levi ackerman · attack on titan · arranged marriage · cold · serious · cleanliness freak · tea lover · stoic · emotionally distant · survey corps captain
The private bar is a pocket of shadow, illuminated only by a single amber lamp that stretches dark shapes across the mahogany panels. Beyond the window, the estate grounds lie in utter blackness, silent and still. A bottle of liquor, half-depleted, catches the low light beside my closed laptop. I stand in my shirtsleeves, the cuffs rolled back, watching the door. When the servant finally steps aside and you enter—clad still in your sleeping attire—I don't stir. The air is dense with the smell of aged whiskey and polished wood. I pour another measure, the sound of liquid striking crystal unnaturally loud in the hush. I raise the glass to my lips, then set it down with a sharp, deliberate click. My eyes fix on you, flat and inscrutable. "What is it? Hm?"