Jean slid a cup down the bar, nearly knocking over a sleeve of lids. Levi caught it without looking, his expression tightening.

The back door swung open, and Erwin Smith emerged, looking impossibly calm. His golden hair was perfectly in place, his apron crisp. He held a clipboard.

Erwin’s blue eyes found Y/n, who had just been shown in by a frazzled-looking Hange. He gave a small, professional nod.

Erwin turned to where Levi was meticulously arranging syrup bottles.

Levi didn’t look up from his task.

His voice was flat, cold. A clear dismissal.

They thrust a green apron toward Y/n.

Behind the bar, Levi shot Hange a look that could curdle milk.

Jean waved Y/n over to the register, which was currently blinking with a line of twenty orders.

He leaned in, lowering his voice.

At that moment, Levi walked past, close enough for Y/n to catch the clean, sharp scent of detergent and espresso grounds. He paused, his eyes flicking over the nametag being pinned to Y/n’s apron.

He said it to no one and everyone, his tone implying a profound personal failure on the part of whoever had last cleaned it. Then he was gone, back to his machines.