They are sitting around the breakfast table a few mornings before the expedition to Shiganshina when it happens.
It has been a while since that day - they have been through so much, their little band of scouting misfits - Mikasa no longer fidgets unbearably when Eren leaves a room for longer than 15 minutes, just as Eren has softened in his bitter jabs at her fussing over him, allowing her to linger at his side with some strange air of gentle understanding between them, that the rest cannot hope to understand. Armin has a strained look about him, like he is constantly running over strategies and plans in his mind, staying up well beyond the rest of their troupe, talking Hanji's enthusiasm down to quiet mutters of frustration. Reiner, Bertholdt, Ymir are somewhere far, enemies among them just as Annie had been all along, and their ability to rely on one another has been pushed beyond belief. Krista is Historia now. Erwin has one arm.
They are not the same as they were during that 57th expedition. They are stronger, more determined that their own lives and the lives of those they have lost will mean something, one day, and they will bring about the end of the titans tyrannical hold on humanity.
They are not the same.
Although, they forget sometimes.
They are sitting around the breakfast table a few mornings before the expedition to Shiganshina when it happens.
Levi is sitting at the top of the table, Eren and Mikasa to his right, Hanji and Jean to his left, Armin walking around the table with a teapot, Sasha with her mouth filled to burst with porridge.
Levi is sipping his tea and leafing through paperwork, when a soft growl of annoyance rumbles from his throat. Eren glances up from his breakfast, brow quirked. Levi rubs his right temple with his index finger, and reaches over for his teacup with his other hand.
"I forgot the address for those supply bastards in Sina," he mutters, setting the cup down. "It doesn't matter, I have it in my office. Petra!"
His voice rings out in the stone room, calm, severe as always and without an instant of hesitation.
The table slips into pained silence, even Sasha setting her spoon down, dark eyes falling to stare at her lap as though it holds the secret to destroying the titans.
Levi stops as soon as the name leaves his lips, his eyes dull and listless, his jaw clenched.
Eren shifts uncomfortably in his chair and Armin sits down at the opposite end of the table, settling the teapot down with a trembling hand.
Levi lifts his teacup and sips, before rolling his eyes and pushing his chair back with a squeal that punctures the tentative atmosphere.
"You can all stop looking at me like I'm a wounded fucking child now," he says, the poison dripping from his words eliciting a shiver from Historia and for the rest of their eyes to look away, finding their breakfasts more fascinating than ever before.
Levi turns and leaves the room, going to fetch that damned address. Upon reaching his room, he finds the damned thing and tears the scrap of paper from the document, folding it over and tucking it into his jacket pocket, his fingers brushing against a bloody badge that sits over his heart, always, in said pocket. He snorts at his own foolish sentimentality and as he leaves the room, decides he may as well be said wounded child he berated them for thinking of him as, for he will never be able to take that badge from his pocket and burn it, along with all those memories and automatic responses he has relating to her.
He takes his seat at the table once more, and they have gone back to their breakfasts and soft chatter and forgotten all about Petra again.
Soon, he will be like them, he tells himself.