Time passed quietly in the days that followed. Not slow, exactly. Just soft and measured. Like the pause before a breath or the quiet hum of a bowstring just before it's drawn.
Mornings were for training.
Merlin learned the language of footfalls and breath patterns, of Petra's rhythm and Eld's timing, of Gunther's steady pacing and Oluo's loud but oddly precise charges. He stopped gliding and started moving with them—no longer a ribbon drifting through drills, but a thread woven into their pattern.
Sometimes they cursed. Sometimes they laughed. Sometimes they grumbled about his smile. But they moved as one, and that was what mattered.
Afternoons were spent with Hange.
Experiments. Notes. Observations. Endless theories scribbled in shorthand across walls and windows, half of them impractical and the other half borderline illegal.
Merlin contributed in small ways—adjusting measurements, offering stabilizing magic through subtle touch, drawing schematics that shouldn't have been anatomically possible and yet were.
He kept his real insights to himself. But Hange knew he saw more than he said. Maybe that's why they always looked at him sideways when things got too quiet.
And nights… nights were Levi's.
Some evenings they talked of battle formations. Of books neither of them admitted to reading. Of the way the wind moved differently near the walls.
Other nights, they said nothing at all. Just tea poured without flourish. Silence passed like a shared thought. Occasionally, Merlin would hum something wordless and low, and Levi would not tell him to stop.
It was a strange kind of peace. A fragile one. But Merlin cherished it.
Because tomorrow, it would end.
.
His fingers trailed along the collar of his uniform as he stood near the window in his quarters, cloak already folded and strapped atop his pack. He could hear the others moving in the halls—Petra's soft footsteps, Gunther's voice murmuring logistics with Eld. The clink of gear being double-checked. The scratch of Oluo sharpening his blades.
Tomorrow, they would ride beyond the walls. Through Trost, as always. Out into the wild where Titans roamed—unbound, unknowable, and hungry.
It wouldn't be a full-scale sweep. Not yet. A scouting formation only, with a primary objective: information. Maybe even a capture, if the opportunity arose. But the underlying purpose had been clear from the moment the expedition was approved.
They needed to know more about what had changed outside. What hadn't and what the Titans were doing now—and what they weren't.
Merlin's hand drifted to the edge of his window frame, fingers brushing against the wood.
He'd waited for this. To step into the unknown. To feel the breath of the world not filtered through stone and safety.
But now that it was here, he found himself still… Not afraid, just aware.
Aware of how easily peace could unravel. How quickly silence could become screams. How the path ahead was not paved in prophecy, but in blood.
His reflection stared back at him in the glass—half-shadowed, half-light and he smiled faintly before returning to finish packing his gear.
.
The door creaked open without a knock or flourish—just the soft sound of hinges and the faintest sigh of night air as Merlin stepped inside, balancing the familiar tea tray with one hand.
Levi looked up from where he sat, hunched slightly over the edge of his desk—not doing paperwork for once, but tending to his blades. A cloth in one hand, oil in the other. The dull sheen of metal caught the lantern light, gleaming sharp as a whisper.
He didn't greet Merlin with words. Just a glance, a twitch of the brow, and that assessing silence he wore like armor.
"You're early," Levi said, setting the cloth down with precision.
Merlin smiled, shutting the door behind him with a gentle push of his foot. "You say that like you weren't expecting me."
"I expected you," Levi said, reaching for the second blade. "Didn't expect you to be on time."
"Improving, aren't I?"
Levi didn't dignify that with an answer.
Merlin set the tray on the table between them and poured the tea without ceremony. The scent filled the small room—earthy, warm, laced with a subtle sweetness that curled around the edges of steel and shadow.
Levi didn't reach for his cup immediately.
"Not nervous?" he asked, gaze flicking up from his blade.
Merlin paused mid-pour, his expression soft but steady. "Excited, actually."
That earned him a quiet scoff.
"Really?" Levi said, skeptical.
"Yes," Merlin replied as he handed over the tea. Then, a beat later, more quietly, "And a bit melancholic."
Levi took the cup but didn't drink. He watched him instead, unmoving.
"I don't want to lose anyone," Merlin added. It was honest. Bare, even. The kind of thing most soldiers didn't say aloud.
Levi's fingers tightened slightly around the teacup. His expression didn't shift, but something in his shoulders pulled tighter.
"That'll be hard," he said at last, voice low. "Even with Erwin's strategies."
He didn't say what he didn't need to, how it'd been a long time since they had no casualties.
Merlin didn't answer right away. He just sat beside the tray, one hand resting on his knee, the other wrapped loosely around his cup. He wouldn't say it—not here, not now—but he'd prepared what he could. Spells tucked behind gestures. Symbols woven into the seams of cloaks. Quiet magics for clarity. For resilience. Not to turn the tide—but to steady it.
He'd make sure their hands didn't shake. That their eyes didn't cloud with fear.
That when the Titans came, they would move together.
"It'll have to be enough," he said softly, not looking at Levi.
Another silence passed. It wasn't cold, but shared.
Levi set his blade down, finally lifting the cup to his lips. "You're usually not an optimist."
Merlin smiled faintly. "No. But today I want to be just… hopeful."
"Tch." Levi sipped. "Same thing."
They drank. Outside, wind whispered against the windowpane, and somewhere in the distance, the faint clatter of boots echoed through the stone halls as the final preparations for morning continued.
But in here, between steel and steam, it was quiet. The tea had long since been poured and it took Levi no time for his blades to be clean and set aside, resting like loyal hounds at his feet. They sat in the quiet again in front of each other, close but not close enough to touch, cups in hand, moonlight softening the corners of the room.
Merlin exhaled slowly, comfortably. "You missed it today—Oluo tripped over Gunther's cloak mid-drill and tried to pass it off like he meant to roll. Petra almost fell laughing."
Levi grunted. "Sounds about right."
"And Eld?" Merlin grinned. "Turns out he's a surprisingly decent singer when he thinks no one's listening."
"Doubt it."
"No, really. Mid-cleanup. I think it was a lullaby. His voice cracked on the high note, but it was strangely soothing."
Levi didn't respond immediately—but his mouth twitched. Barely.
Merlin pressed on, a little smug. "You would've liked it. Hange didn't. They were too busy nearly blowing up a table trying to test Titan spinal fluid on—get this—rats."
Levi finally snorted. "Of course they did."
"And then blamed the rats for 'not being spiritually ready.'"
That earned him a low sound that was not quite a laugh—but not a dismissal either. More like a cough trying to cover amusement.
Merlin's eyes lit up. "Levi."
"What."
"Did you just chuckle?"
Levi narrowed his eyes. "No."
"You did."
"Didn't."
"You so did."
"I didn't. Shut up."
But his voice had the faintest rasp of amusement curling under it, and Merlin beamed at him—bright, delighted, real. Levi looked at him, immediately scowled, and glanced away with a muttered curse. But Merlin didn't stop smiling, especially not when he noticed it—the smallest flush of pink blooming at the tips of Levi's ears.
Oh.
His gaze lingered. Not to tease. Not this time.
Just to look. To observe this rare moment of softness in a man made of edges.
And that's when the thought hit him: He was an incubus. Or at least, the original Merlin had been. Something ancient. Half-dream, half-desire, meant to charm and entice and hold people's hearts like spun sugar. But this Merlin—this version, in this world—had never once felt that hunger.
Not the kind that whispered of skin and breath and the press of mouths in the dark. He never burned for it and never needed it. And he had always assumed it meant something was broken in him or missing.
Maybe he wasn't really an incubus like the original Merlin, but just a pale echo. Half-born. Half-false.
But now as he looked at Levi. At his glower and at the way he sipped his tea too quickly to hide the red in his ears. At the silence that still felt whole between them.
For the first time, he felt something stir. Not lust, or hunger, not quite. But warmth. A quiet pull beneath his ribs. A hum in his chest. Not sharp, but persistent. A need not to touch, but to be close and to be known.
To be allowed to stay.
It was so small. So simple and yet it ached.
He looked down at his cup, thoughtful. Then back up at Levi, who still wasn't meeting his eyes.
Merlin smiled again—but this one was softer. Not teasing. Not charming.
Just… honest.
"I'm glad I came tonight," he said quietly.
Levi blinked, finally looking at him.
Merlin tilted his head. "You don't have to say it back."
Levi stared for a moment. Then gave a single, barely perceptible nod and that was enough. The quiet between them stretched again—comfortable now, like worn fabric. Merlin took another sip of tea, warmth steady in his chest, though the affection from earlier still hummed beneath his skin like a melody without words.
He glanced sideways, gaze lingering, and before he could think better of it, he blurted out, "You're really handsome, you know."
The words dropped into the space between them like a pebble in still water.
Levi blinked.
Merlin froze.
Oh no.
"I mean—not in a shallow way!" Merlin blurted, already waving one hand vaguely through the air like he could erase the syllables. "More like… structurally. You're symmetrical. Very clean features. Aesthetically striking."
Levi's eyebrows rose—slowly.
"And commanding," Merlin added quickly, panic rising as his mouth absolutely refused to shut. "It's not just your face. You've got presence. Charisma. The whole unreadable-glare-and-silent-death thing."
Levi was staring at him now. Not saying a word. Just letting him dig as Merlin's voice kept tumbling forward like a cart down a hill.
"Which explains why people follow you. I mean, look at Eld, Gunther, Petra—Oluo, goes to the extremes, but yeah. You command loyalty, and that's… rare. And I don't follow people easily. I'm—well, I'm very hard to impress."
His tea was long abandoned now, hands gesturing vaguely as he tried—tried—to claw his dignity back from the void.
"So when I say you're charming, I don't mean romantically—necessarily—I mean existentially. Spiritually. As a concept. You're very conceptually attractive."
Silence. Then, a low chuckle. Not hidden. Not stifled. Just there.
Levi laughed not for long and not loud, but it was real.
Merlin stopped mid-sentence, mouth slightly open as Levi set his cup down, one hand over his mouth for a moment as if trying to rein it in. The corners of his eyes crinkled just slightly. His ears were still rosy.
Merlin stared, stunned. "Are you—are you laughing at me?"
Levi wiped a thumb under his eye and exhaled, voice warm with dry amusement. "Nice to see you act like a normal human for once."
Merlin huffed, standing with as much dignity as he could muster—though the flush on his cheeks had reached full bloom. "Nice to know you can laugh at my expense."
He crossed his arms, trying very hard not to grin.
Levi leaned back in his chair, still faintly smirking. "You do most of the work for me."
Merlin squinted at him. "I'll have you know I was doing just fine with my mysterious persona before this moment."
Levi's brow lifted. "That's what you're calling it?"
"Absolutely."
They stared at each other for a beat. And then—quiet, reluctant—Merlin smiled again. But this time, it wasn't dazzling or crafted. It was just real. Still flushed and flustered, but real.
"Goodnight, Captain," he said softly, voice lighter now. "Try not to miss me too much while I'm dreaming of the outside world."
Levi sipped the last of his tea, voice smooth. "Don't get eaten."
Merlin smirked. "Not planning on it."
And as he stepped toward the door—face still warm, but heart steadier—he thought, not for the first time, that Levi might just be the most dangerous kind of charm.
The kind you don't see creeping up on you… until it's too late.
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