#〚 mikasa ackerman 〛 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

debussy42 · 2 days ago

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The Morning’s Embrace

just a small piece that stirs me enough to get out of bed in the mornings:’)

The air in the barracks was crisp with the promise of a new day. The sun had risen early, its soft light spilling through the frost-patterned windows, illuminating the faint wisps of breath that escaped from beneath the blankets. The fire in the hearth had long since burned out, leaving the room cool but not unkind, like the lingering touch of a winter breeze.

You woke slowly, the sunlight brushing across your face like a gentle hand. The quiet murmur of the world outside—distant bird calls and the faint shuffle of feet in the corridors—tugged you gently from sleep. You blinked, taking in the familiar shapes of the room: the wooden beams above, the neatly folded jacket at the foot of your bed, the soft rise and fall of someone’s breath across the room.

For a moment, you stayed there, suspended between sleep and wakefulness, savoring the rare quiet. But the cold wooden floor beckoned, and with a reluctant sigh, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, your toes curling against the chill.

In the common room, the remnants of yesterday’s fire still carried the faint scent of ash and wood. Sasha was already there, crouched by the hearth with a loaf of bread balanced precariously on the edge of a long stick. Her face was illuminated by the glow of the rekindled flames, her expression one of utter concentration.

You stifled a laugh as you walked in. “Is that breakfast?”

She turned to you, her eyes bright and unapologetic. “It’s survival,” she said, her voice muffled by the corner of the bread she was already nibbling. “The bread’s from last night—Jean said it was too hard to eat, but I call that a challenge.”

“Or a hazard,” you replied, sitting down across from her.

“Hazard, challenge, same thing,” she said with a grin, pulling the bread back just before it could catch fire.

The room smelled warm and inviting now, a blend of toasting bread and faint embers. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort in the simplicity of it—Sasha’s focus, the quiet hum of the fire, the slow way the morning unfolded.

The door creaked open, and Jean trudged in, his hair a mess and his face wearing an expression of someone who’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed. “Why does the sun hate me?” he muttered, collapsing onto the nearest chair.

“Morning to you too,” you said, smirking.

“Morning?” he said, gesturing dramatically toward the window. “More like blinding.”

Connie appeared behind him, grinning ear to ear. “Aw, Jean’s grumpy again. Guess the world didn’t revolve around him while he was sleeping.”

“Shut up, Connie,” Jean shot back, though his heart clearly wasn’t in it.

You watched the exchange with amused detachment as they bickered over something inconsequential—whether Connie had stolen Jean’s blanket last night, or maybe whether Jean had stolen Connie’s first.

Sasha, now armed with her perfectly toasted bread, chimed in with her own teasing commentary. “If you two spent half as much energy training as you do arguing, you’d be unstoppable.”

Connie gasped in mock betrayal. “Sasha?”

Mikasa entered next, her movements as fluid and composed as ever. She glanced around the room, taking stock of the small chaos unfolding before her, and then wordlessly set a kettle on the fire. Her presence immediately shifted the tone—calmer, quieter.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft but firm, as if it were an invitation to start fresh.

Armin followed not long after, his hair slightly mussed and his expression pleasantly neutral. He greeted everyone with a polite nod before settling onto the floor with a small book tucked under his arm. “It’s a good day for reading,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

“You always say that,” Connie pointed out, earning a small laugh from Armin.

“Because it’s always true,” Armin replied, opening his book.

It wasn’t until later, when the room had settled into a gentle hum of activity, that Levi appeared. His entrance was quiet, as always, his presence unassuming but commanding. He paused in the doorway, his sharp eyes scanning the room.

“Slacking off already?” he said, his tone dry but not unkind.

The room stilled briefly before everyone resumed their morning routines, muttering half-hearted excuses about needing a moment to wake up. But Levi’s gaze found you, and he gestured with a tilt of his head for you to follow him.

Outside, the air was sharp and bracing, the kind that woke you up in an instant. Levi stood by the edge of the training grounds, his hands tucked into his pockets, his posture relaxed but alert.

“You’re quieter than usual this morning,” he said without turning around.

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. “Just… taking it all in, I guess.

Levi nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It’s not a bad habit. Most people don’t stop to look at what’s in front of them.”

There was a pause, the kind that felt deliberate. Levi wasn’t one to waste words, but his silences often spoke louder than anything he said.

“Do you ever think about what mornings like this mean?” you asked suddenly, surprising even yourself.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable but his eyes thoughtful. “They mean we’re still here,” he said simply. “That’s enough.”

The weight of his words settled over you, grounding and reassuring in a way you hadn’t expected. He looked at you for a moment longer, as if trying to read something in your face, before nodding slightly and heading back toward the barracks.

The morning carried on, slow and unhurried, with the group gradually coming to life. Jean and Connie eventually made their peace, Sasha shared the last of her bread, and Mikasa and Armin fell into an easy rhythm of conversation.

And as you sat by the hearth, your mug warm in your hands and Levi’s words lingering in your mind, you couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of gratitude—for the sunlight, for the stillness, and for the people around you who made mornings like this possible.

You glance back at Levi, wondering if he will ever come to join the group. Ruminating over his words, you feel a soft smile grace your lips as you soak in this moment around you.

“Mikasa, are you making tea?” You ask as you walk past her towards Armin, interest piqued by the book he’s reading.

Mikasa glances over her shoulder, her hands steady as she pours steaming water into a small teapot. “I am,” she replies softly. “Green tea. Do you want some?”

“I’d love some,” you say, the warmth in her offer adding to the coziness of the room. Mikasa nods once, her movements fluid and deliberate, as though every action is imbued with purpose.

You settle beside Armin, who barely looks up from his book as you approach, so absorbed is he in the pages. His lips are faintly parted, his brow furrowed in thought. You tilt your head to catch the title on the spine—“Essays on the Natural World.”

“Anything good in there?” you ask lightly, breaking the silence.

Armin startles, glancing up with wide blue eyes before relaxing into a soft smile. “Oh, good morning. It’s actually fascinating,” he says, lifting the book slightly. “This chapter is about migratory patterns. Did you know some birds navigate using the stars?”

Your interest is piqued, and you lean closer. “I didn’t. How do they do that?”

“It’s incredible,” he says, his excitement bubbling through. “Their instincts are so precise, but what’s even more interesting is how they adapt when conditions change. It’s this combination of innate guidance and learned behavior.”

The warmth of his enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself pulled into his quiet awe of the natural world. Sasha ambles over, nibbling on the last corner of her toasted bread.

“Birds and stars, huh?” she says, squatting down next to you both. “I mean, I guess that’s cool, but honestly, I just want to know how they find their way back to food.”

Armin chuckles softly. “That’s part of it too. Resource-driven navigation is a whole field of study.”

“I feel like Sasha would study it just to steal their tricks,” you tease, shooting her a grin.

Sasha grins back, unashamed. “Hey, survival is survival. If I could fly my way to a bakery, I wouldn’t even need you all anymore.”

“You’re not flying anywhere with that bread habit,” Jean says as he strides closer, his hair slightly neater than before but his perpetual exasperation intact.

“I’d outfly you, horseface,” Sasha retorts, her tone playful.

“Will you two ever stop?” Mikasa says, her voice cutting through the chatter with calm precision. She sets the teapot down on the table, steam curling like whispers of warmth in the air.

You take a cup gratefully, the ceramic warm against your hands. The taste is earthy and comforting, a quiet moment shared among friends.

As the room fills with soft conversation, you glance back toward the door, wondering if Levi might return. His absence lingers like a shadow, but not a heavy one. His words still echo faintly in your mind—“They mean we’re still here. That’s enough.”

The thought brings a soft smile to your lips. He’s not one for gatherings like this, you think, but his presence is always felt in quieter ways: a brief glance, a curt nod, a word that holds more weight than it seems.

“Mikasa, how do you always get this tea perfect?” you ask, turning back to her.

Mikasa shrugs modestly. “It’s just practice.”

Armin chimes in. “No, it’s more than that. Mikasa has a way of making even small things matter. Tea’s no exception.”

Her cheeks tint faintly pink, but she doesn’t respond, her usual stoic grace masking any embarrassment.

The group settles into a natural rhythm, with Connie trying—and failing—to best Jean in a game of cards, Sasha intermittently chiming in with advice that’s as questionable as it is entertaining. Armin reads aloud snippets from his book, drawing curious glances from Mikasa and occasional sarcastic commentary from Jean.

And through it all, the sunlight grows stronger, spilling over the table and onto the faces of the people around you. There’s a warmth here that doesn’t come from the tea or the fire—it’s the kind of comfort that only comes from being with people who make the weight of the world a little easier to bear.

As you sip your tea and watch them all, you can’t help but feel grateful for this moment, for this morning, for this group of misfits who have somehow become a family.

You look at Mikasa, smiling softly in an attempt to display your gratitude.

“Thank you, the tea is so warm and filling.” Wrapping your fingers around the tea cup, you use it as a feeble attempt to stave away the coldness creeping up to my fingers. You huddle further into my blanket in hopes of finding last moments of warmth before the day beckons you out. Humming thoughtfully, you look at Mikasa once again.

“Mikasa, do you mind if I pour an extra cup? I can think of a certain… Captain who would love the tea.” You chuckle lightly, already envisioning the Captain with his cup of tea that seems to be his sole means of company, if not for the occasional Erwin and Hange there to fill the silence.

Mikasa tilts her head slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Of course. I’m sure Levi wouldn’t turn it down,” she says quietly, her voice steady but with a hint of amusement.

You nod, grateful for her understanding, and carefully pour an extra cup, letting the rich aroma waft upward. It’s funny, you think, how Levi—always so composed, so controlled—seems to soften with small things like this. Tea isn’t just fuel for him; it’s grounding, a brief moment to pause and be alone with his thoughts. You imagine him sitting there, back against the cool wall of the barracks, fingers curled around the warm ceramic, his eyes narrowing slightly as he sips, lost in thought.

You chuckle softly to yourself, already seeing it in your mind’s eye—the quiet, deliberate way he takes his tea, savoring the flavor and the warmth, more content in solitude than most. It’s strange, how something as simple as a cup of tea could feel so personal for someone like Levi.

“It might help him,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, though Mikasa picks up on it easily.

She nods slowly, her expression thoughtful. “Captain doesn’t like to rely on others… but sometimes, even he needs reminders.”

You look down at your own cup, your fingers gently circling the rim. The warmth is soothing, grounding. You can’t help but wonder what it might be like to offer something so simple and yet so meaningful—to bring a small moment of comfort to someone who rarely asks for it.

“Thank you,” you say again, your gratitude genuine as you glance at Mikasa, your smile softening. “For everything—this, and everything else.”

Mikasa regards you quietly, her dark eyes calm but perceptive. “You’ve been through a lot,” she says simply. “You deserve moments like this.”

And with that, you huddle deeper into your blanket, warmth spreading from your fingers to your chest, the lingering scent of tea filling the air. You hum softly, letting the moment stretch a little longer, a tiny oasis before the demands of the day pull you back into motion.

As you sit there, cup in hand, you can’t shake the thought of Levi, alone but not truly alone—holding that same fragile warmth you now feel in your own hands. Maybe, just maybe, something as simple as tea could bridge that quiet gap between solitude and connection.

You pause for a brief moment, your fingers tightening slightly around the two steaming cups. The warmth feels both comforting and slightly foreign against the chill creeping up your spine. The ache in your bones protests against standing, but the thought of Levi—alone up there, just as you expected—makes you take one deliberate step forward. You wrestle with the decision for a heartbeat longer. Would it really be such a disruption to his quiet, solitary space?

A small smile tugs at the corner of your mouth despite yourself. He’ll never let you live it down. You can already imagine the snide remarks, the sharp edge to his words when he’s forced to pull away from his thoughts, only to face you standing there with a cup in hand.

You shake your head slightly, stifling the quiet laugh bubbling at your throat, and gently step away from the warmth of the blanket cocoon. The cold air brushes against your skin, a stark contrast to the comfort you’ve just left behind. With each deliberate step forward, your eyes flick down the hall toward the top floor balcony—Levi’s usual spot. You know it well by now, a place where he often finds a small pocket of peace away from the chaos that usually surrounds everyone else.

Softening your steps, you tread lightly down the hallway, the clink of porcelain cups echoing slightly with each movement. The steam curls lazily from the two cups you carry, tendrils of warmth weaving upward and dissipating into the dim glow of morning. You pause for a moment, your fingers lingering slightly on the ceramic, the warmth grounding you before you continue.

But just as you reach the corner leading toward the balcony, you hear it—the familiar voices. Commander Erwin and Hange—their voices carried softly through the hall, mingling with the hum of conversation as they discuss something in low tones.

Your steps falter for just a heartbeat. You hadn’t anticipated running into them, and now the thought of barging into Levi’s space feels like it might be unnecessarily intrusive. You glance back toward the cozy scene you’ve just left—Mikasa, Armin, Sasha, Jean—those you’ve come to know so well. The warmth and laughter lingering in that room seem miles away from where you stand now.

But curiosity pulls at you. Is Levi really here this early in the morning? You bite your lip gently, unsure if you should continue. Still, you take a careful breath, then adjust your grip on the cups, moving slightly closer to the corner. Soft murmurs drift down the hallway, too low to make out clearly, though you can hear Hange’s usual infectious enthusiasm bubbling just beyond your reach.

With a quiet sigh, you gather your resolve and step forward again, light but steady, your gaze fixed ahead. You weave carefully past the corner, your attention momentarily drawn toward the sound—but soon, your eyes settle on something else entirely.

Levi.

He stands there, as expected, at the railing of the top floor balcony. His posture is straight, composed, but something about him—about this moment—feels different. The way he leans slightly against the stone, the subtle tension in his shoulders that betrays the usual air of calm. His fingers curl slightly around the railing, his gaze distant, lost in something only he sees.

You pause again for a heartbeat, two cups still clutched in your hands, warmth spilling into the space between you. It’s not the intrusion you had anticipated—he doesn’t seem annoyed, not yet at least. His dark eyes shift slightly, though he doesn’t move. You get the sense he feels your presence, even before you speak.

“Levi,” you say softly, your voice breaking the silence between you, hesitant but steady.

His head turns slightly at the sound, his gaze sharpening, though there’s no real irritation in his expression—just quiet acknowledgment. He studies you briefly, those dark eyes of his flicking from your face to the cups you hold out. The tension in his stance loosens slightly, though only barely.

“I brought you some tea,” you offer carefully, your tone soft, almost tentative, unsure if he’ll accept or brush it aside. The two cups in your hands are still warm, the steam curling in gentle spirals.

Levi’s lips press together for a moment, as though considering whether to dismiss your gesture outright, but eventually, his eyes soften slightly—just enough. Without a word, he takes the cup from you, his fingers grazing yours for the briefest moment. The gesture feels quiet, deliberate, though not uncomfortable.

“You think I need tea this early?” he mutters, his voice low but with a faint undertone of amusement—just enough to keep it from being entirely sarcastic.

You smile faintly, watching as he brings the cup to his lips, the warmth seeping into his fingers. “I thought you might appreciate it,” you reply gently, voice light but sincere. “Even you deserve a little quiet sometimes.”

He grunts softly in response, a subtle shift in his posture, though his gaze lingers on you for a beat longer—silent, contemplative. His expression is guarded, but something in his stance speaks to quiet gratitude. Not the kind he often shows outwardly, but enough to make you feel you’ve done something right.

You lean slightly against the stone railing next to him, letting the silence settle between you—an understanding, unspoken connection built on quiet moments like this. The sun filters through the soft morning light, casting a warm glow across the horizon, and you allow yourself to enjoy the moment—watching Levi in this rare, still moment.

He sips at the tea once more, his eyes drifting upward toward the distant sky. For once, there’s no edge to his expression—just a fleeting softness, something you rarely get to see.

It’s a reminder, you think to yourself, that even someone like Levi, who thrives on solitude, can find a quiet comfort in simple gestures—like tea, like shared silence—if only someone gives him the space to accept it. And maybe, just maybe, you’ve done enough to earn that space today.

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