A little death [Levi Ackerman x OFC]

Chapter 1: Looks Deceive

The barracks pulsed with the rhythm of recovery and exhaustion, the air thick with the heavy scent of sweat, blood and dust. Levi stepped into the medical tent, his body aching from the hours of battle, bruises and scrapes a dull reminder of the failed expedition. The tent buzzed with relentless activity—soldiers groaning, medics weaving between cots—but Levi's mind drifted elsewhere, to the faces he'd seen slip away.

Hours earlier, out in the field, he'd knelt beside a soldier who wasn't going to make it. Blood had pooled around the man, dark and glistening in the sunlight. Levi remembered the young soldier's eyes, wide and glassy with terror, clutching at Levi's sleeve with fingers already growing cold. The boy had whispered something—muddled words about his mother, a plea to stay—but all Levi could do was watch as the light faded from his gaze. Helplessness settled like a familiar weight in his chest, a silent reminder of all the lives he couldn't save, no matter how hard he fought.

Those moments haunted him, replaying even as he forced himself to focus. He moved through the medical tent, ignoring his own pain, the loss gnawing at him like it always did. He never lingered on it outwardly, but it seeped into every breath he took.

A doctor worked with brisk efficiency in the chaos, a young assistant moved in his shadow with surprising calm, a sense of order in the mess, her expression composed yet warm. Blond hair was pulled back in a loose braid, stray tendrils framing a face that was at once striking and serene. Her skin, pale and freckled in the harsh light, contrasted with the bright focus of her eyes— the color was odd, something between golden brown and a light green, catching glints of the lantern light as she worked.

Levi hadn't paid much attention to her before, but when she approached him, her unshakable steadiness caught him off guard.

"You're next," she announced, her voice clear but gentle, holding no hint of intimidation despite the surroundings. Her eyes met his for a moment, holding his gaze with a quiet confidence before she bent to prepare her supplies.

Levi frowned. "I don't need help," he muttered, his tone a blunt dismissal. He wasn't here for his own wounds; routine checks were a waste of time for someone like him. But Erwin's rules were ironclad, even for captains.

The assistant's lips curved into a small smile, one that carried more understanding than he expected. "Sure you don't," she replied, her voice carrying a light, teasing note. "But orders are orders."

Her calm cheerfulness felt jarring against the backdrop of moans and hurried whispers in the tent. As she began cleaning the cut on his forearm, her touch was gentle but efficient, practiced fingers moving with a surprising grace. Levi bristled slightly, his shoulders tightening.

"You're too cheerful," he said, his voice dropping to a low grumble only she could hear. His gaze flicked to her hands, far too soft to be here, in this hell.

She didn't miss a beat. Her eyes flicked up, and humor danced in the green of her irises. "Part of the job," she shot back, the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. "Or would you rather I look as miserable as everyone else?"

The unexpected bluntness surprised him. Levi's irritation shifted slightly, replaced by the barest flicker of respect. "Might fit the mood better," he said, a hint of something like dark amusement threading through his words.

She finished tending to his wound, her smile softening. "I'll consider it," she said lightly, moving on to the next patient without missing a beat.

Levi watched her for a moment, his curiosity piqued by the way she held herself. Her presence was unusual—unfazed, efficient, but carrying an undercurrent of something he couldn't yet place.

***

Days later, the training grounds were bathed in the dim light of late afternoon, dust kicking up in the air as soldiers practiced drills and maneuvers. Levi's mind was preoccupied with the next expedition, details and strategies sharpening in his head, when an unexpected burst of laughter cut through the noise.

He turned, eyes narrowing at the source. Kaia—the assistant from the medical tent—stood near the row of targets, holding a knife in her hand. Two recruits hovered beside her, leaning in with eager smiles and giving advice that bordered on flirtation rather than instruction. Kaia listened, her posture relaxed but her eyes alight with amusement, clearly unbothered by the attention.

Levi's irritation simmered. This wasn't training—it was a damn distraction. He approached with purpose, boots crunching against the dirt. The recruits spotted him first and went stiff, the color draining from their faces as they registered who was approaching. Kaia turned too, surprised, but she didn't shrink away.

"Captain Levi," she greeted, her voice steady, though there was an unmistakable tension in her expression.

He ignored the pleasantries and shot a sharp look at the recruits. "Get back to work," he ordered, his voice carrying that familiar, no-nonsense edge. The recruits scrambled to obey, leaving Kaia standing alone, knife still clutched in her small hands.

Levi's eyes fell to the weapon, then back to her. "Distracting recruits," he muttered, irritation lacing his words. "That what passes for training these days?"

Kaia's lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't back down. Her chin lifted slightly, that defiance from before surfacing again. "I'm trying to learn," she said, her tone firm but not defensive. "It's not as easy as it looks."

He stepped closer, his scrutiny unyielding. "You're holding it wrong," he said bluntly. Before she could react, he reached out, grabbing her hand to adjust her grip. His fingers were calloused, rough from endless battles, but he moved with practiced precision.

Kaia stiffened at the unexpected proximity, but she didn't pull away. Levi corrected her stance, focusing on the way she held the knife. As he guided her, a clean scent caught him off guard—something bright and fresh, like lemon and honey. It didn't belong here, in the dust and sweat of the training grounds, and for a moment, he found himself trying to place it.

She noticed his hesitation, and a smirk curved her lips. "Something wrong, Captain?" she teased, her voice light, though her eyes gleamed with mischief. "Didn't know I smell that nice."

Levi's jaw tightened, and he stepped back, his expression hardening. "Focus on the target," he ordered, deflecting her teasing. "Not on me."

A faint flush colored her cheeks, but she obeyed, turning her attention to the target. She took a breath, adjusted her stance, and threw the knife. This time, the blade struck closer to the center, though it still wasn't perfect. A small, satisfied smile broke across her face.

"Better?" she asked, the hint of pride in her voice impossible to miss.

Levi nodded once, crossing his arms over his chest. "Better," he acknowledged, though his gaze lingered on her a moment longer. "But you don't seem like someone who'd need to know how to throw knives."

The question hung in the air, his tone neutral but probing. Kaia's smile faded, and something shuttered behind her eyes. Her chin lifted again, that familiar shield of defiance. "Looks deceive," she replied, her voice quiet, almost distant.

Levi held her gaze, sensing something deeper, a crack in the calm composure she wore so well. But he wasn't the type to pry. Instead, he stored the detail away, another piece of the puzzle she presented.

Without another word, Kaia turned and walked away, leaving Levi to watch her retreat. Her parting words echoed in his mind, but he forced himself to shake them off. There were always deeper things beneath the surface—secrets, motives, pain. He'd learned that the hard way.

And yet, something about her lingered. Just enough to make him wonder.