Just One of Those Days
She was in the midst of—well, research. That much was clear. The state of the room Levi was currently staring at resembled something close to an eruption of papers and clothes. It was like a hurricane had come through; documents scattered across the room, books everywhere, the floor almost no longer visible. His eyes tracked to the jacket tossed carelessly over a chair in a corner. He frowned. This disaster needed cleaning up. Badly. But first— his eyes roamed over to the figure in the middle of it all. Hange was sitting on the floor, chair forgotten, bent over a book. Her hair was a mess—it worse than usual if that was even possible—strands hanging sloppily into her face, teeth sinking into her bottom lip while her eyes darted over the lines. He let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, thinking back to the last time he had cleaned up this space. It had what— not even been a week? God, she would never learn. Why did he even bother? Because he could not just leave it like this—leave her like this. Fuck no, there was just no way. He stepped over the threshold, bent down, and began sweeping up the papers that lay in his way. When he was finally next to her, he cleared his throat to get her attention. "Oi." She jumped a bit at his voice, not having heard him approach her.
"Ah, Levi, hadn't noticed you." Hange pushed back her glasses and smiled at him. A feeble smile, eyes weary. "I'm in the middle of my research. I think I've got something, but—" She looked back down, a frown spreading her face. "Yeah," he said dryly, crossing his arms over his chest. "I can see that." She hummed in response, giving him a nod, once more absorbed in the book beneath her on the floor. He shifted, letting his arms drop to his side. "Oi, are you gonna stay there all night again?" It would be the third night in a row. She shrugged, but then a yawn made its appearance. She rubbed her dry and aching eyes. "Well, I guess I'm a little tired."
"Yeah, little is one word to describe it." His eyes trailed off to the side to one particular large stack of papers. She grinned, rubbing at a stain on the wooden floor at her left. "It is not that bad." He looked back and scowled. She blew a few hairs out of her face, straightening up a bit more. "I like it this way."
"You're unbelievable."
"Unbelievable impressive, you mean." She gave him another grin, which again lacked her usual energy, he noted.
Levi resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Because well— she was impressive— in particular ways. "Yeah, and I think you have lost the last of your two brain cells with all this reading and no sleeping, Shitty Glasses." He wrinkled his nose. "When was the last time you even bathed?"
"Mh." She traced the pages of her book, not looking at him. "I don't remember." He sighed, nothing new thus.
She yawned again, rubbing her cheek lazily, her other hand flipping the pages of the book, eyes still searching the lines.
"Come on, get your ass off the floor and toward the showers." He gestured around him. "In the meantime, I will tidy this up. Try to keep it clean for more than a week next time, yeah." He sniffed, stalking to one of the big stacks of books, shaking his head. How she could even work like this, he would never know. But— this was Hange, after all.
He got to work, but not before first forcing (yes forcing) Hange one of his soap bars in her hands when it became clear that she had run out of toiletries. Again. And by the time Hange came back, he was clearing up the last bit of dust that had been piling up over the several days.
He felt her stare boring holes into his back.
"And," he side-eyed her while she put down her towel, noticing the slight slump of shoulders. "Better?"
"It's your definition of better, not mine."
He glared. "I don't think your interpretation counts as something sensible."
She shrugged nonchalantly, sweeping a few damp hairs out of her face. "Says the one who irons their underwear."
"I do not."
"Mh, but you totally would if you had the chance."
Levi did not throw the broom at her. It was his favorite broom, after all. (Not that she would know.) He got himself a cup of tea instead. Hot tea was a good remedy for anything, from his frequent insomniac nights where he lay staring at the shadowy ceiling to head aching-inducing Shitty Glasses with dusty rooms and no sense of hygiene. In the end, he gave in and brought back a cup for Hange too. She looked exhausted. The dark circles under her eyes and the twitch of fingers not going unnoticed by him. He knew that sensation all too well, the bone-weary tiredness that tugged and clawed at you and would not let go. And still, yet you could not sleep. No matter how much you tried. An endless cycle—it was desperation and nightmares, hopes, and regrets. And everything in between and beyond.
He went, got two cups of his beloved black tea, and sat with her, room cleaned and tidied up. The two of them together in an unspoken understanding of trust and friendship.
It was what they did.
Hello! It's been a while but, I hope you enjoy this little story of mine.
All the mistakes are mine.