May

May's clearer weather meant that the squad's sparring sessions were moved outdoors from their usual location of the small gym. The sky was blue, the sun bright and birds were singing. Spring was Petra's favourite season, because it felt like the season of hope; the season of potential, and who were the scouts if not agents of change - seekers of a new dawn? Also it was an opportunity to see the Captain's bare arms in broad daylight.

It wasn't hot per se, but they'd all put on their matching black vest tops - it wouldn't take them long to break a sweat once they began sparring.

"Listen up."

Captain Levi stood in the middle of a rope ring several metres in diameter placed on the freshly cut grass.

"Today's session will be different."

The squad side-eyed one another.

"You'll be sparring against me. As a group."

A ripple of raised eyebrows ran through the line of them. The Captain cocked his head,

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

The squad were a flurry of flitted looks, then they instantly saluted perfectly in time;

"Yes sir!"

Before spreading evenly around the edges of the large rope circle.

Well this was interesting. Petra supposed it was a good measure of their teamwork skills and an opportunity to gauge their improvement; hers especially. The Captain had been teaching her to spar one on one for a time, but the past month or so they'd gone back to cycling around everyone. She took it as a good sign, that now she was good enough that she wouldn't embarrass him. On one occasion in hand to hand combat against Eld, she'd actually managed to sock him in the jaw, and caught the Captain's subtle nod of approval from across the gym…which caused her heart to skip a beat.

Not today though. She wasn't going to be distracted by his perfectly sculpted arms, his strong legs, his toned abs in the tight vest, nor the droplets of sweat rolling down his neck. When she clocked the razor-sharp lines of his chin and cheekbones, the adorable point of his little nose, she wouldn't lose focus. And if she caught his stormy eyes, ever-intense under his thin, glowering brow, beautiful behind his inky bangs…she would concentrate on the next best move, because that was what he needed from her.

He was so darn fast.

The second the squad jumped inside the rope to begin the spar, the Captain turned and sprinted with terrifying directness towards Eld. He was half the size, but he punched Eld so hard in the stomach that the taller man was instantly winded and doubled over, then expelled the blonde from the ring with a powerful kick. The three remaining squad members grit their teeth, sweat forming across their foreheads in beads while Eld lolled about on the grass, groaning.

Petra pursed her lips. Darn it. He knew that they'd be relying on Eld to give signals and keep them together, so he'd taken him out instantly. That was the thing about the Captain, he was famous for his physical prowess, but the reason for his success was that he was always thinking.

"Use your brain. You don't wanna die? Think."

He'd said it time and time again, with most frequency when they were beyond the wall.

Think, Petra. Use your head.

She darted out of his eye-line and gestured to Gunther: 'swap positions'. She knew Gunther'd caught her meaning. Oruo spotted it too, and took the initiative to run towards the Captain as a distraction, which she was grateful for. After their week of training cadets last month, Oruo's signature egotistical recklessness had diminished significantly; now he would generally try and listen to the movements of the group before spiralling off to 'take care of things' on his own.

She was planning on a rear attack and began running at him from some metres away, but the Captain had instantly read the manoeuvre. He was always several steps ahead - literally in this case too, as Petra couldn't even make it near him before he'd spun and knocked Oruo to the ground then revolved to be face-to-chest with Gunther, where the two men locked arms. Oruo griped as he lamely got back to his feet, and Petra still wasn't close enough by the time Captain Levi outmanoeuvred Gunther and managed to push him so he stumbled back several steps. The Captain span to her in challenge, and she stopped in her tracks.

Apprehensive, the three squad members re-set themselves surrounding him.

He jutted his chin, which wasn't nearly as provoking as the fact that not a single hair on his head was out of place. Petra almost wanted to smirk; he'd clearly used his calm demeanour to goad people many times before in such a setting. They were still soldiers, and they had too much pride not to fall for it.

Then, for two solid minutes the Captain evaded the three of them; predicting every punch and kick, ducking and weaving but throwing no attacks of his own. Petra made a noise of irritation - this was classic, he was tiring them out.

Think.

She stopped throwing punches, and instead danced around in the same way, mirroring him, offering no attacks. He immediately noticed the change, and his eyes glued to her curiously, all the while still evading the errant arms and legs of the other two men.

He clairvoyantly ducked a split second before Gunther's weighted punch, which instead soared over his head and smacked Oruo hard in the jaw, who went instantly flying from the ring with an elongated "Blaaaaaaarrrghh". The sound tailed off comically as Oruo flew further away, landing in a heap by Eld. It was at that point Petra realised that in his evasion of their attacks, he'd been slowly moving the group towards the rope to make ousting them easier.

"Shit." Gunther looked panicked as the Captain promptly turned and kicked him in the gut sending him sailing back towards the centre of the ring.

Petra saw her opening. As his leg came down from his brutal kick, she appeared behind and tripped him so he fell backwards, but not before he'd grabbed her arm and dragged her down too.

She was not going to be distracted.

She was not going to be distracted.

Except…she was currently straddling her Captain. Oh hell.

She was leant over him, frozen, the tips of her ginger bob were almost grazing his cheeks as she stared, astonished into his grey eyes; the awkwardness of the their position having thrown her so much that she found, though internally screaming at herself to move, to get the hell off him for Maria's sake, none of her muscles were responding. Sickeningly, she realised that her strongest urge was to squeeze her thighs to feel him between them more intensely, to sit back fully onto him. Just as the warm tingling of desire began seeping, sap-like through her, his brow scrunched sharply, and grabbing firmly onto her shoulders, he cast her off him to the side and she rolled along the grass, dazed.

By the time she'd collected herself and got back up, Captain Levi and Gunther were again engaged in a fierce scrap. Gunther was trying to catch her eye, vexed that she'd left him to fight alone for so long. She shot him an apologetic look, and with one hand sliding under her vest across her chest, ran at the pair, just as Gunther was solidly booted from the ring.

The Captain span to her, readying a punch, but then instantly froze in place.

At the end of her outstretched arm, the point of Petra's short, blunted knife was gently pressing into his Adam's apple. It moved a little with his shallow gulp.

"You never know if your opponent will be armed, sir." She said, panting.

His slate-grey eyes pierced hers, unfaltering, as his upper body gradually relaxed and he slowly raised his hands in surrender.

"Good." He said quietly. His eyes lingered.

Their small moment was broken by the raucous cheering of the guys outside of the ring. Petra dropped the knife from his neck, and laughed with relief.

"Where the hell d'you get that?" Oruo called over, scratching his head.

Petra beamed, "I sewed a pocket into my sports bra." Then she caught Eld's eye, "Guess that's what you'd call a booby-trap!"

There he was. The gangly bastard, leaning over her breathing his filthy-trash breath into her perfect-angel face.

Levi sneered.

At what point would that be considered an invasion of her personal space? At what point could he traverse the tavern floor and yell?

He gazed down into his amber whiskey, back up to her matching hair, eyes, and her delicate expression which showed polite but obvious hints of resistance to the lanky asshole's efforts.

"Tch."

This was messed up. It were as though everyone else in the room was faceless, a blur of muted colours, and yet there she was, glowing amongst the masses, the only thing he cared about in the vicinity and the only reason he was at the tavern at all. It was unlike him - the band weren't playing and he was sure he had stacks of paperwork to get through. Just last night Erwin had been on his ass about being late with it again. Being here was foolish. He should leave.

He placed the still-full drink down, ready to make for the exit, when a long, uninvited arm bridged that space he'd had his eye on, that space he'd been measuring to the centimetre in his mind, the only remaining space between Petra and his current nemesis. The unnatural arm, like a bony tree branch spanned the gap, and a skeletal hand wrapped it's twig-like fingers about her forearm, squeezing the muscle, massaging her silken skin with despicable confidence. How could such a hand look both tacky with sweat and bone cold…it was a horror that defied the laws of reality.

The tall man threw his head back and laughed, a guttural guffaw honking through the space, somehow louder than the rest of the tavern combined as it pulsed through the room, irritating the hairs on the back of Levi's neck. Then from her, a tiny pull, the most minuscule gesture of rejection - a genteel smile, but the brows, the eyes gave it away; they screamed 'get off, take your hand away'. The tall man must have been blind that he couldn't read it - a damn baby could have picked up on that simple signal. Instead, he'd tightened his hateful grip on her.

Something inside snapped.

Levi didn't even feel himself pick up the tumbler of whiskey, only saw the glass instantly shatter on the vertical wooden beam just behind the bastard's head; amber liquid splattering like a flicked paintbrush over his white shirt. The tall man looked ever-more cadaverous as Levi approached, smashing him square in the face to the sickening crunch of a surely broken nose.

…that motion returned to him with frightening ease.

"C-captain!" Petra cried out, but Levi had to wipe the blood drops from his knuckles with his handkerchief first, grimacing.

"Let's go." He mumbled, lip curling as he noticed she'd bent down to check if the man was ok.

She was too good for her own good.

"Petra." He urged, "Get up. We're going. Don't make me carry you." He rolled his neck.

"But sir…" She looked up at him with those round, pleading, unnaturally sparkling eyes.

"Damn it." He spat, hoisting her up over his shoulders and she gasped, for a moment completely frozen by his brazen gesture; then he could hear her protests - but they were quiet, as though they were coming from another room. With a backwards glance to the tall, unconscious body that lay part-crumpled against the bar, he tossed the bloodied handkerchief with flippant disdain.

The next thing he knew he'd kicked open the door to his room, where he flung her unceremoniously onto his bed and she lightly bounced with the force of his throw, her orange eyes wide open in awe as she nervously stabilised herself.

Her small, clean hands propped up her torso from behind and her knees bent along the bed in front of her, legs and skirts settling between the folds of his bedcovers as though she belonged there, which she did. Ginger hair dishevelled from his unrefined hauling of her through the night, lips slightly parted and her bosom heaving within her tight corset; she said nothing, and though a part of him wished she would speak, she seemed wholly comfortable, if startled. Resting just below her cleavage were the ends of the red corset lace - so invitingly tied into a relaxed bow, so easily undone as one might unwrap an outlandish gift. He imagined slowly unravelling the lace as he unravelled his humanity, descending into animal madness.

He closed the door firmly behind him, and stood for a moment, dropping his gaze and taking in the splits and speckles in the wooden floorboards. His throat was stuck.

"Why did you do that…" She was still, and her voice quietly wavered. The question wasn't a question.

Eyes up, blood hot in his veins, he powered towards to her, and in a transcendent second found himself pressed against such curves he'd only dreamt of, his hand urging her into him ever closer from the arch of her back, as he fell between her ruffled skirts and her semi-supine legs. Unthinking, he launched his lips against hers, hard, strong, and felt her dissolve beneath him with a warming "mmm…"

—

"Mmm…"

Petra hummed aloud curiously.

This was the last place she could think of that he might be.

The door to the Captain's office stood in front of her, the final frontier. The squad had split up to search for him when he didn't turn up to the ODM run first thing. The Captain always told them when he wouldn't be training with them, and though they considered starting without him, something about it didn't sit right with the group, and Eld made the decision that they search for him and meet back in an hour.

The office was her final stop. Taking an apprehensive breath, she knocked lightly.

"Captain?" She inquired.

No response.

"Captain? Sir - are you in there?"

—

"Captain…" She moaned, her voice breathless with lust as he thrust mightily into her, losing his senses as their naked bodies writhed atop the white duvet. He'd wash it when they were done.

He groaned weakly feeling her quivering slickness, her legs squeezing tighter and tighter around his back as she yearned for that glorious friction. That tall fucker would never know this.

"Sir - are you in there?"

He stopped, his ragged breath falling in heavy pants across her ecstasy-glazed eyes. The damn hell did she mean? Of course he was-

"Huh?" He gruffly croaked, his mind drowning in new confusion, though he quickly surfaced as she giggled, biting her lip, urging him with her hips, legs and eyes to move once more. It didn't take much for him to comply.

—

The door remained still and silent in front of her; rigid, stubborn. Petra internally mused that it reflected him in that way.

With a low, steady sigh, she grasped the brass handle, shyly turning it; there was a fairly strong chance that he'd bark something at her within the next three seconds…

How wrong she was.

Under the streaming morning light from the large back window he was sat at the desk, a sleeping semi-silhouette. His left arm was bent, providing a low pillow for his head, which was tilted sideways leaning on it. His right arm was stretched further forward along the desk, pen still loosely in his grasp, which had bled out into the parchment beneath leaving an unsightly ink puddle. Either side of him, stacks of papers rising nearly to the height of his head sat in two demanding piles.

A smile blossomed across her face. It appeared that her lungs simply weren't big enough to take in the amount of oxygen required to process the adorable rarity of what she was seeing.

The Captain didn't sleep, that was a well known fact among the scouts; yet here he was, perfectly at rest, his expression utterly unburdened, silent and peaceful. If it weren't for the slightest movements of his chest and shoulders, she might have had to check his pulse.

For one glorious moment she considered that she might be the first scout to see him in such a manner. And now she had to break the spell…

"…Captain…"

She licked her lips anxiously.

"Captain Levi - sir?"

She realised through the feeble tone of her own voice that she didn't want to wake him. It would be too cruel. Here, he was so serene, so untroubled and young. Who knew what he was dreaming about?

—

"Captain Levi - sir!" She cried, droplets of sweat forming on her forehead, bending her back to press her beaded nipples up into his chest as she screamed out in pleasure, the sound better than any music the dumb band could ever play - better than any band could ever play. He would throw himself into the jaws of a titan if it meant he got to hear her say his name like that again.

—

Petra edged towards the desk to get a closer look of his resting expression, when his eyelashes fluttered lightly, causing her breath to hitch.

"Mmm." He mumbled softly.

She was deathly still, completely unsure what to do. What if he woke right now? He'd be mad, definitely - but worse than that, she didn't want to be the reason that he lost valuable sleep. Guilt swam through her; had she been assisting him with his paperwork as before, he might not be so behind now, and he might not have been so exhausted that he missed drills.

After a second standing in thought, she tip-toed and leant across the desk, wincing as she eased a clean sheet of parchment from the pile as quietly as possible. When he didn't so much as twitch, and she thanked the goddesses with a look to the ceiling - she was blessed today.

Continuing her quiet hurry, she picked up a spare pen from the pot (her own pen she realised) and scribbled a brief note letting him know that the Commander had already told the squad that their Captain wouldn't be at drills today, due to an overload of paperwork, and that they were training at ODM run one without him. She'd tell the squad something similar.

Her hand shook as she signed it, but she figured, so long as she made it out of his office now before he woke up, that he'd likely appreciate the gesture.

—

Her hands shook as they caressed his undercut and he brushed her jaw with his lips in light kisses, one of his hands trailing slowly down to that sensitive spot between her thighs. She deserved to feel the best it was possible to feel: he had to show her the brightness she showed to everyone else, somehow. By her euphoric response, he was sure she appreciated the gesture.

—

Eyes darting across the busy desk (though still as neat as it could be given the amount of assignments), Petra wondered on the best spot for her note. Too close seemed a little intrusive - she would have had to get right up to him while he was sleeping (which, if nothing else, was dangerous) but too far away and he might not find it among all the documents.

She held the slip of paper over the desk, moving over different points to visualise it in each spot-

"There…" His low, dulcet tone, almost a whisper, sounded.

Her eyes widened and a shiver ran through her.

Could he see what she was doing?

Surely not. A coincidence, nothing more. But…what on earth was he dreaming about?

There…

There was something strangely sensual about it.

…

Gosh, that was really screwed up.

Here she was perving on him while he was asleep; she never thought she was the type. She bit down on her lip, hard. It was time to go, before her thoughts continued in that unsavoury direction. Placing the new note directly in the centre of the desk where it had been when he mumbled, she gave him a speedy nod, before shuffling as silently and quickly as possible from the room and closing the door behind her, vowing to not speak of what she'd witnessed to anyone.

—

"Mmm…Pet…"

Levi awoke to the faint gruffness of his own voice. He was dazed to the yellow morning sunlight bouncing off the dark wooden furniture of his office and his dream was slipping from him like quicksilver.

Dregs of something remained…a warmth and softness…voices…a…glow…a…?

He didn't know.

His eyelids were heavy and tingles swirled their way about him. He felt…remarkably content, and he wished he knew why. It was a curious feeling that he wasn't at all used to. Maybe this was what more than two hours sleep felt like.

Grumbling, he stirred and rubbed his eyes, noticing a new scrap of paper in the middle of the desk; he picked it up and scanned it wearily.

Shit. He'd overslept.

It wasn't often they got a day off on a Friday, but it also wasn't that often that scouts got married, and so the Commander (being something of a romantic) had written out a special permission for the whole squad and some senior officers for the occasion. For Gunther however, it didn't feel like a day off at all.

"Flowers? Wouldn't you be better off sorting out flowers?"

Oruo, rather than heading straight to Blooming Susan's Lazy Daises as he was instructed, was just about keeping up with Gunther who was marching at speed through the bustling market, and was nipping at him like a yappy jack-russell.

"What makes you say that." Gunther scowled, unamused.

"You're always picking bunches of them after drills in the woods, I've seen you. You have 'the eye'."

What the hell was that meant to mean? Surely Oruo wasn't complimenting him? A bead of sweat was forming at Gunther's temple. There wasn't time for this.

"Haven't you been to a wedding before?" He snipped back, "You don't have to pick out the flowers, Harriet and Eld's parents already did that - you only have to pick them up from the shop and get them to the chapel."

"Pfft. Maybe they should have let us do it. We both have 'the eye' after all; I'm sure we'd have done a much better job of selecting the arrangements."

"You just said that I should do it instead of you!" Gunther barked.

He stopped abruptly in the middle of the road, and a few idle shoppers turned their heads. Surely a man who routinely fought fifteen metre high monsters would be able to control his stress levels about a darned wedding better than this…but, shit, this was important! It was the first time he'd been given so much responsibility by a friend and hell would freeze over before he screwed it up.

He glared at Oruo, who slowly raised his brows, unsure how to react.

He continued yelling, "I can't-", then stopped, his shining eyes boring into Oruo's small, affronted hazel ones. It wasn't often Gunther raised his voice at anyone when they were within the walls, and even the man himself was aware that it was scarier than most would anticipate.

Then, his jaw tightening, returned to an acceptable volume, "I can't fuck this up - alright? Go to the darn flower shop. I'll see you at the chapel."

Oruo blinked, and crossed his arms dismissively, "Fine."

The dough was almost right, it looked like soft sand, a little crumbly; ready for kneading then rolling out.

Petra hummed quietly to herself as she squashed it together and placed it on the countertop to knead, the odd crumb falling onto the work surface. She was excited for everyone to taste her family recipe, and it had been a long time since she'd found the time to bake.

"Oh - nun's knickers!"

The wooden spoon clacked and the empty mixing bowl rolled a little as it hit the floor. She must've accidentally knocked them off the countertop when she'd gone to knead the dough. She bent to retrieve it but stopped when she stood, slowly placing the bowl and spoon back onto the kitchen counter.

She hadn't even heard him come in, but suddenly there he was, looking indifferent…and utterly gorgeous. He was stood by the table in black slacks and a casual white long sleeve, and gazing into the ashes of the fireplace, the fingertips of one perfect, slender hand drifting distractedly back and forth across the table.

"Where is everyone? Don't tell me they all had to shit at the same time."

—

Levi lazily ran his fingers across the table, as though the dappled wood and empty fireplace were the most interesting things in the world to him, and not the pretty young woman stood a few metres away. She looked disarmingly angelic whatever she wore, but she was never so beautiful to him as when she was wearing her cleaning uniform. He liked how her fringe was visible in front of the white rag tied around her head, how wisps of her copper hair roughly framed her face. He liked the fresh pressed white apron, how it tied at her waist giving her a clean, gently curving silhouette. It was kinda messed up how much he liked it and he couldn't help but judge himself.

He'd been struggling against it more recently, he wasn't sure why exactly, but, as a result he'd taken to spending longer than usual in the shower. Some feelings just demanded to be felt and…worked through. The group spar last week had only added to his frustrations.

It wasn't fair that she could get such a rise out of him (emotionally and physically) from doing almost nothing, no matter how unintentional or unknowing on her part. He suspected she wasn't aware of his response at all, which, in light of the situation they were in as soldiers, could only be a good thing. Still, everyone gave in to their whims sometimes, and here he was today, finding it difficult to keep his regular distance.

"…we've all got our tasks to do for the big day today Captain."

He stopped moving his hand and, after a long moment, glanced up at her. She had some flour on her cheek and a bemused expression. Cute. He returned his attention to the table.

"Nun's knickers…" He muttered under his breath.

"Huh? Did you say something sir?"

"Tasks huh?"

"Yes sir. Gunther-"

"What's this?"

The next thing he knew he'd walked directly towards her, placing his hands firmly on the counter from the opposite side. His eyes dropped to the dry mixture in its shapeless mass on the work surface.

"Shortbread sir. My family recipe."

He blinked in question.

"It's…a type of cookie I suppose Captain. Or, at least…it will be once I've finished it."

He leant down a little towards the dough and wrinkled his nose, "What's in it?"

A small smile edged across her lips,

"Well, the traditional shortbread recipe calls for a loaf of bread and pair of old shorts that…"

She tailed off, catching his confused (and unamused) expression,

"Flour, butter and sugar sir."

No Vanilla. Huh. That could only mean the scent was coming from her.

It was taking an unbelievable amount of self-restraint not to lift his hand to her face and brush away the smudge of flour on her cheek. Perhaps his hand could linger a little, feel the softness of her skin…

—

Petra was suddenly on edge.

He was staring at her mutely with his usual stern and unreadable expression, but there an unnerving intensity to it that wasn't so usual; it was an expression similar to that he wore when he found the single speck of dirt in a room the squad had just cleaned. It was a barely-contained wildness, and it just about broke through his cool, controlled facade. It contrasted completely with his relaxed attire.

He continued to stare. She shifted a little, unsure how to respond. She opened her mouth, but quickly found she had no words and closed it again.

.

He was still staring. She was concerned that the intensity of it would melt her down into a worried ginger puddle.

..

The silence and stillness was beginning to get very uncomfortable, and yet, he hadn't even appeared to blink once. Was something wrong?

…

She found her eyes eventually shifting away from his, preoccupying themselves with anything in her periphery vision…were the walls always that shade? Her blue flower vase, suddenly contained a chip-

"You need any help?"

His voice jolted her back to him, "You…you want to help me Captain?"

"Why not?"

Her throat was tight, and she blinked rapidly,

"That would be…"

Her breath caught as his hand reached out to her face and his rough thumb slowly swept across her cheek.

…wha?

He lingered a moment, before removing his hand and frowning at the fine dusting of flour on it.

Oh…flour…on…

Staring…was why…the speck of dirt…on her…

"T-thank you Captain."

She was dumbfounded, stock-still. It seemed that, though she'd now had extensive practice in concealing her misguided feelings for him, all it took was a simple, unexpected act from him to entirely throw her back into her old besotted boots, stammering like a terrified child, back six months of her life. The cracks were showing again. She'd have to try harder.

He sighed, and walked from the room.

Wait-

Didn't he just say he'd help her…?

She brought her hand to her cheek and stood in a daze.

Had she imagined it? Was he ever even in the kitchen at all?

Focus Petra! Pay attention!

She shook her head slightly, blinking, and began to lightly knead the dough with a grimace.

Put down fool's fiddle and bake your stupid shortbread for Eld and Harriet. Honestly.

"Hey."

Breath hitched in her lungs again. There he was, decked out in his cleaning gear, white rag tied around his head, straightening his apron. Completely real.

He spoke with his usual flatness, "What do I do?"

Now Petra was the one staring. She forced herself to snap out of it.

"Um-" in a tizz, she took a knife and divided her dough in two as he approached the countertop and stood beside her. She gently moved half of the dough in front of him, heart hammering.

"Now you knead it, sir."

—

Levi's eyes narrowed, considering the section of dough Petra'd just allocated to him, which was barely holding itself together on the worktop, crumbs falling off at the sides.

"…what do you need it to do?" He asked, and he noticed her bite her lip in a way that he hadn't seen since last year, that way she sometimes did when she was trying not to smile;

"No - um." She scrunched her eyes up, "You knead it. Sir."

Then, finally, her round and shining amber eyes speared him directly;

"Like this…see?"

Gently, she worked the dough with her hands, pushing and pulling it around, gathering the loose crumbs and combining them with the mass.

"Not for too long mind you, you just want to make sure it's all mixed so it isn't quite so…short." She caught his eye again for a second.

"…short?" He blinked.

"The dough Captain - it's - it's in the name…"

"I see."

"By 'short' I suppose I meant, crumbly…"

"Right."

"Here, you try."

—

Petra watched as he instantly copied her exact motions. Not a moment later, his dough was entirely combined, and in the shape of a complete, perfect sphere.

"Yes - like - that's…good." She muttered.

Darn it. Was there nothing this man couldn't do? Even when she was teaching him something (a situation that she never thought likely, and was somehow happening anyway) she still didn't have the upper hand.

"Now what?" He asked tonelessly.

She took a deep breath, "Now we gently roll it out, cut and shape it for baking."

He nodded and watched her intently as she demonstrated.

She spent the time determinedly thinking about her rolling and cutting.

She did not want or need to ruminate on the icy blue-grey of his eyes as he'd been watching her, his attentiveness to her actions, his apparent willingness to learn from her. Her mind certainly wasn't preoccupied as she worked by the fact that his hand had brushed her cheek in an almost tender way, by his intense staring that intimidated her but also made her feel…

…special.

It was exactly that word that she needed to distance herself from. She wasn't special to him, not more than any other of his subordinates - not more than any other soldier in the whole regiment. It was all in her head, and she needed to make herself believe it. Astounding how quickly she was plummeting back into this.

Her bedroom fantasies were one thing, but she wasn't going to let one wayward shortbread-making lesson derail her progress in reality. This road only led to heartbreak, and anyway, she was utterly settled in the squad now, she loved every single one of them, and she didn't want to be forced out of her position in Special Operations because of some ridiculous fantasy of hers.

He doesn't want you like that.

Besides, it was deeply unprofessional. Unsoldierly. He stared at everyone with that scary, wild intensity from time to time. He'd roughly thumb flour off of any one of the squad's faces if they were dirty. Today was really not that out of the ordinary.

She glanced sidelong at him and noted his deep focus in his work, the very same as when he was on the battlefield.

He was perfect, and she was delusional if she thought she'd ever stand a chance with someone like that. She was a nobody, a hapless child with a stupid dream, and he was…the symbol of hope for all of humanity.

—

Levi had always picked things up quickly, even if he didn't always follow directions exactly. Once he knew what he was aiming for, he'd get there. It was a strange instinct he seemed to possess since as long as he could remember, and apparently it also applied to baking.

Petra told him that the shapes of the cookies weren't that important as she cut her dough into bite-size hearts, that they just needed to be small enough that they'd bake properly in around fifteen to twenty minutes; that she'd tell him if his were too big or small. Then he'd spent several minutes scowling at his perfectly rolled out dough before she noticed and giggled musically, suggesting that a common shape for shortbread was to cut a large circle, then divide the circle into triangular slices to look like a pie. He liked that idea, it was neat and orderly, and he spent some time making sure every slice of his biscuit 'pie' was exactly the same size.

A warmth spread through his chest as he realised the remarkable ease at which they'd slotted into their reversed roles: he was a model student - but she was also an excellent teacher, clear and encouraging. He caught himself internally preening at her compliments, found that he yearned to impress her - that he had to do a flawless job not just because of his meticulous nature, but because he wanted her to be amazed by his work. Because he cared about her opinion of it.

…

Generally Levi didn't care about other people's opinions except Erwin's, and even then, that was heavily dependent on the topic.

The second the shortbread went into the oven to bake, he exited to collect cleaning supplies from the hallway cupboard with the intent of scrubbing the surfaces and the floor. When he returned, Petra had already busied herself washing up the mixing bowl and utensils.

He watched her for a moment, water splashing around her from the sink.

She was perfect, and he was delusional if he ever thought he'd be good enough for someone like that. He was a rat-faced underground scumbag tarted-up in a cravat, and she was a honey-coloured angel, generous and free-spirited, so divine he sometimes struggled to believe she was real and not a strange collective hallucination between him and the rest of the squad.

Since when did he get so damn flowery? Was this what happened to people who baked things? Flour was a key ingredient…

He needed to stop indulging himself like this.

He needed to get a grip.

Tch.

In that moment, the young expectant groom was surely witnessing the gateway to heaven.

The sound of a single fiddle floated through the body of the simple, small church where guests were stood from their seats in the pews facing the entrance. It was by sheer luck that Harriet's cousin played professionally, and was willing to give them a family discount for the violin performance, which now echoed throughout the room with lone beauty, allowing the lucky folks within to feel the full space of the old building in which they now waited eagerly.

The ajar door, formed of old dark wood, waited invitingly under a stone arch. Golden light poured through it in a divinely glowing column which caressed the old stone slabs of the aisle and jutting corners of the wooden pews, affixed to the ends of each were lively bunches of large daisies.

Eld was overwhelmed. Each new person or wedding decoration he observed had his mind rushing with exultant adrenaline. It caused his palms to sweat, and he was schooling himself on a loop not to aimlessly bite his lip, crack his knuckles, run a hand through his hair (which to Petra's dismay was done in a simple bun almost no differently to usual - she'd wanted him to style it with a flower as she had done) or do anything that might give away his trembling spirit.

He was always cool, calm and collected. He was always cool calm and - except he'd nearly cried twice today already; once on seeing his mother, moist-eyed in her sunflower yellow dress and matching hat arm in arm with his two younger brothers, and then again as he'd strolled purposefully into the church and spotted Gunther, Oruo and Petra lined up at the altar waiting for him, looking very smart in their matching black suits with bow ties, each with a daisy in the pocket (Petra's behind her ear).

His other brothers and brand new sister. They matched him. Even today they were a team.

The violin reached its final soaring cadence and the church fell into an energised hush.

It had to be the longest minute of Eld's life, and he mentally begged the musician to start up again so he wouldn't be able to hear his low, stuttering heartbeat, or uneven breathing.

Lo, a shadow appeared through the light, and heaven's gate opened to his bright angel. Even through the translucent veil he knew that she was beaming so widely that her eyes were half their normal size, creased at the edges, blue sparkling from her irises just like the light dancing off a mountain lake - his favourite sight: an expression so untroubled and splendid he thought of it with great frequency when they were beyond the wall to remind him why the perils of their work was worth it.

She made everything worth it.

—

Petra could see Eld warring with himself not to cry. She'd never seen him so openly emotional before, and her heart swelled on witnessing his struggle.

Standing in the pews were some familiar faces; Hannah and Jules, Moblit, Section Commander Hange, Nifa, Anna, Lynne and…Bert. Naturally as Eld's ex-squad mate he'd be invited, still it was a little awkward following the chat she'd had with him, and they hadn't spoken since beyond the odd clumsy pleasantry when they happened across one another in the courtyard. He caught her eye for a split second and they both looked away. She'd tried to let him down gently, but it didn't matter how gently you dropped an egg, it still cracked.

Down the aisle, Harriet was approaching arm in arm with her father. She was truly breathtaking; she could have been floating towards them - and not just because the floor length simple white gown concealed her feet.

Petra felt her own eyes brimming a little when the young couple were stood across from one another reciting their vows.

A squeezing moved around her heart, as though a rope was being pulled tighter and tighter around it. Guilt, she recognised, as she briefly gave into her own selfish temptation to glance away from the ceremony in order to catch sight of a certain small shadow, leaning on the back wall in its classic pristine black suit, hands heavily in pockets. A fleeting fancy, she schooled herself, returning her attention to the front, just in time to watch the bride and groom share their first blissful kiss.

—

Gunther filed out behind the bustling congregation onto the green.

Pink blossoms were drifting through the air outside the chapel like springtime snow, and the small number of cleanly dressed attendees were drinking pale red wine, scattered about outside and around an old marquee, under which sliced fruit and the fruits of Petra's morning labour were stationed in concentric circles on basic white plates.

He couldn't wipe the smile from his face. After an unconventional and stressful morning everything had come together. He'd picked up the suits, set-up the marquee, spoken to the coachman about transporting the new couple to their evening reception at the tavern, checked off the list of guests as they'd arrived, then given the rings to one of Eld's younger brothers for the ceremony - all on top of instructing Oruo and Petra with their own tasks for the day. In spite of the stress he found a part of him enjoyed the organisation.

Now he was standing in awe of the brand new couple as they cradled one another under a lattice arch, two halves of a resplendent whole. Lilac wisteria flowers were dangling down above them and moving gently in the breeze; the picture of happiness.

There was a pang inside as he thought of James, and how he'd liked to have done this one day. In some ways he was glad James couldn't make it today, he was certain he would have found the whole event more difficult. But the world was cruel; though he'd been blessed enough that his family and close companions never batted an eyelid to their relationship, same-sex marriage wasn't recognised by the church, a fact that didn't look likely to change in the near future.

As if hearing his mental toil, Lynne approached him, arm outstretched with a glass of strawberry wine, which he quickly accepted.

Her eyes twinkled, "You did a great job today. Eld's family were just telling me how much organising you did. That's a big responsibility."

"Mm. Thanks." He said.

She smiled wistfully at the new couple. The birds twittered brightly.

Gunther pulled at his sleeve,

"…have you ever thought about marriage?" He asked.

"Absolutely." Her brown eyes flitted to Anna, shining, "Though marrying when you're in our line of work is really for optimists, right?" She laughed.

Gunther chuckled too. Eld certainly was an optimist - and lucky.

Lynne continued, "But, hey, if it were allowed…maybe my opinion would be different."

Anna looked over to the pair in momentary confusion, then lit up with a smile.

"You're right." Gunther added quietly, "There's never any certainty in the scouts…I'm grateful for what I do have, even if I wish things could be different."

He looked forlornly into his sweet wine, then necked it.

—

Petra wandered around between the small groups of chatting guests, searching for someone that it was becoming increasingly clear wasn't there. She swore she'd seen his shadow in the church but…perhaps it was just her wishful thinking projecting an illusion.

After they'd finished up with baking and cleaning, he'd vanished, and not once had he mentioned the wedding. He hadn't even sampled any of their finished shortbread.

Her heart sank, but her mind steeled her; it was a good thing, if she was going to carry on as normal, she shouldn't be searching him out like that when it wasn't completely necessary to do so.

"Babygirl this shortbread is a dream!" Hannah cawed, appearing from under the marquee.

"Yeah dude - how did you get it to melt in the mouth like that? Did you use a whole block of butter?" Jules chimed in as the pair approached Petra.

In seconds, her spirits were lifted. They always managed it.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it." She beamed, tilting her head, "It's not my first rodeo."

Hannah smirked, "Petra, you know this is a wedding right?"

The ginger laughed, "Oh for goodness-"

"Is baking for weddings like, supplementary income?" Jules interrupted, genuinely curious.

"No, I've never charged." She replied with a thoughtful smile, hand on chin, "Though perhaps I should…"

Hannah nodded enthusiastically, shoving a second whole cookie into her mouth.

"I did bake for my cousin's wedding, which was roughly this size - but in Karanes we break a bigger shortbread round over the bride's head as she enters her new home - kind of a ritual," Petra's smile widened, "I suggested that one to Eld but he didn't seem keen - that's why we made these shapes instead. Much more civilised."

She took a spare triangular cookie from Hannah's plate and nibbled it. Perfect. Better than perfect for the hands that had crafted it.

"Well." Hannah started, then swallowed her mouthful, "Maybe one day I'll get you to bake for my wedding."

Jules laughed, "I volunteer to smash the shortbread round over your head!"

—

Marriage. There was a permanence to it that didn't chime with reality. Especially not for scouts.

Levi left the church as soon as he could. He respected Eld enough to attend, but he wasn't about to make small-talk with a bunch of drunk strangers and Hange; so he caught the groom's eye and gave him an almost imperceptible nod before he took off.

It irked him. The cheerfulness of the day sat like a thin veneer over grim reality, and he found himself again wondering how so many of these people could wilfully delude themselves for so long. Like children at a street puppet show, allowing themselves to pretend the strings were truly invisible, and that nothing existed beyond the confines of the cardboard set.

Seeing his squad suited up in a line like that made his heart hurt. Sooner or later he was going to lose them all. He was going to lose her.

Levi never lost the battle, but somehow, he always lost the war.

i promise im not a romance sadist and that we're headed somewhere! i suppose im doing some exploring here of the common rivetra trope that levi and petra were in love/ crushing on each other for x months/years before acting on it - and seeing what that might look like...and the answer is: extremely frustrating!

the cookie baking scene also came from something id seen in my internet journeys about petra teaching levi to bake something? maybe for a game? i cant really remember...