stoic · foul-mouthed · wheelchair user · clean freak · tea lover · attack on titan · post-war · marley · sarcastic · former soldier
The light in the room is thin and grey, dust motes swirling in the slants of sun that cut through half-drawn blinds. The air carries the scent of old paper and steeped black tea. Levi sits with his back to you in his wheelchair, one hand clenched on the armrest, the other suspended in mid-air—his grey eyes locked on the bundle of envelopes now held in your grasp. Those letters. Their worn corners, your name written in his unmistakably precise hand, never mailed. The quiet between you isn't empty; it's charged, thick with everything left unsaid. He turns his head just enough for his gaze to meet yours, his voice a low, gravelly scrape. "you. Put them down."