The sun had long dipped below the horizon, but the air still held a faint warmth—the kind that clung to skin after a hard day's training.
Beatrice moved quietly through the hall, her hair, still damp from the showers, clung in soft wisps to the side of her face, curling slightly at the ends. She wore a clean uniform shirt tucked loosely into her pants, sleeves rolled just below her elbows. Her cravat was untied, hanging limp around her neck like an afterthought.
She wasn't looking for anything in particular. Just… wandering. Letting her body cool. Letting the silence settle. Then she passed the mess hall. And paused. Inside, in the far corner, sat Levi. Alone. Elbows resting on the table. One leg crossed over the other. A bowl of berries at his side, half-touched. His favourite tea—a specific black blend only three people in camp knew how to brew right—steaming quietly in his cup.
He wasn't eating. Just staring into the mug like it owed him money. Beatrice tilted her head, fingers curling on the frame of the open door. She didn't step in. Not yet.
He looked… broody. Broodier than usual.
The silence between them stretched across the room, warm and gentle.
Finally, Levi spoke.
"You're walking barefoot."
Beatrice blinked. "I am?"
He didn't look up. "You are."
She glanced down.
Sure enough, she'd left her boots at the shower entrance. She wriggled her toes against the cool tile and gave a sheepish shrug. "It's nice like this."
Levi grunted. Still no eye contact.
She stepped inside slowly. Quietly. Sat across from him like it was the most natural thing in the world. The steam from his tea drifted between them like a soft veil.
"I didn't expect you here," she said softly.
"I live here."
"I meant… waiting."
Levi took a slow sip from his mug. "Wasn't waiting."
Beatrice nodded like she believed him. She didn't.
She reached over and plucked one of the berries from his bowl.
He raised a brow.
"Sharing?" she asked, already chewing.
He didn't stop her. Just shifted the bowl a little closer to the centre of the table.
They sat like that—quiet, berry between them, sipping tea like war wasn't around the corner and emotions weren't sitting just beneath their skin. Finally, she spoke again.
"You were really hard on Farlan today."
"Tch."
"Don't 'tch' me. You nearly made him cry."
"He needs better footwork."
"You need better subtlety."
That earned her a look. She smiled.
Levi looked at her for a long moment, the shadows under his eyes softening.
"You did well today," he said at last.
Beatrice tilted her head. "You already said that."
"I meant it again."
Her smile faltered for just a second. Not out of doubt—but because it struck somewhere deep.
"I missed this," she whispered.
Levi's hand curled slightly around his cup. "What?"
"This." She gestured gently between them. "The quiet. The tea."
He looked away.
Not because he didn't want to hear it. But because he didn't know what to do with the feeling that bloomed behind his ribs when she said it.
Beatrice leaned forward, chin resting on her arms now. Her hair was beginning to dry, curling more wildly around her temples.
"Are you still mad at Farlan?"
"Maybe."
"He really was trying today."
"I know." Levi sipped his tea. "I made him lose balance on purpose," he muttered.
Beatrice grinned. "You're terrible," she said.
"And you're barefoot," he countered.
They sat a little longer, two stubborn creatures orbiting each other in a sea of steam and sugar-sweet silence.
Then Levi reached forward—and gently flicked a strand of hair away from her cheek. Beatrice blinked.
"That'll frizz," he muttered.
Her face went warm. "You notice weird things."
"I notice everything," he said without thinking.
Then—quietly—he looked down.
And added in a whisper she couldn't hear, "Especially when it comes to you."