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They both have their issues.
Levi’s never been quick to admit his own fallbacks, and instead steers closer to pointing out others’ and maybe that’s just another one of them. He will admit, though, that he’s never been a pleasing person to associate with and he has a tendency to be too blunt for comfort, that he’s just . . . Rude. He’s never cared to be around other people much, either, so he likes to think that one thing makes up for the other. It’s really just convenience.
Hanji’s a little more open with her own shortcomings. She’s impatient and over-dramatic sometimes, though it’s mostly for the sake of hilarity. As she has been since her wee days as a child, she’s always struggled with getting whisked and carried away in the moment of things and taking them too far. She’s always been good at reading the atmosphere, but never well with handling it with grace. She’s not standoffish like Levi is, and definitely not as blunt, but she’s excitable and too touchy for most people’s comfort.
It’s hard to admit that they’re both a little obsessive, on top of the other flaws they harbor.
It’s past midnight and Levi is dozing on the couch, a little throw pillow wedged between his head and his arm, when he hears the door to the office open. It’s the first time he’s heard it opened by someone other than himself in the last sixty or so hours (and he hasn’t opened it in about five hours, he supposes, and silently thanks God that there’s a tiny bathroom with a toilet and a sink connected to the office; one that he’d personally worked for two days straight on building himself while Hanji had been out on business trip) (he feels motherly, needing to bring Hanji her meals). He lets out a slow breath through his nose, one he hadn’t realized needed to be released until that very moment.
He’s relieved, above all things.
When Hanji immerses herself into her projects, she doesn’t budge for days. There is no voice of reason, no way of possibly getting it through to her that her health is more important than her research. She’s like a rock. She’s like a big, stupid rock that Levi wants to kick with all of the force he can muster.
The first time it had happened, he’d worried himself sick (very literally). By now, he’s more or less used to it, but it’s never any easier to handle.
Levi cracks an eye open just in time to watch as Hanji pokes her head around the corner tentatively. She looks exhausted and pale, with dark circles and bags under her bloodshot eyes, her hair stringy and messy and uncharacteristically out of its usual ponytail like she’s aggressively pulled at it through boughts of frustration. She looks guilty.
She reminds him of a dog who’s pissed on that expensive living room rug and knows she’s about to get her ass thrown outside.
“Hey,” she says softly, voice quiet as she cautiously rounds the corner and steps into the living room. She flinches as Levi sits up and Levi knows it’s just the lack of sleep and not actual fear. She hasn’t slept in nearly three days and she’s breached the end of no return and hit the point of looking like she’s revisiting her high school stoner years. “You’re still awake.”
“Mm,” he acknowledges, standing and stretching. “So are you, dumbass.”
That breaks the spell and her nervous little smile transforms into a wide and toothy grin. She holds out her arms, an obvious invitation for a hug, an apology for neglecting Levi for so long, but he grimaces.
“You’re filthy,” he mumbles, although he steps closer. “And you smell. You haven’t bathed since Thursday morning.”
“And?”
Hanji tilts her head, and Levi can tell that her tired mind can’t fully comprehend the problem.
“It’s Sunday. Actually—” Levi spares a glance to the clock over the fireplace mantle. It’s half past midnight. “Technically, it’s Monday. Like I said, you’re filthy and you smell like an animal.”
Hanji stares at the man for a moment, eyes dazed and sort of glazed over as she tries to focus on his words. Levi can pinpoint the exact moment that she understands, because she jerks away from him like whiplash and flails her arms wildly as if it would ward him away from her. She looks guilty, of course, and that much he expects, but he doesn’t expect the flash of worry on her face.
“Shit! Shit, it’s Sunday! And I stink, and you made me dinner, and—“
Levi mercilessly slaps a hand over her mouth and his eyes narrow into slits, daring her to continue her manic freak-out after she registers that he’s so close to her. He nearly feels her blood run cold for a fraction of a second and she tenses, obviously fighting the urge to rip herself away from him.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, slowly removing his hand from her mouth. When she shows no signs of running this time, and before he can give himself the time to feel bad about the red mark around her mouth (he’d definitely hit her a little too hard, he’ll apologize later), he winds his arms around her waist and pulls himself to her chest. “Shut up.”
Hanji definitely smells, he won’t deny that. The little bit of hair that tickles his face almost makes him shudder because it’s oily and disgusting from lack of washing. She’s gone completely still in his hold, arms floating a safe distance away from him, although awkwardly at best. Levi has to breathe deeply, focus on the miniscule trace of fabric softener that he can smell on her shirt, the tiny bit of that perfume he bought her a couple of Christmases ago somehow still present on her neck. It’s enough to comfort him partially, but the simple smell of body odor still works to repel him.
It’s taken years to adjust. Hanji’s done fine, she’s a pliable person who has molded herself to Levi’s needs and habits better than anyone else ever would, at least in most areas. Levi has struggled.
Four or five years ago, Levi wouldn’t be standing there, his arms wrapped around Hanji’s waist, his face pressed to the curve of Hanji’s neck, nuzzled just so under her jaw. Four or five years ago, Levi would have found himself locked in the bathroom, scrubbing furiously at his skin until it was raw, sometimes bleeding, sometimes worse, until he was satisfied. He would have hated himself for the remorseful look on Hanji’s face; he would have tried his hardest to convince her that it wasn’t her fault, that he just couldn’t be helped.
It’s taken years to adjust, but he’s done it.
“You’re disgusting,” he says softly, but there’s a loving lilt to his voice that pulls Hanji to relaxation. She melts against him, her hands slowly fitting themselves on his back but her hold loose enough for Levi to escape at will. When he looks up, she’s got a goofy grin on her face and he rolls his eyes. “Stupid.”
Levi pulls back, but not away. He runs his hand through that oily, grimy hair and he pulls a face at the light residue it leaves on his fingers. It’s that bad.
He controls himself, though, and his clean hand drops to find Hanji’s. Their fingers tangle effortlessly—they’ve done it a million and three times—and he allows a soft kiss to be pressed to his forehead.
“Come on, four eyes,” he says, already leading her by the hand to the bathroom across from their bedroom. It has the big bath tub and the nice shower head that Hanji likes so much, and the soaps that Levi adores. “Let’s take a shower. You’ll squeak when I’m through with you. No rest for the wicked and whatnot.”
“Aye, aye, captain!”