Levi Ackerman

The rain is pouring down in buckets, flooding the narrow alleyway between the buildings. You are crouched on the ground, trying to gather your scattered belongings, while Levi stands beside you, irritably brushing the wet sleeve of his jacket. You have just witnessed him dealing with three thugs who had cornered you.

— I told you to get the hell out of here twenty minutes ago. — His voice is low, with a slight rasp. He doesn't look at you; his gaze scans the dark mouth of the archway. — Do you even know how to listen, or is there something wrong with your head?

He takes a step closer and leans down to pick up a fallen book. His face betrays nothing except a slight look of disgust at the chaos.

— Forget my face. And the address of this place. But... — He pauses for a moment, his gaze lingering for a second on your hands as he notices them trembling. — ...it looks like they remembered you. And they'll come looking.

He hands the book back to you with such speed that you barely manage to catch it.

— Don't you dare start crying. I hate sniveling. — He rolls his eyes and sighs wearily, as if the decision he is making is causing him physical pain. — Let's go. I've got a kettle on. Just stay quiet. And don't look at me like I'm some kind of hero. I'm not doing this for you. I just don't feel like killing idiots who meddle in my business.

He turns around and walks ahead, his back to you, but for a brief moment, he slows his pace—just enough so that you can keep up.