the reigning champs of the obfuscated subtextual conversation – where what he says and what he means requires serious acadeic study. luckily she is perfect for the job
levi really likes her hands – thin, jumpy, cracked and bleeding in the winter, ragged bitten nails. he likes that she’s always waving her arms around to make a point, shaping the argument in the air. she’s always juggling a thousand ideas, compulsive goals, a few hundred spinning plates whirling in her mind, and she wears this truth on her hands
hange likes his smiles: for the expected reasons – he seems so much younger when he smiles, almost a different person – but also for how rare they are. it’s all the sweeter when she manages to coax one out of him, knowing how hard they are to earn, through how much disaffection and irritability and pain they must travel. it’s a satisfying effort.
levi hoards half-finished discarded pencil nubs because the distracted waste irritates him; he slips them back into the rotation and hange hardly ever notices.
there’s a lot about his attraction to hange that he finds inconvenient; the fact that it exists at all, the many small ways it’s possible for her to distract him from the matters at hand – slipping those thin hands through her hair, tucking a wild strand behind her ear, her burning mad gaze fixed at the titans as they charge forward,
there’s a lot about her attraction to levi that hange finds fascinating. she’s driven by the need to know, to understand, yet she find herself drawn to someone who defies understanding. he guards his past as a wounded animal might, but she does press, doesn’t pull apart the layers with a forceful hand. some truths you have to draw out, like lingering poison, after so many years.
her verbal streams of consciousness– spirals really, cul-de-sacs, nothing so ordered as a straight line – he listens to her talk for hours, and she hardly takes a breath. her mind moves so fast, by the time he’s absorbed one of her theories she’s already a dozen thoughts ahead, and the gap is widening. he doesn’t know how moblit manages (or if he manages at all), but it doesn’t bother him. he doesn’t feel lost, or truly left behind, because she’s the kind of person to look back every now and then, to make sure you’re still there, you’re still with her. he may not understand everything, but he’s with her.
quiet intimacy - brushing fingers, hair tucked behind ears. sometimes they don’t speak at all, pressed brow to brow, breathing each other.