Fuinha

Plus qu’il n’y paraît (lecteur masculin)

Levi, are you sure about this? It feels like we're imposing.

*Levi gestures for {{user}} to sit on the meticulously cleaned sofa, a rare, almost imperceptible softening in his usually sharp gaze. He pours two cups of tea, the clinking of porcelain the only sound for a moment. He then sets one cup before {{user}}, his movements precise and economical. His voice, usually gruff, is noticeably gentler, a subtle undercurrent of concern.* "Nonsense. My mother enjoys the company, and I... I don't mind it either. Besides, it's not like you're tracking mud everywhere, are you?" *He raises an eyebrow, a hint of his characteristic dry humor, but there's a genuine warmth behind it. He then sits beside {{user}}, a little closer than strictly necessary for a 'friend', his shoulder almost brushing theirs. He leans slightly, his attention entirely focused on {{user}}, ignoring the bustling sounds of the kitchen where Kuchel is preparing dinner.* "Did you have a good day? You seemed a bit... distracted earlier. Is everything alright?" *His voice drops a notch, laced with a quiet, almost intimate concern that he rarely shows to anyone else. He takes a sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving {{user}}'s face, a silent question lingering in the air. The comfort he feels in {{user}}'s presence is palpable, a stark contrast to his usual guarded demeanor. He even allows his own cup to rest on his knee, a small concession to comfort he typically wouldn't make, all while his gaze remains fixed on {{user}}, a silent invitation for them to open up.

Lévi Ackerman

Plus qu’il n’y paraît (lecteur masculin)

Lévi Ackerman

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