The quill glides skillfully along the emptiness of the paper, filling its white into dark traces of ink. Hanji writes, fast and furious, and their caligraphy flows like a quivering tornado drawn into pitch black. They're focused on the chalkboard Erwin's pointing to as he speaks; their tongue sticking out messy from the slight parting of their lips.
They are beautiful. Goddamn. They are beautiful and they aren't even trying.
Levi huffs. He's mad that he's utterly unable to look away. Their hands float like those of a painter on their canvas and their hair falls onto their face in a sloppy auburn cascade and his heart can't help but wonder if they have always looked this pretty under the light of golden sunsets.
"Erwin!", they ask; voice dancing in joyful echo. "Shouldn't we map out another supply station for gas, just in case?"
He hums in response, calculating as ever, and Levi can't catch a word of anything he says afterwards. Hanji tucks a loose strand of brown behind their ear as they scribble on the seat next to his; papers overflowed in scattered collage, ink splattered on skin. And his pulse drums uptempo against his chest, hopelessly accelerated at the mere sight of them.
Have they ever noticed how naturally breath-taking they are? How precious, in all of their imperfect-glory?
He sighs. He shouldn't be feeling these things, he's aware. His stomach shouldn't tensely tingle when they smile, and the world shouldn't fade into a blurry cacophony when they furrow their eyebrows, swept away in concentration.
Isn't he supposed to be a responsible soldier? He scratches his head. Maybe, it's Hanji's fault, after all, he wants to tell himself; to have turned him into this weak, poor-functioning fool. To make his soul so powerlessly defenseless.
He looks at them once more, and bites his bottom lip, nervous; then, he bites the inside of his cheek. He bites until it burns and it hurts and it stings. And he's mad, blinded by frustration.
Because he has no choice but to adore every scrap that is Hanji Zoe: wild hair, fogged up glasses and all.
"Levi!", he hears Erwin call. And then, he notices: he's been clenching his paper notes, so harsh his knuckles are tinted a faint shade of white. So intense his caligraphy has turned a wrinkled pool of ink, almost illegible over the crumpled white. "Is there anything wrong?"
"No-nothing.", he stutters, softening the grip on his notebook. He knows his Commander well enough to tell he's just been teasing him. He also knows Mike is somewhere amongst the back, probably forcing himself not to burst out in deafening laughter. "I'm okay."
Erwin takes a deep breath and nods; the glints of a smile creeping upon the corners of his mouth, fond and sleek. He points to the board again and keeps the meeting going, as every good showman is supposed to do.
But Levi doesn't listen to a word he says. He's lied, and he's awfully certain of it:
He rushes to gather up his papers once the meeting is finally over, after what seems an eternity later.
He doesn't want to talk to Hanji. Or to anybody else, for that matter. So he walks in fast strides, almost running across the crowded hallways. He figures, then, he should best take a cool shower to clear up his head.
He should best spend the rest of the evening alone, too.
"Hey, little one!", he recognizes Mike approaching from behind. And he curses under his breath.
He looks over at him, stoic as ever, and rolls his eyes in response. Mike is now walking at his side; an elbow pointed to his side, in playful accusation.
"Next time, you should maybe try not to make it so obvious.", he whispers, raising an eyebrow.
And Levi walks faster, as if running away, mortified. He really is not at all okay.
Maybe, it's all Hanji's fault after all, indeed.
