; this is what aches him inside, he cannot truly ever give the experience of childhood, it’s never been his place to give, unfortunately. He’s her captain, he does not hold the position to provide—at least not in the way that she needs. He cannot provide her with the love and warmth necessary to foster any real form of childhood—the joy she should feel in her youth, carefree delight that was barely given to him. Levi would never prescribe the jarring lifestyle he had to endure in his adolescence, never wished Kenny upon anyone, but even Kenny with all his insanity and rules and survival, was a fatherly figure in some sort of way to Levi, poor or otherwise; if Levi cannot be the provider of youth then perhaps he can at least be to Mikasa what Kenny never was to him: someone reliable. So Levi will kill these men: in the name of reliability, in the name of his own selfishness, in the name of a little girl who will watch him kill them without batting an eye—Mikasa, whose childhood Levi steals and continues to take despite himself, but her childhood was never his to give or protect, so can one be persecuted for a crime if there is never one to begin with? No; yet Levi aches.

Levi kills them with a clean slice of blade; they should have been given a bit more pain, but Levi does not have it in him to be incredibly cruel under Mikasa’s youthful gaze. This is the girl who watches her comrades get eaten—she is no novice to death, yet he feels overwhelming guilt for having her see him commit murder. But perhaps it’s not guilt considering all he has made her witness while taking her outside the walls, perhaps it is embarrassment he feels. He doesn’t want her—her specifically, he could care less what other people think—he doesn’t want her to see the gutter rat scum he is deep down; his dirty roots poking out under the shiny mirage of being Humanity’s Strongest, of being Captain Levi of the Scouts. Levi doesn’t think he’s ever exhibited any form of heroism let alone in front of Mikasa—doesn’t try to, but he still cannot bear the thought of her knowing his true self; it’s shameful in this moment. Levi’s never been proud of what he had to do to survive but it was necessary, and he’s never regretted it, but suddenly all of it is dishonorable in a way that makes Levi’s stomach upset.

Levi in his embarrassment is oblivious to the loud clamoring that has occurred outside, the simple zip of ODM gear lines, it isn’t until Mikasa makes a sound of unease that Levi realizes who is upon them--MPs. Levi swears and grabs Mikasa, Erwin’s warning reverberating in his mind as he hoists her to his hip, ducks out through a window and creeps back onto the edge of the roof. Levi must drop below, it’s the only way out; Levi must drop below with Mikasa in hand to the rooftops, small and distant, and significantly far. Levi used to drop like this before there was ODM gear, before he had stolen it from a group of drunken MPs; he dropped with the grace and resilience of an alley cat: it wasn’t hard then, but he had been what, twenty—no, twenty-one? Levi’s not as resilient anymore, this will hurt, especially with Mikasa in hand, there are two lives he must consider now; he has no room to be reckless; yet Levi drops, holding Mikasa close, closer than she’s ever been held before, aligned up against his body the way an edge piece of a puzzle aligns and fills out its corner—completing it seamlessly. And so, they fall, the two of them together, completed now—Levi feels—Mikasa and Levi, falling together.

The fall is jarring to say the least, Levi lands with a hard crash on a tiled roof, rolling into the fall while tucking in Mikasa’s head. She cries from the impact despite not obtaining an injury—it should be Levi who is crying, ankles sore with legs still trembling. It’s no surprise to hear the zipping of ODM gear, the racket Levi made probably echoed into the entire Underground—he used to be so silent scaling rooftops, it’s borderline embarrassing. Mikasa does not notice though, she’s too busy sniffling in Levi’s arms; he resists the urge to brush a thumb against her cheek: he can only be so affectionate, she might find it strange moving forward since no longer being in a complete state of disarray; his comfort might not be taken well. They situate themselves in an alley while waiting for the zip of MPs to abandon the streets; Levi is still holding Mikasa close, not wanting her to dirty her feet, shoes somehow abandoning her amidst the kidnapping. Mikasa rubs an eye the way so many children had done before her with bleary eyes; the ache in Levi’s chest reignites.

“I don’t feel so good,” Mikasa grumbles quietly and panic climbs up Levi’s throat.

“What, did they give you anything?” He asks and to his relief Mikasa shakes her head.

“I didn’t feel good with Eren and Armin earlier,” Mikasa says, “I’m just really tired,” and then she winces, “and my stomach kind of hurts.”

Levi nods, “Do you think you can hang on a bit longer?” he asks, but Mikasa’s eyelids are already beginning to droop—making a stop might be unavoidable. Levi shifts her to his back, her lithe limbs easy to transfer; Mikasa rests her head on his shoulder and Levi feels the soft puffs of her breath; the small heat of her body warming his back. Levi settles the cloak over the both of them as he cautiously makes his way out into the street keeping his head down, he can still hear the clamor of MPs; it really is unavoidable now.

Levi makes his way to his old front door and pushes down the ache he feels while picking the lock. The shabby excuse for a home is not a complete mess, less ransacked than he anticipated—this is good, that means Levi’s presence is still prominent in the Underground, nobody had tried too hard to wreck the place. Layers upon layers of dust and dirt have grown over everything; Levi ignores the familiar crawl under his skin—the stressful tension developing at the sight of it, no—Levi is not the priority right now, who matters right now is Mikasa. Levi moves quickly, fluffing out the tattered duvet on Isabel’s—
Levi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath—he can’t do this, not now he doesn’t have time. He squeezes his eyes to refocus before continuing to settle in, making the place as hospitable as possible before setting Mikasa down on the duvet.

Mikasa blinks her eyes awake the way a newborn fawn might with eyelashes long and dark on big round eyes. She peers around groggily, obviously confused but says nothing; instead, Mikasa goes to settle into the ratty old thing Isabel used to sleep in but pauses glancing down at her lap; Levi pauses too, so he kneels by her side. He can see it now, the crimson stain blossoming on her dress; Levi’s heart sinks as panic begins to set in—she's hurt, or is she? Mikasa only seems mildly bothered—too fatigued to question much, and barely notices Levi next to her.

“I think I-” Mikasa tries, going to rub her eye again, “I’m bleeding.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Levi says frowning slightly, “Mikasa does it hurt? Are you hurt?”

Mikasa looks down at her dress again and shakes her head, “I’m not cut anywhere—at least I don’t think. I just have this really bad stomachache, so I don’t get it.”

Levi wracks his brain for answers, but Levi isn’t a doctor, barely literate if he’s honest with himself, can he really make an assumption about her health? What was something Isabel struggled with, what is something that all young girls struggle with?

“Mikasa,” Levi says, and then feels a bit inappropriate to be asking one of his cadets this question—especially one so young, “Mikasa,” Levi tries again, “do you think it could be your period?”

Mikasa blinks at him, “My what?”

Levi’s heart sinks, surely she’s bled before, hasn’t she? Or at least been around other women that have—no, the only exposure to that would be if she was around other women, but Mikasa used to sneak into the men’s dorms at night to be with Eren and Arlert; barely had time with Petra and Levi can’t even remember if they bunked together. No, Mikasa was too young when her parents died— both sets, but her second set with Eren—the Jaeger family, had Eren’s mother not educated her—forget the mother, Eren said his father was a doctor, a doctor, and yet Mikasa is still ignorant, some fucking doctor, no wonder he’s missing.

“Your monthly bleeding Mikasa,” Levi says dryly, and she frowns, genuinely confused.

“People bleed by the month?” Mikasa asks and Levi swears to himself, she has no idea; of course she hasn’t been educated on the matter she was too young at the time, and it’s not like Eren or Arlert are going out of their way anytime soon to learn about the ins-and-outs of teenage girlhood, well, maybe Arlert, but definitely not Eren.

Levi swallows thickly, “Mikasa your uh-” fuck, how would Erwin phrase this? Levi clears his throat, “Mikasa when a girl starts to become a uh- a woman, she bleeds.”

Mikasa scrunches her nose in confusion and Levi’s chest aches, “That’s dumb, and doesn’t make any sense,” she remarks, “why do they bleed? Will I just bleed out?”

Fuck, how would Hange explain this, with a diagram or a-

“Doesn’t matter right now,” Levi says batting his hand absentmindedly, “someone else can explain it to you when you get back, but what matters is that if you want to keep that dress, I have to get the stain out now.”

“Oh,” Mikasa says looking down again, “but what about the blood? Will I just keep bleeding?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll keep bleeding, but it’s fine. You’re supposed to bleed,” Levi says.

Mikasa looks more confused, tilting her head a bit to the side the way a dog might when trying to hear better, “But I don’t get it? Where am I bleeding?”

“Mikasa,” Levi says firmer than intended, “are you gonna give me your dress?”

“But I don’t have any clothes-”

“There are clothes here,” Levi says dryly.

“Whose clothes-”

“Doesn’t matter now,” Levi says quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop himself, “she’s dead.”

Mikasa promptly shuts her mouth and Levi’s heart sinks, he didn’t mean to snap at her, it’s just where they are standing: in the ruins of his home. A home Isabel can never return to—Furlan, can never return to. It’s easier to fixate on a silly little stain than acknowledge the ruins of a home that held past hopes and dreams—harbored people who he will never see.

“Wait here,” Levi says bluntly before making way to find Isabel’s drawer, mentally preparing himself not to get too emotional upon its opening.

It hadn’t been too horrible sifting through Isabel’s things, as long as he didn’t look too closely at any one particular item, his heart did almost break at the discovery of dirty socks Isabel had shoved into the back of her drawer in an effort to hide them from Levi, not wanting to give him any more laundry—she always thought herself to be a nuisance. It wasn’t a nuisance, she was never a nuisance no matter how much she thought, she was—is his sister regardless of her death, she could never be a nuisance. Levi tries not to dwell on any of it and instead reminds himself of Mikasa’s current bleeding staining dress.

Mikasa is incredibly small in Isabel’s clothes; it’s strange to see her in them, in Isabel’s only dress. Isabel was of slight build herself, yet Mikasa wears her gown the way one might wear a set of curtains—awkward with fabric dragging behind. She settles into Isabel’s bed with the tentative pawing of a dog prepping its den, rustling, and fluffing the duvet; Levi suspects it’s habitual, as she had a similar ritual when sleeping in Levi’s own.
Levi scrubs the stain firmly out of Mikasa’s clothes while she watches him, intently peeking out from under the covers. It only then occurs to him that this might be embarrassing for her, her captain scrubbing menstruation blood out of her clothes, but then again, Mikasa doesn’t know what menstruation is.

“You’re nothing like Eren,” he hears Mikasa comment quietly, more of an observation to herself than anything.

“Well, thank god for that,” Levi remarks wryly, “if there is a god and all that shit.”

Mikasa scowls and Levi finds it amusing. Mikasa's round doe-like features scrunched together angrily, “Why would you say that?!” She spits, voice shrill.

Levi suppresses the smirk that’s forming at his mouth, turning back to his wash, “I’m just saying you can’t have three idiots raising you—you already have two. I don’t want to be added to that mix.”
“Armin’s not an idiot!” Mikasa snaps. She doesn’t deny Eren’s moronic impulsive tendencies.

Levi just snorts and continues scrubbing while Mikasa ruffles up the blankets to pointedly turn away from him. It’s charming really, Mikasa’s girlish ignoring act, he'd rather take that any day than have her be completely absent: he’s relieved. He hangs Mikasa’s dress over the small fire to dry, not daring to risk hanging it outside—huh, little things like that Levi takes for granted now, the luxury of using a clothesline outside without worry; nobody really wants to steal anything in the Survey Corps, especially since they all have the same uniform.

Mikasa is finally overcome by fatigue, wispy lashes fluttering closed when she is content, her light breaths the only sound in the room; Levi takes a quick glance to look as he had done not too long ago. It’s a bit ironic to Levi; also painful, Mikasa in Isabel’s bed identical to the dolls she wanted yet will never be able to see. So—Levi decides—he will look for her, pushing away the familiar tick in the back of his mind reminding himself that there is dirt, and Levi is now in the dirt, a part of it—filthy with it.

It’s a bit absurd to Levi to see Mikasa here, as she is, the Mikasa who has never known the dirt of the Underground. She doesn’t belong here—yes, that’s what it is, what’s so off in Levi’s mind. Mikasa seems so out of place, pristine; yet pristine in the way crystals in the Underground are pristine upon discovery: rare and raw and perfect in their natural state—the pale shimmer they emit when brought to the light practically identical to the glowing sheen of Mikasa’s skin, such a stark contrast to the filthy rags she’s swaddled in. But Mikasa, just like the crystals in the Underground, does not belong down here, she belongs in the sun, in the light to be admired and valued for what she is; Levi will not let her grow dull and go unnoticed here, not with her being as treasured as she is—as a soldier, yes as a soldier. She’s great at fighting, that’s all—and she’s a child, she shouldn’t be in a place like this, no kid should be.

Levi hears Mikasa tossing and turning—restless and hiding small groans.

“What is it?” Levi asks as he dusts off a chair, there really is so much dirt and grime, and dust—

The rustling stops and in the tiniest voice Mikasa says, “I can’t get comfortable, everything hurts.”

Levi frowns, “I’m sorry there aren’t any painkillers or anything like that here, do you want me to see if there is anything I can go out and get you?” He asks, although it would not be a good idea considering the MPs crawling about, and Levi in general should not be spotted Underground, wouldn’t look good for the Scouts, but if Mikasa really needs it then maybe Levi could sneak back into the-

“No,” Mikasa says again, her voice cotton soft, “I- it’s silly nevermind.”

Levi goes to sit at the edge of Isabel’s bed, “Mikasa if you really need something I’ll—"

“No,” She interrupts hastily—there’s a bit of a shake to her voice, “it’s not just the stomach ache it’s—" she wiggles under the blankets to peer out at Levi, round eyes only visible with the covers pulled up to her nose, but Levi can see the light dusting of red on the tips of her ears. She averts her gaze nervously, “whenever I get scared, or I don’t feel good Eren usually holds me—Armin too, but it’s usually Eren—I don’t really like sleeping by myself, especially when I feel sick.”

Something tightens in Levi’s chest as he anticipates more, but she adds nothing, abashedly going to hide under the covers after such a statement, “Mikasa,” Levi says, intending for his voice to come out stern but instead his words are marked with a light tremble, “what do you need?”

“I—" Mikasa tries, “I- if it’s not too much to ask—"

Nothing is really too much to ask if Mikasa asks nicely enough, Levi doubts he has the strength to deny much from her if he’s honest with himself.

“If it’s not too much to ask,” Mikasa repeats, swallowing thickly, “it would make me feel better if someone could hold me.”

Levi’s chest hammers, “Mikasa—"

“Please don’t make me ask again,” she pleads voice incredibly high. Levi swallows thickly, nodding before debating about how to situate himself next to her—hold her, the way she wants.

Isabel’s bed is small, it was meant for one person of slight build, not two; although Levi is small himself it does not matter, the weight of the worn mattress dips under his weight as he aligns himself to Mikasa’s spine, his own threatening to fall off the side. It’s not comfortable, but he prefers this over the dense hardwood chair he was planning on dozing off on—he much prefers feeling the small bundle of warmth that is Mikasa Ackerman. He pulls her in close, not out of fondness or desire, but out of necessity, if he doesn’t close the gap between the two of them surely one will fall off the bed.

“You’re not under the blanket,” Mikasa says quietly and Levi freezes.

Yes, Levi should say, because that is the appropriate response: the small separation between the two of them should be evident, otherwise he is just stepping into bed with her. Although it’s foolish to grow apprehensive about their boundaries now, he has already kissed her, whatever barrier there was is already broken. But the kiss was by no means meant to be romantic, it was only meant to instill warmth—yes, that is what Levi must do here again, instill warmth, that is all this is. There is nothing strange to it, Levi and Mikasa in Isabel’s old bed, Levi practically fused to Mikasa’s back with his nose brushing up against the soft locks of her hair: she smells of peppermint strangely enough, Eren and Armin must have given it to her before she was taken, how after all the turmoil she still holds the scent is beyond Levi, maybe Hange would know some science to it. He pulls away to settle underneath the blanket and fully feels the radiance of Mikasa’s warmth, practically a small flame that can be caressed.

Levi cautiously bands an arm around her waist which she pulls to her body; Levi tentatively returns to nosing through her hair—unintentionally, but it is not displeasing. He feels the casual rise and fall of her breaths and Levi closes his eyes listening to the soft puffs.

(*)

When Levi wakes, parts of his body are sore, the most significant being the arm snaked under Mikasa’s neck that’s now numb. He goes to shift it a bit and realizes Mikasa’s facing him now, her body adjusting in sleep, she’s so close to him practically a whisper away. Mikasa’s lips are pink petals practically painted onto her face, partially open to release small breaths. He could do it again, kiss her—if that’s what he truly wanted, a simple press of lips would be easy, but it’s not what he wants; it’s not a time of comfort there would be no point, regardless of how delicate Mikasa’s face is, regardless of how close—

Mikasa’s eyes begin to open, and Levi instinctively closes his, refusing to be caught openly staring. She shifts a bit, making tired groans before taking in a sharp breath—she must be startled by their new state of tangled limbs. This can’t be ideal for her, having to share a bed with Levi, he can’t imagine the embarrassment she probably feels, he’s basically like a schoolteacher to her; even out of schoolteacher options he probably isn’t the most ideal candidate, Mikasa would probably want someone more adjacent to Erwin than him. Yes, Mikasa had asked him to hold her, but in this scenario, it's because he’s the only body present, there isn’t anyone else to give her the comfort that she needs; if Eren were here, Mikasa would cling to him—beg him to hold her because that is always what she wants: Eren, just Eren. If Levi could solve all of Mikasa’s problems with half the same finesse as Eren then maybe he would sleep better at night, maybe he wouldn’t fret so much over Mikasa’s well-being—no, that’s foolish, Levi would fret over her regardless, there would just be less of a daily toll if Levi could solve day-to-day meaningless problems for Mikasa: to hold her when she’s sad, or angry, or happy, something as simple as that would mean almost nothing to her, but everything to Levi.

Levi can feel her warm exhales against his neck and wonders if he should feign turning from her in his sleep, but to his surprise Mikasa carefully goes to nuzzle herself in the gap between Levi’s neck and shoulder, nosing a bit into the pillow. The soft press of silken skin that brushes against Levi’s jaw, it’s her temple, he realizes as she makes a small noise of contentment once situated. Is it relief Levi feels in his chest, or elation? Mikasa curling up to him the way she probably does with Eren, the way she probably does with Armin: the two people in her life she is the most comfortable with, and now Levi is one of them. He wants to bask in this moment for as long as he can, but his arm is still horribly numb and with Mikasa practically against him she no longer needs it for a neck rest; so Levi shifts, very slightly, the lightest of movements, the way he had learned in the Underground, the quiet movements of a thief ever so silent with limbs gliding through the torn blankets.

Mikasa shifts again and Levi tenses immediately, then feels the feather-light touch of her fingertips to his back, hesitant but present. They rove ever so lightly against the fabric of his shirt, tentative but still exploratory, taking a long soft stroke down his spine causing Levi to shiver; she pauses from his movement with a quick inhale of breath but continues once he settles.

This time, Mikasa adjusts her position against him, situating herself to tangle within his legs. Levi feels the soft brush of her slide against him, trapping one of his legs between hers and to ever so gently press her center to his upper thigh. It’s clearly an accident from the small gasp she makes, but not one she tries to remedy and instead returns to press against his body. Levi’s heart beats frantically, as he feels the light dampness of her undergarments on his thigh, the wetness of the blood, unavoidable proof of her newfound womanhood. Mikasa’s fingers trail up his back again, this time touching lightly at his shoulders—his shoulder blades, and she releases a content little noise that would have gone unnoticed had Levi been asleep. It dawns on Levi that this is Mikasa’s first time being in bed with a man—being held by a man, not a boy the way Eren and Arlert are, but a man. But surely Levi can’t be too off from the builds of Eren and Arlert, they all have the same drills and workout regiments, and yes does Levi go beyond to exercise his own personal skills, of course, but he still cannot feel vastly different from the two of them.

Mikasa goes again to press against his thigh, this time gingerly gripping the back of his shirt in a fist while she makes another sound of pleasantness. There’s a small feeling of alarm as Levi realizes she’s using his limbs to explore parts of herself that spark pleasure—the panic of knowing a child is using him for sexual satisfaction; another part of him logically understands that Mikasa is at an experimental stage, that her body is growing and changing in ways that are unavoidable, there are feelings she can have that are unavoidable. But there’s a not so small part of him that is—well, should be, mortified, but is not. There’s a part of him that is- a part of him that—

“Mikasa,” Levi says, the horror of the situation sinking into his muscles, she freezes. What are you doing, he wants to ask, but his mind is scrambling trying to come to terms with itself. The air is stiff while Levi finds his words, Mikasa’s jackrabbit heartbeat nearly the only audible sound. “You’re moving too much,” he hears himself say, “you’re going to fall off the bed.” But he doesn’t let her go, which he knows is not a wise decision if his mind is feeling the way he thinks it might be.

“Captain?” He hears her say, voice shaky.

“What?” He croaks; throat suddenly dry. Mikasa wiggles in his arms and Levi loosens his grip, she stares up at him with large round eyes.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” She asks.

Levi blinks, what a horrible thing to ask at a time like this.

“I mean, if I was older,” Mikasa quickly remedies, “would you think I’m pretty?”

“Why are you saying this?” Levi says, his tone harsh, “where did this come from, right now? Were you thinking of it right now?”

Mikasa shrinks, “No- I- I just,” she takes a deep breath, “Eren just sees me as—well, he tells me I’m pretty but, like in the way that I’m pretty for a little girl.” She releases a disappointed sigh through her nose, “He just thinks I’m a little girl.”

“You are a little girl,” Levi reminds, more to himself than anyone else.

“I’m not that little,” Mikasa exclaims, “I’m not a baby, I’m twelve years old. I’ll be thirteen in a few months.”

“And I’ll be thirty-three by the end of this year,” Levi retorts, a knot growing in his stomach at his own words, “you are a very little girl to me.”

“Then why did you kiss me, captain?” Mikasa asks with full earnestness; Levi feels his heart sink.

“What?”

Mikasa shifts a bit, and Levi notices how tangled in each other’s limbs they are having gripped each other in sleep. Mikasa’s breaths are warm against his neck, “Earlier,” she says with the shy tentativeness of a schoolgirl, “when you saved me.”

Mikasa truly is brave; Levi should expect nothing less from the little girl who goes beyond the walls without fear, asking him, her captain, something so absurd. Levi suddenly feels so moronic, how had he not thought of her to question his actions, that there wouldn’t be repercussions?

“You were sad,” Levi manages to say, swallowing thickly.

Mikasa shifts a bit, and Levi cannot look down into her large round eyes as this conversation unfolds, what if he drowns in them—her eyes, what if she requests more of him, would he be able to refuse? “Do you kiss everyone when they are sad?” Mikasa asks, and from her standpoint, it’s a fair question, but not one most Scouts would have the balls to ask.

“No,” Levi says in finality, sternly to establish an end to the conversation, desperately trying to hide the embarrassment he feels, the nervousness that is climbing a bit up his throat. He hopes with this she will drop the conversation; if it was anyone else speaking to Levi they would feel intimidated, too uncomfortable from the rigidity he exerts to push him more, but Mikasa is not satisfied by this—no, Mikasa is a perfectionist; Levi has seen it with her precision of slicing titans, the consistency she tries to obtain in training. Levi would be foolish to assume Mikasa to be content with just a ‘no’ when she can have so much more—when she can have perfection, and this conversation is no different, her ambition really does push her.

“Then why did you kiss me?” Mikasa presses and Levi still refuses to look at her.

“Because you’re young,” Levi says stiffly, “I thought you needed comfort.”

He feels Mikasa shift and ponder this for a bit before saying in the softest voice, “I need comfort now.” Levi’s neck almost snaps turning to stare at her, and Mikasa gazes up at him with those doe-like eyes and something inside Levi melts—but something even worse happens, something in the back of his mind wakes.

A part of him wants her to clarify, to ask again what she wants of him, but he knows she will not ask again, she doesn't have to with eyes so pleading and pink lips ajar. “I still kind of hurt,” she says, and if Levi didn't know better, he would think she’s messing with him—taunting him, maybe if she were older, it would be flirtation, purposeful and hungry, but it is not. This request is genuine, nothing about it is manipulative, it’s just simple: Mikasa wants something, so she will ask it of him because apparently, Levi is so good at giving her what she wants; she feels she can request anything of him; the problem is she might be right, she can ask anything of him and he’ll probably bend like a leaf in the wind. He must end whatever thing is beginning to blossom from the mistakes he’s made—that thing that is now alert, and crouching in the back of his mind, monitoring his every move.

“I—” Levi starts, but can’t find the words to follow the statement, his mind blanks while staring down at Mikasa’s face. Her round eyes, the delicate bridge of her nose, full pink lips; Hange once mentioned something about facial symmetry and how humans are attracted to people who have symmetrical features, and there’s nothing more symmetrical than Mikasa’s face: it’s always been perfect, even at her young age. The opportunity to kiss her is poignantly present, and if Levi wasn’t coming to terms with the potential horror that he suspects he might be, then he might have leaned in—thought nothing of it, like kissing a baby that’s passed around, similar to the way parents kiss their children. But deep down he knows the truth, and there’s nothing paternal about what he feels—there is nothing paternal about the creature now looming in its wake.

“No,” he says, his voice wavering a bit before clearing his throat, “no,” he repeats, this time much firmer.

“But—”

“No Mikasa,” Levi spits, this time his words sounding practically brutish, “I’m not kissing you again Mikasa, I’m never kissing you again, so don’t ask it of me.”

The look of shock is inescapable on Mikasa’s face, but it doesn’t matter—nothing matters when that thing has become present. Has it been there this whole time, was it the reason why Levi was always to interested in Mikasa’s care, in her well-being? No—he’s genuinely worried about her, in the same way he worried about Isabel, in the same way he worries about Eren—but he doesn’t worry about Eren in the same way. Yes, they are both children, but Levi always assumed his fixation with Mikasa is because she is

so little, too little to be dying in war.

When Mikasa falls asleep, Levi gingerly untangles himself from her hold, quietly shuffling to the opposite end of the room to a dust covered wooden stool that Furlan used to frequent. He doesn’t rest, grappling with the reality of the situation, the horror of what he is capable of feeling—that disgusting creature, an oppressive presence thickening the air and causing Levi to refuse a glance in Mikasa’s direction; he knows it’s there, stretched thin over her, calling to him to return to bed, to hold her, his attraction bare in front of him for the first time.

Levi remembers becoming old enough to realize how young some of the girls standing in front of the whore houses were, selling themselves for whatever scraps they could get, and how Kenny said something derogatory like: Cunt is cunt, most men don’t care who it’s from as long as it’s young, and how those words haunted him into adulthood; plaguing him with the question of how young his mother was when she began work. How Levi detested those men, disgusted by them—how they could desire children, how they could chase Isabel into an alleyway and corner her, she was just a kid like Mikasa, Mikasa is a child even more so, and yet here Levi is, keenly aware of that thing perched in the back of his mind.

But Levi is not like the men in the Underground who chase after children, he is not terrible like that, he is terrible in other ways but never would prey upon children. He must be lonely—yes, that must be it, because why else would he be so riled up by the sight of a pretty face that happens to be on a little girl? When was the last time he felt the touch of a woman—or anyone for that matter? And yet, none of it seems to matter, the truth being disgustingly present in his face: what he is feeling is not meant for children.

He obtains no rest, and when Mikasa wakes the following day he does not look at her, barely speaks with curt words as he drags her to the surface.

Her reunion with Eren and Armin is emotional to say the least, the two teenage boys crying out in joy and lifting her up; Eren goes to thank him, emphasizing with excitement about Levi’s prowess—about his skill, how they would expect nothing less from the hero for humanity. Levi cannot bear it, there is nothing to thank, not when he has discovered things about himself that are terrible; there is nothing heroic about what motivated him to save Mikasa—there is nothing heroic about being interested in a child.