Wild Card || Levi x Reader

twenty-four: and I've got one foot in the door

Been up since 4:30am so I blame any grammar errors on that. Enjoy loves xoxo

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You don't leave your room.

Petra visits later. She brings you food that you try to eat. She talks, but it's hard to respond. You can't figure out what to say.

She eventually leaves, looking rather defeated. You hope she's not taking it personally. You don't want to say that you're beyond help, but you're certainly not in a place right now where you want it. You just want to be left to yourself, left to your thoughts. It doesn't matter who walks through that door. 

Your philosophy wavers slightly when it's Hange that comes through the door. They knocked, but when you didn't answer, they came in anyways.

"Hey, hon," Hange says, and their voice isn't as strong as you remember it being. "Uh... they said you're not eating?"

Well, if anyone could get you to, it's Hange. Fuck, what you wouldn't do for them. 

"I know, uh... you don't really want to eat, but maybe you want to drink?"

You force yourself to sit up. Hange's standing in your doorway, and they've got a small drink tray in their hands, holding two clear cups with an orangey-yellow drink in them. 

Hange smiles weakly. "Mimosas. No alcohol, though. Don't want that on an empty stomach."

"Okay," you agree tiredly.

They shut your door, then wander over to you. You shift over on your bed to make room for them. Hange hands you the tray, then sits down next to you before they take the tray back. "Not quite the mimosa date I had in mind," they say, handing you a cup, "but it'll do."

Your lips twitch slightly as you take the cup from them. You try a sip; it's pretty good. "Not bad," you admit, looking to Hange.

They beam, but they still look so tired that you can't buy their enthusiasm. "We'll do a proper date with these," Hange insists. "Sometime later."

"Hm." You take another sip.

Your stylist takes a sip of their mimosa. "Probably the stupidest question in the world," they say, "but how're you doing?"

"You're right," you agree. "Stupidest question in the world."

"Yeah, I figured. A couple people have asked me that too. Never know what to say." They take another sip. "I could say I'm fine, doing great, but that's a lie and anyone could see through it. But then if I say I'm not, they'll ask what they can do to help, and..." Hange shrugs. "I just don't know."

That about sums it up, really. Obviously, you're not okay- so you don't get why people ask. "It's not fair," you murmur.

Hange hums. "None of it is."

The two of you sit in silence for a while, sipping your alcohol-free mimosas. You've got nothing worth saying, so you just stay quiet. You wonder how long Hange will stay. Hange's a bit more used to talking without getting much in return, so they'll probably be here longer than Petra.

You glance sideways at your stylist. They're staring at the table next to your bed; the drawer's slightly ajar. That's where you put the notebook. "Have you used it yet?" they ask, nodding to the drawer. "The book I left."

"I'm not really a writer."

"Never know until you try." You don't reply to that, and eventually, Hange asks what you've been dreading. "Have you read what he left you?"

You take another sip of your drink to avoid answering.

Hange looks to you. "Knowing you, you've already torn it open and devoured every word," they joke weakly.