Don't Write Me Notes || Levi x Reader

7. it doesn't count under mistletoe

The dress shopping is the turning point for your friendship with Levi.

This whole arrangement had set the two of you up as begrudging acquaintances. Trying to make the best of your respective awful situations. Learning enough about each other to make the lie passable, to fool his relatives and soon yours. Sure, you'd chatted. You'd talked for a while on the ride to Levi's place. He's not awful to talk to.

But after dress shopping, it's almost like he's a bit more... easygoing. Relaxed, maybe? Is that the word? He just seems more willing to talk to you. And you feel the same: the two of you had fun yesterday, and you can't remember ever having a genuinely good time around the holiday season, so that's a memory you'll treasure.

You're closer, both metaphorically and physically: when you wake up the next day, the morning of the gala, he's only a foot away from you. He's got his back to you, but he's close enough to touch if you reached out. His bed is so massive that you've never come close to touching him before; you've always had enough space to keep several feet between you both. 

Before you can do something stupid like reach out to him, you roll yourself over and slide out of bed, stumbling towards the bathroom to shower. Today's the gala- you have to look your best.

You take a long shower (god, his shower is so nice) and start trying to freshen yourself up in the bathroom. It starts to sink in that this gala means it's the last day here, and the last day here means that tomorrow you're headed to see your family.

"Fuck," you say aloud to your reflection.

Tomorrow, you have to see your family. Which means at least three full days in their presence. That doesn't sound ideal.

Trying not to think about it, you wrap yourself in the large, fuzzy bathrobe that Levi snagged from the guest room for you, and you exit the bathroom. Levi's up and already changed, just into a sweater and slacks. "When's the gala?" you ask him.

"People will start showing up mid-afternoon," he replies. "So don't bother getting ready until later."

You nod, going back to sitting on his bed and taking your phone. A text in your family group chat- asking for an update on you. As you type back that you'll be in tomorrow, you call out, "how many people is it?"

"A few hundred."

"You're funny."

"I'm not joking."

You turn to him. His face is as stoic as always. "A few hundred," you repeat, and he nods. "Oh, god."

"I know you don't like people," Levi says. "Or crowds."

"Or fancy events, or obnoxious family, or dancing in front of people, or-"

"But," he interrupts, and you pinch your lips together, "you've got a nice dress."

He's right; you do. This is a dress straight out of a fairytale. "I do," you agree.

"And," Levi continues, arms crossed, "you've got me."

You've got him. "Not going to ditch me to fend for myself?" you ask.

He scoffs. "That'd be like throwing you to the wolves. We're in this together," he reminds you, and your cheeks warm, "and I'll stick with you as best I can."

As best I can isn't quite the same as I'll stick with you every second of the evening, but you can't really expect him to promise that. "What, I can't handcuff you to me for the night?" you tease.

His eyebrows rise. "You're into that?"

"Get your head out of the gutter, Ackerman. Not all of us live with R-rated minds."