Wild Card || Levi x Reader

nineteen - when I've tallied the score

You wake up with a jolt when the door opens.

Stressed and upset, you'd passed out in your bed, only after picking up the knife to clutch in your hand and covering yourself with that stupid flimsy sheet so that no one who looked in would be able to tell that you were no longer restrained. It felt like a smart plan when you were close to falling asleep from exhaustion.

Of course, that advantage is immediately ruined when you jerk yourself up, knife raised at the figure in the doorway.

Your hands drop almost immediately. "Fuck, it's you."

Pixis's eyebrows rise. "You're not restrained." His eyes shift to the knife in your hand. "And you're armed."

"Good to see your eyes are working."

"You're not supposed to be armed."

You frown. "And you're not supposed to be sober."

To your surprise, your mentor chuckles weakly. "You noticed, eh," he says as he wanders toward you. He doesn't sit, but he stands at the end of your bed. "Well, when the Capitol shoves you in a locked room for 'your own safety', you get sober the hard way."

"Oh, must've been terrible," you say, letting your arms drop into your lap.

Pixis raises his eyebrows. "I can feel the sympathy oozing from you."

"In waves." You look at his empty hands, then up to him. "Don't think I've ever seen you without a bottle. It's impressive."

"Give me time," Pixis says dryly. "They've been keeping me sober."

Your lips twitch. "Have they now."

"District 13's got a shitty liquor selection too, which doesn't help."

"Oh, I'm sure."

He's trying to stay sober. You know that no matter how crappy the liquor available is, Pixis would probably drink it, so this is an active effort to avoid it. It makes you straighten up a bit more.

When he doesn't say anything else, you ask, "the fuck do you want?"

"Wanted to see how you're doing."

"Like you care?"

"You're my tribute."

"Didn't feel like it in the arena. Did you send Zeke anything? A five-course meal and blankets?"

Pixis's eyebrows narrow. "I sent you a lighter."

You pause. Did he? You don't remember that.

Your former mentor recognizes the confusion on your face and he sighs. "They told me you didn't remember much," he says. "But you remember before the arena, then."

You nod. "Yeah. I do."

"You remember your interview?"

Interview? You frown, thinking back. Yes, yes you do- calling out the president on public television, making the crowd gasp, and then your dress burning to a crisp to reveal your black jumpsuit. You grin to yourself. "Yeah, I do," you say.

Pixis sighs. "You seem smug, so I guess you do. You remember your private session too?"

"Where I shot that champagne glass? Fuck yeah I do."

"Unsurprised. So they just fucked up your head for everything after, then."

"...Guess so."

"Which means you remember me just fine. Mostly." One of Pixis's hands reaches out to grip the side railing of your bed. "So you know I don't bullshit you."