Brewed to Perfection: Quiet Tea | LeviHan | Levi Ackerman x Hange Zoe | FalBi

Chapter 48: The Battle Within

The dim glow of the hospital room seeped through the thin curtains as Levi sat hunched in the chair beside Hange's bed. His crutch rested against the wall, forgotten, while his hand remained on hers, fingers trembling slightly. The steady beep of the heart monitor punctuated the suffocating silence, each sound reminding him of her fragile state.

He hadn't moved much since the doctor left. Sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford, his mind too restless, consumed by thoughts that clawed at him with merciless persistence. His knuckles, wrapped in hastily applied bandages, throbbed faintly, but he barely noticed the pain.

What was he supposed to do? Stay by her side, waiting for a sign of life, or leave and hunt down the bastards responsible for putting her here? The decision felt like a noose tightening around his neck, each option carrying a weight he wasn't sure he could bear.

Levi's gaze flickered to Hange's pale face, her features slack but serene. He couldn't help but picture her as she had always been-vibrant, unpredictable, and endlessly annoying in a way he had grown to cherish. Her laugh echoed in his ears, sharp and unbridled, always filling the space with her infectious energy. It was a cruel contrast to the stillness before him now.

"You'd know what to do," he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. "You always do."

But she wasn't here to make the decision. She couldn't reassure him with her unwavering optimism or scold him for even considering leaving her side. The weight of the choice was his alone.

Images of the interrogation replayed in his mind-the prisoner's smirk, his weak attempts at defiance before breaking under Levi's relentless gaze. The name he had given, the location of the meeting-it all felt like a breadcrumb trail leading straight to the men who had done this. The thought of them walking free, unpunished, sent a cold surge of fury through Levi's veins.

He could be out there now, tracking them down. He knew Onyankopon and the others wouldn't approve, but that didn't matter. What mattered was making them pay. For Hange. For everything.

But every time he thought about leaving, his grip on her hand tightened, as if letting go would mean losing her entirely.

Levi leaned forward, resting his forehead against their joined hands. "You'd hate this, wouldn't you?" he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. "Me sitting here, doing nothing."

The helplessness was unbearable. He wasn't built for waiting, for sitting idly while someone he cared about fought for her life. He had always been a man of action, someone who faced problems head-on, no matter the cost. But now, the very act of staying felt like its own battle-a war waged against his own instincts.

The idea of her waking up to find him gone twisted in his gut. What if she opened her eyes and he wasn't there? What if the first thing she saw was an empty chair? The thought was enough to root him in place, despite the gnawing urge to leave.

The quiet hours stretched into evening, and the suffocating stillness finally drove Levi out of the room. He wandered through the hospital's dimly lit corridors, his crutch clicking softly against the floor. Reaching the back entrance, he stopped, leaning heavily against the cold brick wall. The chill of the night air stung his face, cutting through the stagnant warmth that clung to him like a shroud.

From his jacket pocket, he pulled out a crumpled cigarette-something he had swiped off Jean during a supply run, though he wasn't sure why. Levi turned it over in his fingers, the paper rough against his skin. He stared at it as if the answer to his turmoil might lie within its fragile roll of tobacco.

It wasn't him. He despised smoking-always had. To him, it was dirty, wasteful, a pointless indulgence. Yet tonight, the unrelenting chaos in his mind drowned out his disdain. With a shaky hand, he lit the cigarette, the flicker of the flame casting fleeting shadows across his face.

The first puff hit his throat like fire. He coughed, harsh and rasping, but he didn't stop. He took another drag, ignoring the acrid taste and the way his chest protested. The smoke curled lazily into the night, a faint, ghostly ribbon against the stark backdrop of the hospital.

"Levi?"

The familiar voice startled him. He glanced up to see Onyankopon standing a few feet away, his expression a mix of shock and concern.

"Are you... smoking?" Onyankopon asked, his tone incredulous.

Levi exhaled a cloud of smoke, his expression unreadable. "What does it look like?" he muttered, taking another puff.

Onyankopon stepped closer, his voice firmer now. "You hate smoking. You've always hated it. What the hell are you doing?"

Levi didn't answer immediately. His gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, the cigarette burning between his fingers. Onyankopon sighed and, in one swift motion, snatched the cigarette from Levi's hand, crushing it underfoot.

"This isn't you," Onyankopon said, his voice steady but tinged with quiet urgency. "Don't let this-don't let them-turn you into someone you're not."

Levi's jaw tightened, his hands clenching at his sides. "I'm fine," he said curtly, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

"No, you're not," Onyankopon replied, his tone softening. "And that's okay. But smoking a damn cigarette isn't going to fix anything."

Levi glared at the crushed cigarette, its smoldering remains extinguished against the cold pavement. He didn't respond, but the weight of Onyankopon's words pressed against him like a vice.

Onyankopon's gaze softened. "I know you're thinking about them-the ones who did this to her. And I get it. But you know Hange. She wouldn't want this. She wouldn't want you to lose yourself over them."

Levi finally spoke, his voice low, barely above a whisper. "She's the only reason I haven't left yet."

The admission lingered in the air between them, raw and unguarded. Onyankopon placed a steadying hand on Levi's shoulder, his grip firm but reassuring.

Later that night, Levi returned to Hange's room, the faint scent of smoke still clinging to his jacket. He sank into the chair beside her bed, his body heavy with exhaustion. Her hand was warm under his, the faintest reminder that she was still fighting.

"I'm here," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "And I'm not going anywhere."

The file Onyankopon had given him sat untouched on the table, its contents temporarily forgotten. For now, Levi's focus was on her-on the faint rise and fall of her chest, the quiet rhythm of her breathing. The choice still loomed over him, a constant pull in opposite directions.

The crushed cigarette remained on the ground, a silent testament to the battle raging within him.