Mikasa comes home from work in the pouring rain. The sky was clear when she left the house, so her umbrella is currently hanging from her closet door and not in her hand, protecting her from the downpour that turns her white shirt translucent and makes her shiver beneath the drenched cotton. Her scarf is a heavy, sodden mass that feels as though it is passively choking her. Still, she carries three large plastic bags full to bursting with styrofoam containers of food from her restaurant, owing to a catering client who canceled at the last minute, so she is smiling (although with gritted teeth, owing to the cold rain that spatters against her scalp and trickles down the back of her neck; her hands are too full to wipe it away). The general manager practically forced the food on her, demanding she take home pounds of pasta, veal chops, double servings of salumi and cheese platters. There is more than enough to share, and she figures Levi will appreciate a good, hearty meal now that he is no longer taking up habitual residence in their bathroom.
Part of her thinks that she should not be kind to Levi, that she should repay his usual unfeeling stare in kind. But part of her realizes that she has not always been so cold, that at some point in her life she was open and generous and caring. She hates the hollowness she feels in her chest, the dulled light that shines in her eyes. She cannot live on poison forever, she decides. Perhaps she'll even make that dour bastard crack a smile.
As Mikasa walks up the stairs to the second floor, she hears the dull strands of what sounds to be buoyant orchestral music. The music gets louder as she approaches the apartment, horns and strings and drums, when she realizes that the music is Levi's and it sounds like some kind of military march. Of course that's what he listens to, she thinks. Of course.
When she enters the apartment he is in the kitchen, unwrapping the wire cage from a bottle of champagne, head nodding to the tune of the music — probably Sousa, now that she thinks of it.
"You look like shit," Levi calls over the blaring horns.
"Thanks," she scoffs. "It's raining, if you hadn't noticed. So what's with the champagne and the army music? Can you turn that down?"
He walks over to the stereo system and turns down the music. "I got a new job," he says, picking up the champagne bottle and gripping the neck in one hand. "Have a drink with me." He twists the cork with one hand and it comes off easily, the pop echoing loudly through the apartment.
"Yeah, give me a sec," she says, dropping her bags on the counter, then walking back to her room. She comes out a few minutes later in a pair of worn and faded jeans and a white t-shirt. "Did you eat dinner?" she asks as she goes back into the kitchen, retrieving the styrofoam containers from the bags. "I have pounds of expensive Italian food."
"I ate already," he says, handing her a flute of champagne.
Mikasa downs half the glass in one gulp. "I guess you can watch me eat, then."
"I didn't say I was full," Levi replies. "What did you get?"
She pops the lid to each container. "Caprese and Caesar salads, antipasto, ravioli with brown butter, cavatappi with pesto, pumpkin risotto, veal osso buco, meatballs. And… a shitload of tiramisu," she finishes, peering down into a mass of ladyfingers laden with espresso and custard. Mikasa dips her pinky into a heap of whipped cream and sucks it off her finger. "Good stuff."
Levi simply stands there, his mouth hanging open a little as he surveys the food before him — and, for a split second, the woman before him, the tip of her finger resting between pouted pink lips. "Have you been holding out on me all this time?"
"Not really. But I did bring home half a cheesecake once without telling you," Mikasa replies, shrugging.
"Way to suck, Mikasa," he grumbles.
She picks a ball of marinated mozzarella from the nearest container and takes a bite. "Okay, now you can't have any of this."
"Way to be awesome, Mikasa," he corrects himself.
"That's more like it."
An hour later they are both sprawled out on the couch, passing a second bottle of champagne between them as they suck down the dregs of the now-flat wine. One of the styrofoam containers rests atop Mikasa's stomach, and she reaches into it occasionally to pull out a plump olive, a creamy cube of Taleggio, a hunk of fat-speckled Soppressata.
"Gimme some," Levi groans after taking a long swig of champagne.
"I'm not moving. I'm too full." She takes the bottle from him and grasps it by the neck, bringing it to her lips.
"If I move, I might die. I just couldn't stop eating. I was like a maniac. Just out of control."
"I've never seen anyone pick up an osso buco by the bone and eat it like a drumstick before." Mikasa laughs as she recalls the sight of Levi tearing hunks out of the huge cut of meat, red wine reduction staining his lips and cheeks. "I've been waiting tables since I was fifteen and that's definitely a first for me."
"I like to think of myself as an innovator," he mutters. "Besides, you ate some, too."
"I did." She tries to blot out the memory of Levi pulling the veal chop away from her lips a moment before she tried to take a bite, her mouth closing around thin air. He laughed at her then, this low chuckle that seemed to reverberate through the pit of her stomach, and his smile… "I think I'll use a knife and fork next time," she says brusquely.
"Plebeian," he mock-snarls, then motions for her to pass the bottle back to him. She does, after which he gulps from the bottle. A droplet of wine runs over his lower lip. "And the food."
Mikasa reaches into the container and pulls out a hunk of fennel-laced salami, then holds out her arm limply in his direction, hovering in front of his face. "Here."
Levi looks at her outstretched hand, then scowls at her. "Just pass it to me."
"Just eat. What, you've never had a pretty girl feed you cured meats before?" She raises her eyebrows; the corners of her lips soon follow.
"I haven't, but you're not making it sound appetizing," he says.
"Whatever, more for me." She pulls back her hand and stuffs the piece of salami into her mouth. "Mmmm," she says as she chews with her mouth open, "that was soooo good."
"I didn't say I don't want any!" Levi reaches for the styrofoam container on her stomach as she leans away from him, grabbing it with one hand and reaching her arm away from him to keep the food out of his grasp.
"These are all mine now," Mikasa taunts him as she tries to squirm away. Levi follows, heaving himself against her as he strains toward the container in her hand. He is hampered by his grip on the champagne bottle, so he sets it on the coffee table and dives toward Mikasa once more. She tries to push him away with one hand but only succeeds in sticking her hand in his face, her palm pressed against his nose and mouth. Suddenly there is a sharpness and a wetness against her skin and she realizes that Levi is biting her hand, gnawing gently against her palm. She shrieks with laughter and pushes Levi's face away as she tries to wiggle out from under him.
Her squirming only serves to give him more leverage and soon he pulls himself up and ducks around Mikasa's hand, covering her body with his as he reaches for the container of food in her outstretched hand, taking it away from her. He does not seem to notice that they are pressed hip to hip, and that Mikasa's movements only serve to make that fact more evident.
Levi plucks a translucent slice of prosciutto from the container and holds it a few inches above Mikasa's head. He tosses the container onto the coffee table. She tries to get at the food that he is literally dangling above her, snapping her jaw at it, but he still holds her down with his surprisingly heavy body. He shakes his head and places the prosciutto on his tongue, chewing slowly, as if to taunt her. "Got you," he growls.
"You did," she says, but it comes out like a purr. Mikasa's eyes widen a little as she hears her low tone, the rasp of need in her voice. Levi smiles at her, a sharp sliver of lips and teeth, and it stabs her right in the heart.
And then he kisses her.
She is not sure "kiss" is even the right word for what he does at first: his lips close over hers but she feels his teeth first, scraping lightly over her lower lip as he pulls it into his mouth. Mikasa gasps a little at the strange sensation but also the way it makes her melt into him, her arms wrapping around him before he is kissing her in earnest, his lips firm yet pliant against hers.
One of her hands makes its way up his back, cupping the strong, solid curve of his shoulder and the column of his neck before her fingertips hit the soft scruff of his undercut, then the longer hair above it. Her fingers twine among the dark strands and pull gently. Levi gasps against her lips, then kisses her again with increased fervor. Mikasa pulls his hair again, harder this time, eliciting a growled moan that makes her grip his hair tightly, forcing his head back as she presses her lips to his jaw and then to the side of his neck.
"Shit," Levi hisses as she worries at his skin, smoothing over the sting of her teeth with slick open-mouthed kisses. Mikasa's hand presses against his stomach and skates upward beneath his shirt, and then he stiffens.
"What?" she asks, retreating from him, releasing her grasp on his hair and removing her hand from his body.
"We should stop." He gets off of her and sits back down, pressing against the armrest on the other side of the couch from Mikasa. She pushes herself up until she is seated, looking over at him as he sits straight-spined and scowling. Unconsciously her hand raises to her mouth, her fingertips barely grazing the kiss-swollen fullness of her lower lip. Levi frowns. "Please don't do that," he says, breathing deeply. "It makes me want to kiss you again."
Mikasa drops her hand to her lap and her gaze follows. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It was my fault."
Her mouth opens, trying to think of something to say that will make him feel better, but the only thought that comes to mind is that she just wants to kiss him some more, consequences be damned.
"I should go to bed," Levi says. "I have to go to work tomorrow."
"Yeah," she murmurs, and watches him go.
The next day, there are a dozen red and yellow tulips sitting in a cut glass vase on the kitchen table. Mikasa wonders if they are for her as she traces a finger over the feathery cupped petals. Levi has never brought home flowers before, and now is a strange time to start. She makes a cup of tea and drinks it while she watches the tulip bulbs sway in the morning breeze, wafting a light perfume as they are gently rocked to and fro.
Mikasa decides not to ask Levi about the flowers.