"That thing you wear around your neck . . . it's not a scarf is it?"
Levi pauses mid-sip, the rim of his teacup gripped stiffly between his fingertips. He narrows his eyes, a look of confusion etched on his face. "What?"
Mikasa Ackerman sits idly across from his cot, settled on her usual seat by his window. She's staring at him now, clutching her own cup of tea in her palms, a curious glint lining her eyes. He follows her gaze to the frills of fabric dangling from the collar of his shirt, prompting him to raise a brow.
"You mean my cravat," he answers.
Mikasa hums. "So that's what it's called." There's a lilt in her voice that tells Levi she wants to ask more. He contemplates, fiddling with his cup and smoothing his thumb over the rough edges of the rim.
"It was . . . my mother's," he says slowly, unsurely. He doesn't know why he says it, and it's not exactly the truth. It's definitely not a lie, either.
Briefly, his eyes shift unfocused, recalling a time he wishes he didn't remember; a much younger, colder time. He catches himself in his reminiscing, clenching his jaw before he recalls too much. He looks to the young woman before him, grey orbs watching him quietly and tentatively, never daring to interrupt.
Levi straightens. His tongue has been too loose these days, especially around her. They succumb to a quiet. He doesn't finish his thought.
Instead, it's Mikasa who speaks. "Do women usually wear cravats?" Her voice is gentle. Her eyes are soft.
". . . No," he tells her simply. Silently, Mikasa understands.
Her own neck, Levi notes, is currently bare and scarf-less. It's usually a rarity, but recently he's noticed it has become her new normal.
"Why? Did you want one?"
She blows hot air from her nose. "Gods, no."
A small huff escapes him. It's been a while since he's seen such an expression on her; one full of smugness and frivolous challenge. There's a hidden smile within her eyes as she brings her cup of tea to her lips.
"It's a stylistic choice," he finds himself defending.
"Not a good one, it seems."
This brat. "Doesn't mean much coming from you."
Her eyes shoot up with a glare. Levi returns it with a blank look, jutting his head towards her, eyes trained to her neck. A sinister part of him feels satisfied when he sees his subordinate redden at his words. He shoves the thoughts aside.
"Mine was practical, at least," she reasons. It's subtle, but her voice grows quiet. "It kept me warm."
Levi pauses. He clocks the somberness of her tone. Treading carefully, he asks, "So why not wear it now?"
Mikasa doesn't answer right away. Instead, she takes in a breath. Her eyes fall downcast, fingertips tracing the handle of her teacup.
"It's . . . a stylistic choice?"
He scoffs, a hint of a smirk threatening to show through. She gives him a shrug.
"Besides," she says, slowly taking a sip of her tea. "I've found other ways to keep warm."