Make Her Smile Again

      What was left of them after the war? Destruction, fear, uncertainty about where to go next or what tomorrow might bring. The unknown.       Would they finally be free? Would the world accept them—stop fearing them? Where were they supposed to go? What were they supposed to do? What could they become, when all they’d ever known was how to survive and kill?       Questions like these echoed in the minds of every soldier who had managed to survive the war.       Levi and Mikasa sat at the fresh grave of Eren Yeager. The very one who had brought about the catastrophe that wiped out most of humanity. Mikasa had buried him here, on foreign soil, when no one was looking. No one but Armin—who now had no way back to Paradis. He had taken on the burden of the hero, the one who killed the Founding Titan and stopped the Rumbling. That alone branded him a traitor in the eyes of the Eldians left on the island. Just like Levi—who had only spotted the faint red of Mikasa’s scarf as she walked away, and followed her without a word. Mikasa was endlessly grateful that he was here.       The pain of loss doesn’t vanish in a heartbeat. But not being alone—that was something. The most important thing was that the captain stayed. He said something, but she couldn’t make out the words. Still, the tone in his voice was soft, almost soothing.       It had been a long time since she’d cried. Now she simply sat with her face pressed against his chest, while he gently ran a hand over her head. She had no strength to get up, no energy even to speak. The whole world had collapsed in front of her eyes, and she was slipping. It would be easier to just die, here and now.       Levi didn’t stop her from grieving. He mourned their comrades as deeply as she did—but now, he chose to stay strong. A little longer. For her. If he didn’t, they would both drown in their grief, and there would be no one left to pull them out. He kept talking—soft words of comfort, ones unfamiliar to his tongue, pouring out like a stream.       Levi had never imagined he’d find himself trying to console one of his soldiers. But Mikasa needed it. She had been strong for too long. She had suffered too much—especially in the past few years.       After Historia’s coronation, Eren had changed. The boy with an exaggerated sense of justice had become cold and calculating. Eren had always been hard to read. He had probably said far more disturbing things to Mikasa than anyone else realized. Just the thought of him made Levi sick. He hated remembering that brat. Eren had betrayed them all. And Levi didn’t lie to himself—he was glad Eren was dead, glad the war was finally over.       But for Mikasa, it was the end of everything. And yet, she’d still managed to go through with it. If anyone understood what it meant to lose the last person you loved—especially by your own hand—it was Levi. His thoughts kept spinning, never settling. A never-ending flood.       Somewhere in the distance, voices cheered. It only deepened the weight in his chest. There was nothing to celebrate. The fragile peace that had momentarily descended on the world would bring little to no comfort to a soldier like him. There was no place for them here. Not that he had expected anything else.       He was as worn down as anyone—after years of fighting titans, and then people. And Eren. If he thought about that name one more time, he might throw up.       A low, broken voice pulled him out of the spiral.       “Captain… what now? What do we…”       Mikasa trailed off, exhaling shakily as she pressed herself closer to him—like he was the only thing keeping her from falling into an endless abyss.       Levi didn’t know how to answer. He wished someone could answer him. The horror they had endured had stripped away his ability to think like a captain. She looked to him out of habit, still expecting decisions, orders. But Levi was no longer a captain. He didn’t have the right to command anyone anymore. He was just another man, broken by war, clinging to the hope that this was all a nightmare he might still wake from—somewhere, back behind the Walls, with his comrades alive again.       But the Walls were gone. They weren’t on Paradis anymore, but on a massive stretch of land the Marleyans called a continent. And the people he cared about—he couldn’t bring them back. He was alone.       Almost.       Beside him, just as shattered and vulnerable, sat his former subordinate—sharing his last name.       With nothing but sheer will, Levi forced himself to stand and helped Mikasa to her feet. Her legs barely held her, and he had to steady her so she wouldn’t collapse again. They had to do something—anything—or they’d stay here forever.       His thoughts began to clear. There was no way home—not now. And perhaps the path back to the island was gone for good. But at least they weren’t demons of Paradis in the eyes of Marley anymore. Now, they could be seen as heroes.       Back on the island, though… They’d be called traitors. And they had neither the strength nor the resources to hide in the forests again.       There was only one option left. They had to gather what little strength they had and walk into that cheering crowd. Melt into it. Start over. Try—at least try—to live a new life. Otherwise, what had it all been for? Why had they fought for so long? Why had their comrades died? Surely not so the two of them could rot here, on this trampled scrap of foreign soil.       Levi, supporting Mikasa with his good arm, began to guide her back. But she resisted immediately, digging her heels in.       “No. Not there. Anywhere but there.”       He knew exactly how she felt. But he also knew they had no choice—and no time for arguing. Even now, this girl still had a will of her own. Unbearable.       “Ackerman, we’ve got nowhere else to go,” he said, his voice flat. “Trust me—just this goddamn once. Don’t ask questions.”       And she did. Because what else could she do? Staying alone again scared her more than anything. So she followed him.       No one noticed them leaving. Not at first. But as the euphoria in the crowd began to fade, people started looking around—searching for familiar faces.       Armin was the only one who knew where Mikasa had gone, but reaching her now was impossible. He was surrounded by a throng of people, all desperate to catch a glimpse of the one who had saved them. Even tall Jean couldn’t tell whether Mikasa stood near Armin or not. Levi, too, was nowhere to be seen.       Everyone tried to find their missing commander and Mikasa—but in vain. They assumed the two had simply wandered off somewhere in the crowd—until they saw them. Two small silhouettes, approaching from the direction the titans had come. Jean and Connie ran to meet them at once.       “Mikasa! Captain! Are you okay?!” Connie shouted as he neared the strange pair.       “Perfectly fine,” Levi answered evenly—though neither of them truly was.       It was written all over them. The captain, limping and barely able to move his legs, was supporting Mikasa—who looked just as likely to collapse, though her body bore far fewer injuries than her soul.       Jean rushed over and took Mikasa off Levi’s hands, lightening the burden.       Levi didn’t want to let her go. Something in him feared that if he did, he would lose her forever. It was foolish, he knew. But holding onto her hurt literally. And so he let go.       The crowd was beginning to settle. The euphoria faded, and people started noticing the other soldiers—those dressed like the one they hailed as their savior. That was all it took to label them as heroes—saviors from annihilation at the feet of the colossal titans.       At first, it was just a few people thanking them, rejoicing through tears. Then more gathered, and soon, the so-called “Devils of Paradis” found themselves at the center of it all.       Armin managed to push his way through the throng. He began explaining who they were, where they came from, and everything else he deemed important. Armin always knew what to say.       Levi and Mikasa, however, didn’t want to be there. They wanted the ground to swallow them whole—anything to escape the weight of so many eyes. And yet Levi had brought them here, despite not wanting to be in the crowd himself.       Mikasa struggled to remain standing. She didn’t know why she was here, or what any of this was for, or why the captain had dragged her back. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t think. Her mind kept looping back to what she’d done—or rather, what she hadn’t. She hadn’t even said goodbye.       The last conversation haunted her—the one where Eren told her he hated her. The words had scorched themselves into her memory. Why had he said that? What had she done to deserve it?       She stood in the crowd, no longer supported by anyone, barely aware of her surroundings—everything blurred, like moving through thick fog. A headache crept in again—one of the unpleasant side effects of the Ackerman bloodline’s power.       Suddenly, a hand closed around hers—warm, calloused from a lifetime of wielding blades. Her gaze cleared slightly as she followed the hand up to its owner. Of course it was him. Captain Levi.       She didn’t feel anything in particular. Just a dull detachment. Seeing how far away she was from the present, Levi leaned in and murmured, hoping his words might break through the fog—if only for a moment:       “…Mikasa.”       Hearing her name in his voice shook something in her. It wasn’t often she heard it from him. It sounded strange, new, and pulled her away—just a little—from her grief.       “We’ll leave soon. Just hang in there, alright?”       His voice was softer than she’d ever heard it. She wanted to believe him. This time, Mikasa couldn’t even answer. She only nodded, looking at him with tear-dulled, uncomprehending eyes.       Someone in the crowd suggested finding temporary shelter for the heroes. The idea was met with enthusiasm, and soon people began discussing where they might go. These people were lucky—the titans hadn’t reached their city, so their homes were still intact. It didn’t take long to find some empty buildings for the defenders. They were so grateful to be alive that they were even willing to open their homes to Eldians. Unthinkable generosity, considering the hatred that had burned for generations.       The crowd began to disperse, and a small group of volunteers set off to find shelter for their unlikely guests. No one talked about peace—not really. As they entered the city, they were met with wary eyes. Faces still twisted with panic, suspicion, hatred. To many, they were still devils from Paradis—unwelcome intruders who would now eat into limited food and housing.       But the soldiers didn’t care. They only wanted two things: a meal, and a place to sleep.       They were brought to a modest building with stone walls and small windows—a hospital, as it turned out. Wounded were already being brought in, and no one knew how the Marleyans expected to make space for them here. By nightfall, the hospital would be overrun.       The Eldians understood what it meant to survive a catastrophe like this. The Marleyans, it seemed, had forgotten what loss even looked like. They hadn’t needed hospitals for wounded in a long time.       Jean and Connie took it all in with wide eyes. Even though they’d been to Marley before, this city still felt alien—like something out of the future. Empty streets lent it an eerie charm. Their spirits, despite everything, were strangely high. Connie chattered loudly, as usual, while Jean mostly stared ahead, only half-listening.       The same couldn’t be said for the two Ackermans trailing behind them. Mikasa was still drifting—not in pleasant memories, but in storm clouds ready to break lightning straight into her soul. Her eyes were lifeless.       Levi hadn’t let go of her hand. His warmth was the only thing anchoring her. Captain walked in silence, exhausted, irritated by his men’s chatter. If his mutilated hand didn’t hurt so damn much, he might have smacked some sense into them.       Most of the crowd fell away as they approached the hospital, leaving only five surviving Eldians and a few Marleyan volunteers who had promised them lodging.       They were led into a large room lined with beds—clearly a communal ward. It was simple but clean. The sunset painted the small windows in golden hues. There were already injured patients inside, but plenty of space remained.       A man approached—likely a doctor, judging by his demeanor. He spoke with the Marleyans, then gestured for the soldiers to follow him further into the ward, pointing out the available beds.       “Please, make yourselves comfortable,” he said warmly. “I’ll examine you shortly. Especially you—Captain Levi, if I’m not mistaken.”       The soldiers obeyed without question.       Then he turned to Mikasa.       “We’ll move the young lady to a separate room, away from the men. Come with me.”       He reached for her—but she recoiled, her eyes wide with panic.       “No. I don’t want that. Let me stay with them.”       Levi, still holding her hand and not yet sitting down, gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.       “We’re not going anywhere,” he said calmly. “It’ll be easier for you without us around.”       But Mikasa wouldn’t hear it. The thought of being left alone—trapped with her thoughts—was unbearable.       “No, Captain. We’ve always been together on missions, I—”       Armin appeared at her side, sensing the tension.       “Come on,” he said gently, taking her free hand. “I’ll go with you.”       Her other hand slipped out of Levi’s. He didn’t stop her. Inside, something in Mikasa tore, like she’d been cut off from something vital—but she couldn’t name what it was.       Levi clenched his good hand into a fist and lowered himself onto the nearest bed.       “This will be better for her,” he told himself. Even if he didn’t know why it hurt so much to let her go. Maybe they were all going a little mad after everything. Especially after today.       The doctor led Mikasa and Armin to a small room with a bed, a table, and a nightstand beneath the window. It was cozy, though Mikasa didn’t notice.       The doctor explained that this was one of the hospital’s offices, not meant for patients, but they’d moved in a bed—for the girl who helped save the world.       There was an awkward pause. The doctor waited for some kind of response, but Mikasa gave none. Armin thanked the man for her, recognizing that Mikasa had shut down again. The doctor said he’d return for an exam later and left them alone.       Mikasa walked to the bed and lay down, staring blankly into space. Armin sat beside her, hoping she might talk. When she didn’t, he spoke first:       “Mikasa, you did what had to be done. Don’t blame yourself. I don’t think he’d want to see you like this.”       Mikasa drew in a deep breath. If Eren truly didn’t want this, he never would’ve done something so cruel. She knew she had done the right thing. There had been no other choice. Her feelings didn’t matter—not when the fate of humanity was on the line.       The survivors would learn to cherish life in a new way, and she knew—because of her—they’d have that chance. But that awareness brought no peace.       She was alone. Utterly alone. No one—no one in this hospital could possibly understand what she felt. No one could share in the gaping emptiness that consumed her the moment the head of the person she loved most landed in her hands.       Now there was nothing. No one.       Mikasa didn’t reply to Armin. He waited for something, anything, but when it became clear she wasn’t going to speak, he quietly stepped out of the small room the doctor had so kindly arranged for her. There was nothing left to do but hope she would eventually be okay.       Accepting something like this was always hard. Armin still remembered, if only faintly, the pain of losing his own family—and could grasp, in some small way, what she was going through. But even his sharp, thoughtful mind couldn’t conjure the right words to comfort her.

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      The shock had long worn off, and the captain now lay on the bed assigned to him, gritting his teeth hard enough to grind bone—just to stop himself from betraying how much he was still hurting.       The leg that had been caught in a titan’s jaws was on fire. The pain radiated up and down like it had shattered entirely. His injuries from the explosion hadn’t improved much either.       If he’d had the luxury of healing properly—resting in a base instead of constantly being pulled back into the fight—he might have been better by now. But the endless war gave no reprieve. His wounds hadn’t had a chance to close.       Then the ghost-pain came. The stinging, searing agony in fingers that no longer existed. It was enough to drive him mad.       Levi could understand pain in a body that was still intact. But in a part of him that was gone? That was something else entirely.       He remembered Erwin once joking that the fewer limbs you had, the less pain you had to endure. They’d actually laughed at that. Now the thought made him sick.       Levi tried to cheer himself up by thinking of it as experience—as if now he finally understood what it meant to lose a part of yourself.       But the truth was, it was unbearable. No amount of grit or glory could dull it.       The doctor came quickly. Even a cursory exam showed just how bad Levi’s condition was. They changed his bandages, gave him an injection that eased the pain almost immediately. They immobilized the leg and gave him a crutch, so he could move without putting weight on it.       But as the physical pain faded, the ache in his chest returned full force.       How stupidly Hanji had died. For what? A flying boat? It was heartbreaking. But he couldn’t let himself fall apart—not now. Even though all his friends were dead, he knew the rest would live on in a better world. A world without walls. A world they had fought for—and died for—in wave after wave of doomed expeditions.       Now they understood a bitter truth: titans weren’t the real monsters. People were. And through their foolishness and greed, only a handful remained.       Lost in thought, Levi hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep—perhaps for the first time in years. He normally managed no more than a few hours in a chair. But he only woke when a hospital worker arrived with his morning medication and breakfast.       He blinked around. The other beds were empty.       A nurse, noticing his confusion, explained that everyone else had gone to the dining hall. They hadn’t woken him—his injuries were too severe.       Despite her kindness, Levi grumbled as usual, claiming he’d basically won the war on a broken leg and had walked here on his own damn feet. Of course he could manage the dining hall.       Then he tried to stand. The pain nearly knocked him unconscious. It struck like lightning, and he collapsed back onto the bed, his face contorted.       The nurse clucked in disapproval, fussing about how important rest was and how he must never put weight on that leg again—not if he ever wanted to walk properly.       As if he hadn’t figured that out himself.       She left, placing a tray on the bedside table. A surprisingly nice wooden tray, given they’d spent years at war. How had they even managed to keep something like that?       Naturally, the contents were far less impressive. A bowl of bland hospital porridge and a cup of tea that had gone cold. The tea tasted like it had been brewed from old rags, but it perked him up a little. Still, Levi decided it was beneath him and set it aside.       The porridge wasn’t much better, but it filled the emptiness in his stomach.

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      The next few days blurred into a routine of medical exams, bandage changes, bitter pills, and hospital food. Every meal was purely functional. The food dulled even Levi’s steel spirit. He endured it. He endured everything.       Even Connie and Jean, who tried their best to bring him out of it. He envied how easily they seemed to embrace this new world—as if they hadn’t lost anything. Anyone.       But that was a lie. Maybe those damn kids were just more alive than he was.       After a few days, the pain eased. Levi began joining the others for meals, walking slowly with his crutch. But he never once saw Mikasa there. He assumed they were bringing her food, like they had done for him in the beginning. He didn’t think too hard about it. She was being looked after. That was what mattered. For once in his life, he needed to focus on himself. He didn’t want to leave this place as a cripple.       Everything was going well until Armin told him the truth.       Mikasa wasn’t getting better. She was worse.       Her injuries had been minor. But she hadn’t eaten in days. She refused to get out of bed. She wouldn’t speak to anyone.       Levi’s face betrayed nothing. He glanced up at Armin under furrowed brows, then looked away and returned to his meal. But inside, his heart skipped a beat. He remembered the way he’d left her—how she’d clung to his hand, unwilling to let go. What had happened to her?       Levi didn’t want to admit it, but even in the days he hadn’t asked about her, even when he’d pretended to forget—he hadn’t. He’d thought about her. Wondered if she was feeling better. If maybe, like Jean and Connie, she was learning to find peace in this new world.       But he hadn’t gone to her. It had felt unnecessary. Irrelevant. Who was he to her, anyway?       Armin stood up from the table with a disappointed sigh. He didn’t know why he’d even bothered to bring it up. What could Levi possibly do? Why should he care?       Then came the voice.       “Take me to her.”       Armin turned back. Levi was already on his feet, leaving his half-eaten meal behind. Armin nodded silently, a quiet swell of hope rising in his chest. He hadn’t been wrong to come to the captain. Without another word, he led Levi down the hallway to the small room where Mikasa had been staying.       At the door, Armin hesitated. Then he left. Mikasa hadn’t responded to him, or anyone. Maybe—just maybe—seeing someone else would bring her back.       Levi knocked. As expected, there was no answer. He pushed the door open just a little and peeked inside.       Mikasa was curled up on the bed, facing the wall, looking utterly drained—both physically and emotionally. How many days had Armin said she hadn’t eaten? Two? Levi wasn’t sure. Only Mikasa could answer that—and only if she chose to speak.       A tray of food sat untouched on the nightstand by the window, the meal long gone cold. So… they had been bringing her meals.       Levi carefully sat on the edge of the bed and called out, softly.       “Hey. Mikasa.”       She turned sharply at the sound of his voice.       For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he’d startled her—or if she simply couldn’t believe it was really him.       She stared at him, blankly. Her face was gaunt, pale. It hurt to see her like this—the second-strongest soldier in humanity, wasting away.       Levi hesitated. He wanted to reach out to her—but didn’t know if he should. Yes, after the “victory,” they’d sat together at Eren’s grave, her body pressed close to his—and he hadn’t minded. But this was different. Now, he didn’t know how she would react to his touch. What had happened then—he could understand. Shock. Desperation. The human need to cling to anything still warm and breathing. He knew that feeling all too well. So now, he held back.       She looked small and fragile like this, curled up. And yet, she was taller than he was.       “Captain?” Her voice cracked. “I thought… I didn’t think you’d come back. After… everything. On the field.”       She looked embarrassed—by her words, by how she looked. But Levi understood. She didn’t know what to make of what had happened to her either. She’d been waiting for him. And he hadn’t come. Not once.       He wasn’t about to tell her how much he’d been thinking of her. That would’ve been… ridiculous.       “You need to eat,” he said instead.       As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how stupid they sounded. She’d feared she’d never see him again—and that was what he said?       “I don’t want to.”       Stubborn, even now. Even like this. Unbelievable.       “Don’t make me feed you myself.”       Mikasa sat up, visibly displeased. And yet… it made her feel something. He was here. Commanding her again. Like always. She had waited for him—achingly. All this time, trapped in an endless spiral of grief, her mind replaying horrors, over and over. No one could distract her from it. Not Armin. Not Jean. Not Connie. They’d all come, once or twice. She didn’t remember when. She’d pushed them away without meaning to—repelling everyone with her silence and emptiness.       But he had come. Her captain. Still ordering her around, as if nothing had changed. And the strange part was… it calmed her.       She was starving. She didn’t even want to admit how badly. But her body felt too weak. Like if she tried to eat, she’d just throw it back up.       Levi reached for the tray and picked up what passed for soup. It was lukewarm at best, but still edible. He raised a spoonful.       “If I have to, I’ll pour this down your throat.”       “I feel sick just looking at it, sir.”       That did it. The spoon was suddenly right at her lips. Levi hadn’t spilled a drop, which was a miracle in itself. Imagine this—him, trying to feed a soldier. What nonsense.       “Open your mouth. Eat.”       The soft tone from earlier was gone. His voice was all command now. Familiar. Steady. And, perhaps from habit, or sheer reflex, Mikasa obeyed. She opened her mouth and swallowed the first spoonful.       Nausea clawed up her throat, but she forced it back down.       Levi pressed the spoon into her hand and set the bowl in her lap.       “I’m not leaving until you finish it. Then you’re taking a bath. You smell like a damn garbage pit.”       The corners of Mikasa’s mouth twitched upward. His words were harsh. But the care in them was unmistakable. And it felt… good. It had been so long since anything felt good. He hadn’t forgotten her. She really wasn’t alone.       She focused on the soup. A spoon. Then another. It went down easier than she’d expected.       And Levi watched her—watched something shift in her. A flicker of light returned to her expression. A fragile smile played across her lips. He found himself smiling back.       She finished the soup and set the bowl aside. Then she looked him straight in the eye. The brightness in her eyes dulled almost instantly, veiled once again in sorrow.       “Are you leaving now?” she asked quietly. “Like everyone else? I keep thinking… I must still matter to someone, but…”       Tears welled up. It was as if a switch had flipped. Just a minute ago, she had smiled. Now she looked like a child about to cry. She was terrified of being alone.       “You’re brushing your teeth first,” Levi said gruffly. “Then we’ll talk. You are filthy.”       His voice was lined with something that didn’t match the insult—warmth. He stood carefully, avoiding his injured leg, and offered his good hand to her. She didn’t resist.

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      They returned to her little room not long after. Neither of them spoke. Mikasa sat on the bed and looked at him, clearly waiting for something. Words. Promises. Anything.       Levi wasn’t sure what she expected. But she was waiting. Women were rarely a mystery to him. But Mikasa shared his name—and that made her harder to read.       “If you come to dinner with the others, and stop refusing food,” he said at last, “I’ll come see you every day. Deal, Ackerman?”       Her eyes lit up. For the first time in days—truly lit up. She had wanted to ask him. To see him again. But she hadn’t known how. Now she didn’t have to.       “Deal,” she whispered, reaching out with her thin hand. Her cheeks flushed faintly. Handshake protocol. Nothing inappropriate. Levi had offered his hand a few times before. It was fine.       “Now be a good girl,” he added, ruffling her hair, “and stop making your friends worry.” Then, without another word, he turned and left the room.