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Bones creak—tired, cold, and aching. Hands have grown numb, skin red and raw. Snow falls in gentle drifts across the slatted roofs, builds in the manes and tails of horses. Clinging to the fur lining the hoods of their winter coats, kissing soldiers on their faces, the back of their necks, their exposed flesh. The cobblestone pathways become cloudy and white with the snowflakes, kicked up, scraped away by the hooves of their horses.
Levi watches the sky. To his right, Hanji is studying the intricacies of individual snowflakes that cling to the sleeve of their coat, raving about the wonders of nature despite being witness to it every single year. For Levi, it has been a newfound fascination. For Levi, this is closer to new than old. In the depths, snow came down in brown sludge, thickened by mud and rocks and debris.
Far ahead, their Commander sits straight-backed on his prideful horse, seemingly unaffected by the cold, the snow, the discomfort. Their mission had been an easier one, though equally daunting: venture out to one of the many abandoned castles in the lost territory of Maria, a headquarters once under their command. Establish its current state; what gear and materials were left behind during the infiltration of the Titans, and return with this newfound information. From that point, they—meaning Erwin—are to proceed with planning out an excursion to retrieve said gear. Due to the winter season, Titans are fewer, less energetic, which makes these smaller missions certainly more doable—requiring less manpower.
Few lives were lost during this operation. But, they are now facing an exhausting amount of injuries related to the cold. They’d been caught out in a blizzard on the way through a distant town named Jenithe, had to bunker down in the abandoned, bloodied homes. Despite this precaution from the mercilessness of nature, six soldiers were showing signs of hypothermia, some frostbite. When they’d finally made it to the castle, the survey group was less than thrilled to enact the gathering of information, while, of course, maintaining vigilance. That being said, the armory, as reported, was stocked with blades, gas canisters, ODM gear—incredibly valuable to their cause.
Now, this was an operation that did not require the presence of their Commander, but Levi wagers he’s been feeling a bit restless, a bit too shackled to his office, to his duty of kissing ass and licking boots to preserve the reluctant agreement that the Survey Corps are worth the pennies they toss their way. During this season, it takes increased effort to maintain this opinion due to the lack of substantial expeditions or glaring results—they can’t do much beyond Rose when temperatures drop and terrain becomes unreliable. Horses are too valuable to risk out in Maria—hence why they sent only a dozen soldiers and horses to enact this mission.
Three days stuck in that old, dusty castle with shitty insulation and constant discomfort, Levi, who usually wasn’t the type to complain, was just as eager to get the fuck back to the barracks and take a hot bath. Makes him wonder if the Commander thought it was worth his little vacation from political or clerical duties. But, something tells him that’s not the case.
The stone flooring of the castle was cold enough to be felt through his boots. The wind penetrated the cracks in the lain brick, contributing to the bone-deep chill that seemed to cling no matter where he went. So he’d wandered, looking for a room with a functioning fireplace. The castle felt seemingly endless, room after room full of desks and cabinets containing paperwork and data now considered useless and outdated. Some rooms held frozen corpses, decomposed remains.
The Commander claimed one room close to their makeshift mess hall; just up a winding staircase at the end of a short hall, overlooking the courtyard. Ascending that staircase, Levi crossed that hall. Standing at the door to the room, he heard silence. He wondered if the Commander was even in his designated office. Gripping the wrought iron handle of the heavy wooden door, Levi pushed it open slowly to find the Commander seated by the window of this cold, dusty room, elbow propped upon the stone windowsill with his face in his open hand. He’d raised his head upon Levi’s entrance, lowering his hand into a fist against the brick.
There was an unlit fireplace. Without a word to his Commander, Levi left the so-called office to retrieve a smashed wooden chair he found in one of the other dark, depressing rooms. With his fire starter, Levi had created a form of warmth that immediately made a noticeable difference in the freezing confines of the room. Still silent, Levi had claimed a spot in front of the growing fire, sitting upon another wooden chair, intact. There, he retrieved a small knife he’d pilfered from the kitchen and used it to begin paring his fingernails while he let his booted feet warm up in front of the flickering flames. He noticed the length of his fingernails during the long ride out here, and they’d bothered him since.
“Did you eat yet?” Levi had asked, keeping the Commander in his peripheral vision while he fixed up his nails, listening to the crackling of the fire, the howling of the wind outside. The Commander cleared his throat, rough with disuse, and said, “No.”
“Neither have I,” Levi replied lowly, soon to say after, “I’ll get you a plate when I go down.”
“…Thank you.”
Casting a glance towards their Commander, Levi noticed the exhaustion etched into his features. But that faint smile was still there, and a gentleness which came to his eyes. Then his gaze fell to the papers before him, broad hands coming down to skim along the lines he’d written already with blunt fingertips. The skin under his eyes was dark, his cheeks nearly sunken. Levi knew that look. He knew it well.
And now, as the troop ride their tired horses through Krolva, eager to reach the familiar comforts of the barracks, Levi stares at the back of their Commander’s head and decides something will be done about it. To his side, Hanji is raising their voice, repeating a single word over and over, until he registers that that two syllable word is actually his name.
“What?” Levi mutters, finally acknowledging the one person who refuses his silence, keeping his eyes ahead. Snowflakes are melting on his forehead, a cold kiss that has him pulling his hood higher up over his head. The side to side gait of the horse is almost lulling at this point, but his feet are frozen in the stirrups, and all he can think about is galloping past everyone to reach the barracks foremost, making use of the bathing room before it’s undoubtedly swarmed by the other soldiers who must be on the same wavelength as him. Hanji speaks energetically.
“Let’s grab some food together when we get back, I want to share my findings with you! I have this hypothesis that Titans are vulnerable to the elements just like we are. Remember that weak titan we came across in the forest? It could barely hold itself up? What if, like us, Titans can experience hypothermia, or stiff joints and muscle pain caused by the cold? Imagine the information we could garner from conducting experiments during the winter season!”
“If you want to parade around in the cold to poke at some Titans, be my guest,” Levi replies past poorly concealed impatience. “Don’t count me in.”
It seems like they’ve decided to just tell him now, rather than wait for the mess hall. The remainder of the ride back to headquarters, Hanji rambles on about the ideas they already have to implement secretive experiments into an upcoming mission, though that is something to be telling their Commander, not him. Levi listens with one ear just to grant Hanji the occasional acknowledging grunt, otherwise he’s silent.
At headquarters, the troop leads their horses to the stables. Some livelier soldiers slap each other on the back and make plans to kick up their feet, others just meander off, eager to get warm as soon as possible. Levi is on the same page. A stablehand has their Commander’s horse by the reins, leading her to her pen. Levi is preparing a meal for his own girl, though he pauses in the act to watch the stablehand treat the horse kindly, as if she were a princess—she definitely looks like one. Like horse, like owner or whatever, right? Levi wonders where the Commander retreated to. Probably his office, writing up a report to be sent to higher-ups.
Levi refocuses on taking care of his needy horse, the bath still lingering in the back of his mind. As he’s fixing up her bucket of forage and grain, he hears her loud snuffling, her impatient huffs. It has him smiling to himself, albeit faintly.
Now considered off-duty, Levi had switched into his civvies foremost before making his way to the bathing room. In the bathing room, the center fire grate is lined with buckets of water pulled from the well pumps, waiting to be heated by the crackling fire below. Soldiers sit half-naked around the fire, too impatient to wait for the warmth of the water. While he isn’t surprised, he can’t help but feel some disappointment at the presence of others. He avoids their proximity, far from keen to engage in conversation after finally shaking Hanji off his back shortly following their return.
Standing by an unoccupied storage locker among the wall of many, Levi begins undressing. Left only in his military issued underwear with his precious soap in hand, he paces out towards the center fire grate and tests the water in one of the buckets. It’s hot, almost scalding. The other soldiers are still chatting away, and he continues avoiding eye contact just so that attention isn’t diverted to him.
Grabbing one of the buckets by the handle, he lifts it effortlessly and brings the heavy, steaming water to one of the long tin tubs. He pours it in fully, fingers hooked under the bottom rim of the bucket, and then contributes to the steaming water with a separate jug of cool water, to balance it out and fill the tub further.
Studying the water level, he decides he’ll be selfish and claim another bucket. You’re only supposed to use one because it’s a long, inconvenient wait for others, but there’s only a few people here. Sometimes, it feels like he’s the only soldier that gives enough of a shit to bathe consistently.
He snatches another bucket of hot water and pours it in. Testing the water, it’s nearly burning hot. Perfect. He leaves both buckets by his tin tub, strips out of his briefs, and steps in. Lowering himself down, he groans in bliss. His hands and feet have been cold ever since their arrival. No greater joy is known to him, submerging in a tub of hot water. He tips his head back against the rim of the tub and closes his eyes. Fuck yes.
Levi startles awake, hearing the drop of a bucket. Lurching up, he looks to the side, seeing a new set of soldiers replacing the buckets upon the fire grate, newly filled with water. One soldier begins poking at the fire, adding fresh coals to get it going again. Levi realizes he fell asleep. The water is lukewarm now, uncomfortably so. He knew he was exhausted from the mission, but enough to warrant passing out in the tub? He had his own agenda tonight, so he’s quick to wash up with his scented soap before stepping out and unplugging the tub. Approaching his locker, dripping water along the way, he retrieves his towel and is quick to dry off before redressing.
The familiarity of the barracks is somehow comforting. Levi remembers this one girl, during the operation, who ran out from the safety of the village buildings to retrieve her cloak that had fallen from her shoulders during the panic and confusion of seeking shelter. Apparently, it had also been the cloak of her fallen friend, reclaimed by her. She came back with frostbite on both hands and ears. He thinks of her, and how she must be in the medical wing now, laid up in bed while doctors debate whether she’ll have to lose her hands or not.
He remembers her, and is reminded of how sentimentality makes you weak. She risked her life for that cloak, and now she suffers for it. Walking through the halls of the barracks towards the offices, Levi is grateful of the fact he’s got nothing to lose and nothing to gain, so he’s left with only clear judgment.
At the end of the hall, the door to the Commander’s office is closed. Unfortunately for their leader, a Commander is never off-duty. Responsibilities always present, respite seldom given. Levi tries the handle of the door; it twists and unlatches. He pushes the door open, stepping inside. There, he finds darkness. The only illumination comes from the cloudy sky. Muted and dreary, Levi can see little. Snow continues falling in shimmering drifts, seen beyond the wide window across from the door.
Entering the office, for the hundredth time, he thinks it’s an unnecessarily big space considering what the Commander does in here. Sit at that desk for hours on end, or maybe wander over to the cabinet lined with some books to look at them once in a while. The maroon colored rug spans far along the floorboards, overwhelming in size. Levi can’t imagine the hours that went into crafting it. The smaller cabinet closer to the desk holds a tray with his liquor decanter, the matching crystal glasses. For social purposes. For aiding those moments when he has to use that clever tongue, to reshape minds into whatever he wants, whatever he needs. Levi scowls at the size of this room. It boasts more than it serves.
Crossing the rug, Levi stops at the desk. It’s often neat and tidy, with few items on its surface. Their Commander has always been quite particular about the appearance he conveys. But now, it’s cluttered with letters and envelopes. The letter opener he used rests nearby, the handle wooden and hand carved. A gift, Levi remembers. From one of the upper-class fuckers in Stohess. Atop the small pile of letters and papers sits one that he must have looked at last; Levi reaches out to take it in hand.
He’s not allowed to do this. It’s a breach of confidentiality, or whatever. He doesn’t care. He looks over it briefly, wondering what made him drop all of his current concerns and rush out of the room.
Nothing of substance is in this letter. Word about one of their manufacturers. A leatherworker producing the straps to their gear, their boots, the horse saddles. Levi lets it drop back to the pile. He must have just been going through the mail waiting for him, and received interruption.
“Levi.”
Tensing, Levi looks over to see the Commander standing at the door. His hands are folded behind his back, his posture straight and rigid, face unreadable. Levi crosses his arms, curling his fingers into the thick fabric of his black sweater. He levels him with a calm stare as he says, “Quit it. You made it to your office. You don’t have to keep up appearances when it’s just me.”
“Is there something you came for?” Commander Smith replies, pacing into the room, keeping Levi under his gaze. Levi stares back. Well, that was dismissive. Studying the other man, Levi takes note of the bags under his eyes. That’s one thing he can’t hide, even if he’s mastered the concealment of his exhaustion through every other form. Across the length of the office, Levi watches him approach slow and calm, his stride measured, the impact of his booted feet light.
Commander Smith stands in front of him, an arm’s length away. Those stern blue eyes remain on him. Levi remembers Captain Erwin Smith. The flashes of naïveté associated with youth and ambition, the bullheadedness that got him to where he is now. He remembers looking into those eyes and finding fiery spirit. There is too much fatigue, now. He’s gotten quite skilled at shaping himself into an emotionless creature, to withstand the criticisms he faces, to carry the pressure of his rank, but Levi still remembers.
He remembers the way he’d thanked him not even forty-eight hours ago, back in the castle. The look in his eyes. The weak, appreciative smile on his face.
“I came to find you,” Levi begins, refusing to back down from this eye contact. He stares at the other man, keeping his arms crossed while he leans back against that powerful desk behind him.
“And so you have,” Commander Smith replies, rounding Levi and the desk to reclaim his chair. He begins organizing the letters and pages resting haphazardly across its surface. Levi turns to face him. He watches, expecting him to put it all away for later, to do something else besides work, for once. A foolish hope; Commander Smith retrieves a blank sheet of paper, pulls his inkwell closer, takes the writing utensil in hand, taps it against the edge of the inkwell to shed loose ink. Jaw tightly locked, Levi watches him begin to write in swooping script.
“I assume it is something that can wait,” his Commander says, keeping his eyes on his work. His hand is light and steady, practiced. “Otherwise, you’d be out with it already, Captain Levi.”
Standing there, Levi calculates his best move here. It’s not easy to be transparent and simply say he wants him to get some actual rest, to care about his own well-being. He wants Erwin to feel like he can put his head in his hands in front of Levi without that pressure to conceal it. He wants Erwin to show exhaustion, to show he’s human. But Erwin denies himself, and Levi, all of this. They’ve argued about it before.
There’s a reason why Erwin is Commander, and Levi is just some skilled thug-made-soldier that climbed his way up the ladder through strength and determination alone. While Levi can produce a sound plan here and there on the battlefield, he’s dogshit when it comes to recognizing his options when it comes to exchanges like this, worse at choosing the method that is painless and simple.
Reaching out, Levi grabs the writing utensil from Commander Smith’s hand. Eyes edged with impatience snap up to meet his. Showing anger; that’s another undeniable sign of his exhaustion. Commander Smith straightens his posture, brings his hands together to fold them atop his desk. He levels Levi with a stare, searching his face, calculating.
“'Why did he do that?’” Levi begins in a flat tone of voice, taking three steps from the desk, rolling the pen between his fingers, flipping it up again like he would with one of his knives, back then. “'Is Levi making a point? What point would that be? Let’s try and deduce why he came here—'”
“It’s quite apparent to me why you’re here, Levi, but I’d like to have it back, if you would.”
Commander Smith sounds far from patient, his voice steely and a touch sharp. Levi had only been teasing him to alleviate the atmosphere, but the humor of it seems to been poorly received. His face is nearly unreadable, but he forgot to keep his brow relaxed. Those thick eyebrows are furrowed. He really does slip when he’s tired, doesn’t he?
Levi twists the pen sharply between his long, slim fingers, tosses it up into the air just to snatch it in his palm again, fingers wrapping around the length of it as if it really is a knife. He stares right back into Commander Smith’s stern eyes as he calmly says, “No. You can write ‘em back tomorrow.”
The other man exhales heavily, bringing a hand up to grind his fingertips into the inner corners of his closed eyes. He gestures with an open hand, fixing his hard eyes on Levi once more.
“My workload will be doubled tomorrow if I fail to attend to these by tonight. I can’t humor you just yet.”
“Tch. ’Humor me’?” Levi scoffs while he averts his gaze to the window past his Commander’s rigid form, watching the falling snow, “Please. I’ve fared better without you my entire life. I don’t need to be humored.”
“Have you?” Commander Smith replies equally sharp. “Have you fared better?”
Levi meets his gaze again. His sapphire eyes burn, scorching him when they make eye contact. Levi frowns. He knows he’s not talking to Erwin right now, so it’s different, but that was intentionally unkind. Levi is thick-skinned, but the knowledge that Erwin—Commander Smith—is attempting to scare him out of the room with his tail tucked pisses him off. Trying to redirect him from the point.
“I’ll give you an hour,” Levi replies curtly, placing Commander Smith’s pen back on the desk with the tool snapping against the solid wood. “I will sit here, for an hour. Write up your letters and reports. At one hour, we are going to go to the mess and grab food, and then we’ll be going back to your room. Enough of this shit, Erwin. You have all winter to reply to letters.”
He wants to call him a fucking martyr, some stubborn fuck who has to prove himself, to show no weakness at all fucking times, even with his… whatever Levi is. Tiring is what it is. Levi understands the need to maintain appearances, but they’re supposed to be off-duty, and Erwin isn’t a machine, nor a monster, nor the devil, god damnit.
The Survey Corps cannot be seen as slackers, kicking up their feet during the winter season on the tax payer’s dime, but that doesn’t mean Erwin should burn himself out either, when all they can do at this time is keep their head above water. He knows that Erwin needs to write up the following procedures to extract that supply, propositions and plans and all that nonsense, but that, too, can wait until at least tomorrow. The manifest of supplies can be simplified and organized later in time.
Calmly, Commander Smith reaches out to take the pen in hand, refills it with ink, and promptly resumes writing. Erwin doesn’t keep chairs in here; he’s the type to go on a walk for a meeting, or keep it brief enough that sitting isn’t necessary. But there is a wooden chair propped against the wall by the cabinets—specifically for him, dragged in here by Levi himself ages ago. Levi approaches it, drops into it, folding his arms. He crosses his legs, his black slacks conforming to his figure comfortably versus the tight squeeze of the gear, the riding breeches.
Tiredness clings to him like a familiar burden, pulling on his limbs, his eyelids. He watches the other man write with a perfect posture and emotionless face, broad hand gripping the writing utensil confidently. Levi cranes his head back against the wall, looks up at the wooden ceiling and listens to the wind beyond the window, the clamoring of soldiers out in the hall, the passing of booted feet. Turning his head, Levi alternates his stare between the Commander’s passive face and the dancing snow beyond the icy window panes until his eyelids grow too heavy and he cannot fight the weight of them any longer.
He closes his eyes. The scratching of Commander Smith’s pen follows him into his subconscious.
The act of dropping his knife in his dream jolts him out of slumber. Lurching up from the wooden chair, Levi shoots quickly to his feet with his hands in fists. Exhausted but alert, he looks around anxiously, establishing his current location—the Commander’s office, back at headquarters. He relaxes. Shit. He fell asleep. Glancing towards the desk, it seems he wasn’t the only one who fell victim to the familiar embrace of slumber: Erwin is slumped over his desk, arms folded with his cheek propped against his forearms. He’s breathing slow and deep. Snoring. Levi huffs. How did he manage to sleep through that noise? He’s surprised he didn’t wake up sooner.
Blearily, Levi rubs at his eyes with both hands and then rakes his fingers up through his freshly washed black hair. Sighing, he paces over to the desk. Standing over his Commander, he crosses his arms and studies his sleeping face. His eyes are roving under his eyelids; he’s deep asleep. Must’ve been dead exhausted, poor bastard. It’s not often he witnesses him out at his desk like this. Erwin is usually better about making it to his room before showing weakness. Anyone could’ve walked in here and seen him—further proves Levi’s point. He needs a fucking break.
Reaching out, Levi gingerly rests the flat width of his hand on the Wings of Freedom across Erwin’s back. He really tried to be as gentle as possible, but it still jolted Erwin from sleep; he lurches back up into a seated position, blinking with disorientation. He looks around dazedly, and then his bloodshot eyes train up on Levi’s. Levi searches his face silently, keeping his hand on his back, and then looks at the pages Erwin seems to have crumpled; just data reports. Luckily, he didn’t spill ink over anything. Reaching out, Levi carefully takes the pen from under Erwin’s wrist and places it back in the inkwell.
“Up, you useless thing,” Levi mutters, hooking his hand under Erwin’s armpit, hoisting him up onto his feet. Obediently, Erwin sluggishly rises, head hung. The chair slides out noisily behind him, catching on the floorboards. With quick reflexes, despite his current state, Erwin grabs the back of it before it could tip over.
“Have such a huge rug in here, and still you don’t have it under your chair,” Levi mutters, keeping his stern hand around Erwin’s bicep whilst pulling him from the desk. Erwin says nothing. Levi glances at him. His eyes are hazy, blinking slow, bloodshot and heavily bagged. He looks at Levi. The lines of his jacket are pressed into the reddened skin of his cheek. He looks like he’s about to drop.
“C’mon,” Levi says softly, bringing his hand down to take Erwin’s. His skin is hot to the touch. Erwin squeezes back weakly, a surprising gesture. Levi snatches Erwin’s peacoat from the rack by the door on their way out. In the hall, Levi releases his hand and passes him the coat. Erwin lethargically slips it on, following his smaller Captain down the empty hall, his booted feet heavier, louder than they had been just a couple hours prior.
Down the winding steps, Levi leads Erwin, slipping past lower rank squad leaders that keep their eyes to themselves. One recruit who must have been delivering a letter unashamedly stares at Erwin’s unkempt state, but still salutes, addressing them a bit naively, too politely. Levi dismisses it, muttering about embarrassing newbies as they cross through a hall, passing soldiers and squad leaders alike to reach the double doors to the courtyard. Stepping outside, sticking close to the brick wall, they avoid most of the snow. Regardless of their efforts, it collects in Levi’s hair, on the collar and shoulders of Erwin’s peacoat. They walk in silence, making their way around the courtyard to reach the dormitories.
The lodging for the Commander is further back at the end of a lone hall; there’s a way to reach it without going outside, but Levi wanted to take the quickest route with least interference. Erwin silently follows him around the brick building, to reach the back where a low stone fence sections off an area reserved solely for squad leaders and the Commander. There’s a feeble wooden table with six chairs, joined by a clothesline. The trees are bare, their branches thick and knotted like a Titan’s fingers.
Navigating around the stone fence, Levi leads Erwin through the backdoor. From there, they’re soon in the hall connected to the Commander’s lodging. It’s completely empty, unsurprisingly. The torches are left unlit on the walls, and will be until nightfall; the natural lighting coming in through the windows acts as illumination.
Still Erwin says nothing, standing motionlessly next to Levi while Levi reaches into the pocket of Erwin’s pea coat to dig out the iron key, knowing that’s exactly where it would be. Unlatching the heavy wooden door with a loud grind of the rudimentary lock, Levi shoulders it open and grabs Erwin by the limp wrist, pulling him into the room impatiently. Erwin steps in calmly, his laden oceanic eyes trained on the smaller man, tracking him. Levi sniffles, taking a moment to ruffle the snow out of his hair before rubbing the biting chill from his button nose with the palm of his hand.
Peering up at Erwin past his black fringe, he sees the faintest, barely-there smile pulling at the corner of his Commander’s lips. Levi drops his gaze to the buttons of Erwin’s coat while he begins undoing them, feeling a rush of relief flow through him, seeing that smile, no matter how insignificant it may be.
“My ears are about to bleed, Erwin. You’re talking so much,” Levi mutters wryly, carefully working the (expensive) wool coat from his broad shoulders. Erwin grants him nothing beyond a tired huff of amusement. He dutifully slips his arms free from the sleeves while Levi helps him out of it. Turning, Levi reaches out to hang it on the coatrack by the door. It’s then that he hears Erwin walking heavily, earning a quick glance from him. Erwin is pacing to the window, drawing back the white drapes to expose the snow-laden land beyond.
A pathway crosses close by the window, though it’s seldom traveled by soldiers. The stone is thick with white snow. The trees are bare and piled. It’s a beautiful sight, Levi has to admit. Seeing his Commander, ever tall and strong, standing in front of this visual, gaze fixed beyond the glass panes. Levi takes this opportunity to close the heavy wooden door.
Leaving Erwin to himself momentarily, Levi then crosses the room to enter the adjoined bathroom—a privilege reserved only for the Commander and Section Commanders. Here, a more modern bathtub sits. Levi always enjoyed abusing his relationship, of sorts, with Erwin to make use of his tub.
Reaching out, he twists the brass handle and water begins flowing noisily, beating against the porcelain base of the tub. It took some getting used to, but now Levi knows how to adjust the heating so it doesn’t scald. Apparently, the use of gas to grant instantaneous heated water is an ingenious, ground-breaking invention that had only been around for a decade or so. Levi had no clue it even existed, down in the depths. The only reason it was installed here, in the lowly Survey Corps Commander’s lodging, is because the Commander before Shadis was a real prick who immorally moved around money to benefit himself and colleagues—or so he was informed by Erwin. It’s not like they needed an expensive, gas-operated bathtub as soldiers who would probably be eaten in a month’s time.
Levi realizes he’s been staring at the cascading, building water for a solid two minutes, thoughts wandering. He’s only struck from his daydreaming when he hears the noisy creak of Erwin taking a heavy seat at one of the tables. It’s then that it occurs to Levi he forgot to grab them both dinner. Shit. He quickly turns off the bath faucet, reenters the bedroom again to find Erwin seated at the rounded table, turned to the windows.
“I’m going to run down and grab us dinner,” Levi announces, earning a slow glance from weary blue eyes. Erwin has his elbow upon the table, jaw in hand. He manages a nod. Levi opens the heavy wooden door and slips back out into the hall.
In the mess, soldiers are beginning to converge. Glancing at the brass clock on the wall, it occurs to Levi that he slept long enough that it’s now dinnertime. Regardless of the hour of the day, Levi can drop by and claim a plate or two for himself and the Commander considering their rank—coming around at lunch or dinnertime makes it inconvenient because now he has to deal with a bunch of brats. He dodges recruits and seasoned soldiers alike, keeping his eyes trained ahead while striding right for the kitchen. A line waits, but he circumvents this by simply stepping behind the counter and motioning to one of the cooks, saying, “Need a tray for me and Smith.”
The woman looks a touch flustered as she fills out two trays for him, giving a plentiful serving for them both. Levi grunts his best attempt at a polite thanks, and then takes both trays with him as he absconds from the mess hall. He passes his squad on the way out, and Oluo, still naïve and hero-worshipping, extends a hand and calls out a cheery hello to stop him. Levi simply ignores him and Petra, who, rightfully so, smacks Oluo on the shoulder as Levi strides past.
“Did you not see the two trays, idiot? He’s already eating dinner with someone!” Petra’s voice follows him out. Levi sighs impatiently, making his way back through the freezing hall. He should be a better example and leader—give his squad at least ten seconds of his time to simply say hello, but that’s an invitation for further interruption. Fuck that. More important things await.
He purposefully left the door slightly ajar so he could just shoulder in, hands full. He rests his weight back against the wooden door until he hears it latch. Erwin is still seated at the round table, but he seemed to have risen just to grab a book. He’s leaning over it, cheek braced against a fist, head hung. It looks like he took off his boots and removed his ODM straps. Good.
“How the fuck can you read this tired?” Levi says, “I can barely manage it fully rested.”
He paces into the room carrying the trays, brings both to the table. Erwin wordlessly shuts the book and slides it out of the way. His heavy eyes pan up to look at Levi. Levi doesn’t meet his gaze while he places the trays down.
“Couldn’t grab drinks,” Levi says while he drops down into the chair opposite of Erwin, back turned to the brick wall while he throws one leg over the other. He props his elbow against the table, finally bringing his eyes to Erwin’s as he adds, “Would’ve spilled that shit all over if I tried balancing them on the trays.”
“It’s fine,” Erwin replies, his first words spoken in probably hours. He drops his gaze to his tray, reaches out to take the soup spoon. “Thank you.”
Levi watches him for a moment, face expressionless.
“You’re welcome. I expect that tray to be bare.”
Erwin brings his unoccupied hand up to salute lazily with two fingers; an affirmative. Levi smirks, grabbing his own spoon.
Both trays are left empty, scraped clean. Levi is already up and back in the bathroom, draining the tub of cold, abandoned water to refill it again. As the hot, steaming water steadily builds within the porcelain bathtub, Levi retrieves Erwin from the bedroom. Willing, Erwin wearily trudges along after Levi into the smaller confines of the bathroom. There, Levi turns to Erwin and reaches out to grab hold of that gleaming, emerald bolo tie. Dutifully, Erwin leans over, allowing Levi the reach to slip it off over his head. Levi begins unbuttoning his crisp, white shirt. Erwin stands there, head hung just enough so he can watch Levi’s face while he’s undressed. Levi doesn’t meet his gaze—but he can feel it. Heat crawls up into his face, contradicting the chill which has clung to his skin since this morning. The steam filling the small room gradually warms them both up, actually, much to Levi’s relief. The white shirt is unbuttoned and stripped from Erwin’s arms, soon followed by the undershirt, leaving his torso bare.
Levi is quick to fold both articles of clothing, placing them aside on the cabinet by the door with the bolo tie. Turning back to Erwin, he pauses. Though he’s seen them many times before, the scars marring the canvas of his skin are plentiful. He only pauses momentarily, sweeping his eyes along their zagging shapes. He glances at Erwin’s left hand, hanging limply by his side.
“Take off your pants and get in the tub,” Levi instructs. “I’m grabbing a chair.”
Wordlessly, Erwin nods. Levi darts out of the bathroom, closing the door behind himself to preserve the warm air. Gripping one wooden chair by the backrest, he carries it into the bathroom. He finds Erwin wrestling his socks off his feet. He’s completely naked, his broad back facing Levi. His back bears the bruises of their gear—there’s only one jagged, slightly concave scar along his lower back.
Levi remembers what Erwin had told him. During his first expedition beyond the Walls, he’d fallen from his horse and landed erroneously along the banks of a rocky creek. He had to ride back leaving a trail of blood. He’d told Levi of the odd beauty, seeing his white mare painted with his crimson, like he’d intentionally done so. Reaching out, Levi trails his fingertips across the rough texture of his scar tissue, eyes glazed while he imagines Erwin’s agony, a younger version of himself picking himself back up, scared yet determined. Forever determined.
Erwin pauses only momentarily, feeling this touch, but doesn’t put more weight upon it, for which Levi is grateful for—he didn’t even realize that he’d extended a hand. Erwin wordlessly steps into the tub and lowers himself into the steaming water. This massive man barely fits within this tub. But even then, somehow, he looks so small. The hair on his legs and front become darker, weighed by the water. He slides down, until the base of his skull meets the lip of the tub, the water up to his chest. He exhales deeply, eyes closed. Levi silently places the chair beside the bathtub, close to Erwin.
The emotion that swells under his sternum, bubbling in his throat, seeing his Commander finally finding relief—it surprises Levi. He furrows his brow, staring at this image of Erwin submerged in warmth. The humanity of him like this is startling. The fragility of his body, now made vulnerable and giving into the so-called weakness of comfort. For a man is only truly a man through suffering—and it’s this suffering that’s made them both who they are today. But Levi hates this shit. He hates it. While he can acknowledge the importance of Erwin’s role, he wants this version. Selfishly, he wants nothing but this. He wants a room that’s full of life, of humanity, of Erwin with soft smiles, kindness and weakness. Their room.
This fucking war. Levi grits his teeth, looking away. His eyes find Erwin’s left hand, draped upon the ledge of the tub.
“Why the long face, Levi?” Erwin’s deep voice shatters Levi’s thoughts. He becomes aware of himself, standing stock still at Erwin’s side like a soldier waiting command. Heavily, Levi drops into his wooden chair and looks at Erwin’s face. Erwin is gazing at him tiredly, his cheeks flushing from the heat. He looks infinitely more relaxed. Levi wipes a hand down over his own face, sighing. He shakes his head, shrugging. He drops his hand, looks at Erwin again. Erwin’s lidded blue eyes are searching, but not calculating. Levi offers him a weak, sardonic perk of his lips.
“Fuckin’ tired. It’s fine. Just close your eyes. I’m… I’m here.”
Erwin nods, gazing at him gently. He closes his eyes. Levi watches his face, somber. Reaching out, he places his warming hand upon Erwin’s left hand, and leaves it there, staring at their joined touch. Willing it, he brands it into his memory, hoping it shall never leave. He wants this moment never lost to time, to age. Whatever comes next, he just wants this peace unforgotten. He doesn’t want himself to lose sight of Erwin’s weakness, his humanity. He’ll remember it, always, even if Erwin might let it slip from his hands, letting it go just so he can be that devil, that demon, that creature.
Erwin’s thumb comes up to lightly trap Levi’s index finger between it and the side of his hand. Lifting his unseeing eyes from the steaming water, Levi stares at this visual of Erwin stroking his thumb against his index finger. The knot under his sternum unravels. Levi takes in a deep breath, pans his gaze up to find Erwin watching him sleepily, his lips upturned into a weak smile, the exhaustion in his eyes apparent. The skin under his eyes is dark, evidence of that fatigue.
Seeing that expression on Erwin’s face, Levi feels himself physically soften, a release of tension simply flushed from him based on that one look. The identity of Commander Smith, the man he faced back in his office, is absent here. No, this is just Erwin. There is no Commander Smith, and there is no Captain Levi. It’s just Erwin and Levi. And it feels calming, the realization soothing.
Rising up from his chair, Levi leans in to kiss him on the forehead, squeezing his hand around Erwin’s. Simply out of habit, he turns away to hide his own vulnerability. Taking his hand from Erwin’s, Levi grabs his chair, pulls it around to the head of the tub, directly behind the other man. He glances at the small table by the tub, containing Erwin’s soaps and bath oils. Mineral used for soaking away aches and pains sits in a bag behind the other bottles; another luxury item that Erwin had bargained for from the usual MP haul, alongside Levi’s teas. But this one was solely for himself. Levi recognizes that discomfort every time he sees Erwin roll his shoulders at his desk, when he rubs at his left knee when he thinks this weakness is hidden.
Grabbing the bag, Levi unrolls the top and scoops out a generous amount using the old tin cup already found in the bag. Erwin is watching him with one eye cracked. Levi evenly spills the minerals within the water. He stirs it around with a hand, appreciative of the hot water on his skin. He replaces the tin cup, rolls the bag, puts it back in place. Grabbing one of Erwin’s bottles of scented liquid soap, he reclaims his seat behind the other man.
“Wet your hair for me,” he quietly says. Erwin obeys; he slips further down the tub, his knees raising higher while submerging himself under the steaming water. Levi smiles faintly, staring down at Erwin’s face, kept above the waterline. Erwin brings his hands up to ruffle his fingers through his stiff hair within the heated water, doing his best to rid of the pomade. Then he rises again, water rushing down his neck and shoulder blades, dripping noisily from blonde locks. He sits up too far this time. Levi clicks his tongue, reaching out to press down on one slick, warm shoulder as he says, “No, back to how you were. I can’t reach.”
Erwin obliges. He slips further down the tub. Levi pours himself a palmful of the liquid soap, lathers it between his hands, sets the bottle on the low table. He begins running his hands through Erwin’s wet, darkened locks. They’re closer to a shade of gold than barley now. Levi struggles to smoothly rake his fingers through his hair—it’s still stiff with pomade. He pours more of the liquid soap into his hands and lathers up again. This time, it glides easier through his locks. The soap smells richly of lavender. Levi isn’t used to bathing goods like this. He knows Erwin also has his shaving cream that smells incredible, tucked away somewhere by his sink—that shit makes Erwin smell better than every squad leader combined. Must be part of why Levi likes being around him so much. Better than the filth he’s stuck around most of the time.
Refocusing on the task at hand, Levi works his fingers thoroughly through the thick lather on Erwin’s head. Somehow, this feels incredibly intimate. Erwin is leaning heavily into the touch, and Levi’s forearms flex from the effort it takes to support the weight of his head while circling his fingers through his hair. He’s practically giving him a massage, he realizes. Levi finds himself smiling. Erwin is limp within the bathtub, his curled legs resting open and relaxed against either side of the tub, knees raised. Levi feels comfortably warm, so close to the wafting steam emitting from Erwin’s body, from the water.
“All you need now is some of that foul whisky, huh?” Levi mutters, smirking faintly as he recalls Erwin’s indulgence in that shitty, bitter alcohol he gets from his connections, or whatever. Erwin hums, a low rumble in his throat. He speaks quietly, a coarse, rough sound.
“This is all I need.”
Levi goes silent. An odd warmth blossoms under his sternum. It travels to his neck, to his cheeks, his ears. Shit. He realizes he’s blushing. Taking in a deep breath, he focuses on his hands; rubbing his fingers behind Erwin’s ears, down his neck, around to his collarbone, spreading the thick suds of the liquid soap. Leaning in closer, Levi gazes quietly at Erwin’s partial profile—admiring his proud nose, his full lips, his nearly-blonde eyelashes. Tiny droplets of water are clinging to them. Levi stares, hands pausing on Erwin’s collarbone. He becomes aware of how close he is to simply embracing Erwin from behind. With this proximity, the smell of lavender and cleanliness emitting from Erwin overcomes his senses. It’s nice.
Levi clears his throat. Erwin jumps slightly—didn’t anticipate him so close, maybe. Levi chuckles, pulling back. He pats Erwin on his shoulders.
“Rinse your hair.”
Acquiescent as always towards Levi during moments like this, Erwin submerges himself again. Thick suds break free from his hair as he runs his hands through it, making a fine layer on the surface. Erwin sits back up again, dripping water, his hair now clinging messily to his head, completely lacking that pomade meant to show perfection. Levi smiles faintly, seeing it. Every part of Commander Smith stripped from Erwin is another relief of Levi’s. Erwin slides back down the tub until he comfortably rests his head.
“Thank you, Levi,” Erwin murmurs, voice lethargic. He has his elbows propped against the rim of the tub, hands submerged in the murky water, his legs lazily spread, showing relaxation. Levi readjusts his chair, grabbing the bar of soap this time.
“I’m not done. You’re not getting off that easy.”
Erwin chuckles—a beautiful sound.
“I suppose I’ll withstand your treatment a bit longer.”
“Damn right, you are.”
Levi lathers up his hands, sets the bar of soap aside, and scoots closer to begin washing Erwin further. Levi starts at his wet shoulders, traverses across biceps ever thick with muscle, along his forearms lined with hair paler than Levi’s own. With soapy hands he finds Erwin’s; Erwin clutches his fingers when Levi threads them together. Levi has to lean in close to achieve this, his lips and nose pressed to wet hair. He stares at this visual of their linked hands, at Erwin’s pliable, relaxed body. Erwin begins sweeping his thumb against Levi’s. Levi’s heart lurches, and he furrows his brow. It’s too intimate touch, a touch he feels he somehow doesn’t deserve from Erwin.
Slowly he retracts his hands, breaking the contact. He grabs the soap, builds suds, and then roams his hands along Erwin’s collarbone again, down to his muscular chest. Heat comes to Levi in a wave when his palms and fingers travel across Erwin’s hot skin, over his nipples and the downy hair flattened by water. Levi feels overwhelmed. He’s going too far. So, he stops there. Leaving Erwin’s chest soapy, he rinses his hands. But he doesn’t want to cease his efforts entirely; instead, he loosely draws his arms around Erwin’s neck and leans into him, pressing his face into the side of Erwin’s. His cheek is a little scratchy against his; his stubble is growing in.
“Levi,” Erwin mumbles tiredly, one dripping hand raising to rest on Levi’s forearm. With his brow remaining furrowed, Levi is conflicted. Two sides of him pull at either end; the desperate need to hide, to protect himself from vulnerability, and then the part of him that wants to show Erwin his weakness, to give him this affection if only to help him become human again. But that’s a lie, too, in itself. Levi isn’t doing it only for Erwin. He wants this tenderness with Erwin for his own gain, his own need of love and reaffirmation. He’s so fucking sick of the tragedy.
“Erwin,” Levi mutters lowly in reply, and then kisses him on the cheekbone. A pause, and then he kisses him on his temple, the shell of his ear. He feels Erwin go laxer in his arms. Resting his mouth against Erwin’s temple, Levi tightens his arms around him and closes his eyes.
Erwin is still as Levi dries him, his eyes lidded and tiredly fixed on the other man.
“This is unnecessary, Levi,” he murmurs, watching Levi move to kneel, passing the thick towel across Erwin’s stomach, his hips, down his legs. Sharp-edged eyes flick up to meet his, steel on blue.
“It is necessary,” Levi replies, dropping his gaze to refocus on toweling off Erwin’s calves, his feet, one at a time. “You just don’t think it is.”
Erwin says nothing in reply. Levi stands again, keeping his eyes down. He takes Erwin by his hands, gingerly wrapping the towel around his limp fingers, his broad palm. He dries those in a few squeezes of his hands, one at a time as well. Looking up at Erwin’s weakly smiling face, Levi flatly orders, “Lean over.”
The faint smile on Erwin’s face grows slightly. Dutifully, Erwin leans over; Levi brings the towel up to ruffle it—as gently as he can manage—over Erwin’s dripping wet hair. It leaves it disastrous, an explosion of blonde. Erwin blinks slowly, practically one eye at a time. Levi’s lips become pressed, attempting to hide his grin.
“Brush your teeth. I’m not doing that for you. Then come out for bed.”
Erwin nods. Levi takes the towel with him, draping it over one of the wooden chairs to let it air dry. He takes this moment to remove his shoes and socks, placing them under the bed and out of the way. Approaching Erwin’s bookshelf, Levi follows the spines of the books until he finds the one he’s searching for; he pulls it out from the others, dusts it off. It’s been so long since they’ve last opened it, it’s collected dust. Curling his finger into the bookmark, Levi opens the book to the introductory page of a new, unread tale. A story of a girl going on a daring journey with a magical animal to retrieve medicine for her ill father, or so Erwin told him.
It’s a book of short stories with watercolor paintings. Levi never had anything like this growing up; all the stories he was told as a child came from the tongue. During one of their many wandering conversations, Erwin had described the books his father used to read to him as a child—a topic Erwin was fond of, a topic he only seemed to share with Levi. It was then that Levi admitted he never had a storybook for him to lose himself in while his mother was working; at least, one that he could read. That’s how it all began; Erwin retrieving this children’s book given to him by his parents for Levi to read. But instead of Levi reading it on his own, Erwin had insisted he read it aloud to him, so they could experience it together.
Levi stares distantly at the written text in his hands, recalling the nights they’d spent laying together, reading through these stories and reflecting on them. Erwin has always been about introspection, about unraveling the mysteries of these stories, understanding the underlying meaning. Levi could appreciate Erwin’s intelligence, but he’d always been a more superficial man. He appreciated the stories for the images they created, feelings they evoked; he didn’t care as much for the deeper meanings found in them.
Soft footfalls emerging from the bathroom has him looking up. It didn’t occur to Levi he’d been standing here, thinking, for a few minutes. He finds Erwin pacing towards the bed. He takes a heavy seat upon it, still nude. He leans forward to rub his hands over his face. Levi closes the book again, sets it down on one of the tables. He approaches the cabinet opposite the bed and pulls open the latched door with a click, retrieving three extra blankets. It’s cold in here. The warmth which had built from the steaming hot bathwater is dissipating, already chased away by the chill of winter. Carrying the blankets over to the bed, Levi earns Erwin’s tired gaze.
“Get under the sheets,” Levi says, watching him. Erwin obliges; he slips under the white covers. His head sinks heavily into the pillows, eyes closing. Levi drops the three folded blankets on the bed and begins unraveling them, draping them one after the other atop Erwin’s laying form. Erwin’s heavy eyes crack open, giving him a weak, thankful smile. Levi fixes up the thick quilts, muttering, “Just close your eyes. Get comfortable.”
“Are you going to join me?” Erwin asks softly. Levi retrieves the book from where he left it on the table. He, too, grabs the box of matches, hooking his fingers into the handle of the oil lamp. With one hand, Levi drags the table over to the side of the bed.
“Yes, I am,” Levi mutters, setting the oil lamp, book, and matches on the table. “You need a nightstand.”
Erwin chuckles sleepily.
“I suppose so.”
“The amount of times I’ve found books left on your bed…”
Erwin hums lowly in assent. Levi strikes a match and inserts it into the oil lamp, holding the flame over the wick until it catches. A soft glow illuminates the darkening room, concentrated at Erwin’s bedside. Levi grabs the book and drops onto the bed. His slacks will get wrinkled, but whatever. Erwin holds up the covers. Levi silently slips underneath all four layers, grateful of the source of heat. His extremities are already icy. Erwin sucks in a breath when Levi tucks his feet under his calves. Smirking, Levi gets situated beside him against the pillows. Levi feels a hand find his knee under the quilts. The touch is hot, even through the layer of his pants. Erwin is like a furnace.
“Come closer,” Erwin murmurs. “Let me rest my head on your shoulder.”
“Your hair is still wet,” Levi argues, flipping open the book again. “Not yet, Erwin.”
“I’ll put a pillow between us?”
Levi glances at him. Seated up a little higher, Erwin’s eyes are more lucid, his lips in a slight pout. He looks ready to go back and forth until Levi gives in—he recognizes that look in his eyes. Levi sighs, the side of his mouth raising in a half-smile.
“Fine. Better you cushion yourself against my bony ass shoulder, anyways.”
“Your shoulder isn’t bony. You’re quite muscular.”
Levi shrugs a shoulder, giving him a slight nod. True. He used to be bony, when Erwin first coerced him into the Corps. With that, Erwin grabs a smaller pillow, props it against Levi’s shoulder while Levi adjusts himself into a comfortable position. Erwin shifts closer (keeping Levi’s cold feet under his legs), and lays his cheek to the pillow. Levi is tickled by a couple stray, damp locks. It has him faintly smiling, unseen by Erwin. Erwin shifts, getting comfortable, and then he’s practically curled around Levi’s smaller body, drawing one heavy arm around his waist. Levi is quickly warmed up again. Feels nice. With the gentle glow of the lamp and the quieted whisper of the wind beyond the glass windows, the atmosphere is calm, relaxed, safe. It’s here that Levi can pretend they’re not soldiers, leaders, victims of the Titan War.
Levi tucks his fingers into the lip of the pages, pulling open the thick storybook to their bookmarked place. Erwin hums happily in his throat, a rumbling sound Levi feels through the pillow.
“Excellent idea,” he murmurs, voice slurring in exhaustion. Levi grunts. With slim fingers, Levi holds open the book, studying the watercolor painting on the introductory page. It’s of a native girl with a hare beside her, standing on its hind legs, a diamond shape on its forehead—gold paint surrounds the hare in delicate strokes. The girl is dressed in elaborate garb that of a hunting village, it seems. She has a bow on her back, an arrow clutched in her fist.
“When I was a child,” Erwin mumbles tiredly, his voice low and guttural, softly spoken to Levi’s right, “This story touched me. I wanted to do something equivalent to what this girl had done for her father. I wanted to make my father proud, as she had done for hers.”
Levi says nothing, drops his gaze from the painting to stare at the shape of Erwin’s arm under the layers of blankets, curled intimately around him. He contemplates how to respond to this, but Erwin continues regardless. His deeply spoken confession surrounds Levi.
“As a boy… I seldom felt emotion. But these stories my father read to me… somehow, they evoked that. I recall crying rereading this one on my own, feeling like it would be impossible to achieve something as profound as this girl—for my father.”
For a moment, all they do is breathe. Levi listens to Erwin’s quiet breathing, considering these words, processing them and the meaning behind them. Such a heartfelt thing to share with him… Levi feels so woefully unequipped for it. He has always struggled with exchanges like this. The need to comfort another, to offer words of empathy and understanding.
“Was it impossible?” Levi murmurs, staring at the book, unseeing. “Did you ever make him proud?”
Erwin chuckles softly.
“Anything I had done that could’ve possibly made him proud became… meaningless. Forgive me for my rambling. Go on, Levi.”
Levi pauses. That was a sudden evasion. He narrows his eyes, knowing that they’ve encroached on something too fragile, too close to the heart—even if Erwin was the one that brought it up in the first place. Levi hesitates, unsure what to say to rectify Erwin’s doubts. He’s always been shit at words.
Turning his head, Levi leans over to kiss him on the crown, nose against damp, drying hair. Erwin huffs a tired, amused exhale. Levi feels him squeeze his hand around his side, appreciative.
Clearing his throat, Levi refocuses on the sprawling written text of their language. He’s not the most confident reader—he’s kind of shit at it, to be honest. But this isn’t new to him, reading to Erwin. Erwin had sharpened his ability when he first joined the Corps, so shame isn’t as profound as it once had been.
“Hot was the day,” Levi begins lowly, “Cold was the night. The sun rose high and fell eagerly, as the winter waits close by, creeping closer with every descent. Harvest was plentiful, high spirits abundant. Wealth to be gained and mouths to be fed, men of the village sought out the reward of work and crop. One father among many woke up alongside the sun, taking his energy, tools, and op... optimism with him to the field.”
For a while, Levi reads. Pauses punctuated by the turning of the page, the clearing of his throat. Erwin is quiet beside him, breathing slowly and deeply, his rib cage expanding and deflating against Levi’s side. Only twice Levi has to stop and inquire about a particular word, and Erwin’s answer always delivers, albeit rough and tired. The story begins with a father overworking himself at the fields of crop, his family—his daughter—in mind as he toils away. Gets sick, bedridden. His daughter embarking on a trek and coming across a hare who tells her of this medicine which can be found only at a particular spring, yadda, yadda. It’s a cute story that Levi finds himself sucked into, growing heavier and heavier with exhaustion himself, until a rumbling snore pierces through his cloud of focus.
Looking over, he finds Erwin dead asleep, limp against him. His head had slipped back partially from Levi’s shoulder, caught by the other pillows. His mouth hangs open unattractively. Levi blinks tiredly, smiling a little. He bookmarks his place, shuts the book, and stares out into the room. Well, shit. He didn’t anticipate being trapped. He’s definitely going to wake Erwin up; he’s a light sleeper. But he has no choice. As quietly and smoothly as he can, Levi tries to wiggle out from Erwin’s hold, taking the book with him. Erwin grunts, shifting, rolling onto his back. Levi sighs. Damn it.
“Levi,” Erwin slurs, pawing at his sweater, though Levi slips from his grasp before he could take hold. He gets up from the bed, setting the book on the table by the oil lamp. Levi glances over at Erwin, finding him with one arm draped up by his head, the back of his hand against his forehead. He looks horrifically exhausted. His eyes are heavily bloodshot again, blinking lethargically. Levi gestures to the bathroom with a nod of his head.
“Going to piss and brush my teeth. I’m tired, too.”
He doesn’t wait for Erwin’s response. He paces into the bathroom, the cold bite of the floorboards stealing the warmth from his feet.
Levi is quick to relieve himself and brush his teeth, extremely grateful of his preparedness to keep one extra toothbrush in here. He pilfers some of the cleaning powder from Erwin’s jar, wetting his toothbrush before dipping it in the powder. He scrubs vigorously. He scowls down at the standing basin of water atop the cabinet. Disgusting. He needs to dump this and refill it with the well pump. He opts to spit into the toilet, leaving his mouth dry and tasting of the powder. Stepping back into the bedroom, he’s relieved to find Erwin still had some drinking water in the pitcher, kept on the square table at the foot of the bed. Levi crosses the room, feeling Erwin’s eyes on him, and pours himself a glass. He drinks it all, sets the glass back down, and glances at Erwin. Erwin smiles weakly and gestures Levi over with a hand.
Pacing around the bed, Levi slips back under the covers, dropping heavily against the pillows with a sigh. Laying on his side, he faces Erwin. Tiredly, they gaze at each other. Eyes lidded and lips in the faintest smile, Erwin searches his face, reaching out to drift the back of his fingers down Levi’s cheek. His thumb finds Levi’s jawline, tracing it. Levi stares at him, stomach fluttering. He watches as Erwin slides closer under the quilts. Levi doesn’t move.
Arms come around him. Erwin tucks his face into his chest, against the fabric of his sweater. He’s heavy, warm. Levi lowers his gaze to follow the slope of Erwin’s broad back. He can see that scar on his lower back. Reaching around the bigger man, Levi grabs the covers and pulls them further up Erwin’s back, concealing his exposed skin to conserve warmth. It’s then that he feels Erwin’s big hands curling into the fabric of his sweater, inching it up higher and higher until he’s pulling away from Levi in order to draw it up over his head. But rather than let him, Levi doesn’t budge.
“I don’t want to have sex,” he says. “And you’re definitely too tired for that shit.”
“Oh, good,” Erwin murmurs thickly, searching his face with a weak smirk and bloodshot eyes. “That’s a relief, because neither do I. Trust me, Levi.”
Levi looks at him flatly through the dim light of the lamp, unamused. He lifts his arms; Erwin slips off his sweater, tosses it to the foot of the bed. His hands find the button of Levi’s slacks. Levi stares at his face. Erwin’s eyelids are obviously heavy; they fall lower and lower, even as he’s working Levi’s slacks and underwear down his thighs. Finally understanding, Levi takes over with an impatient huff. He wiggles out of his remaining modesty, lets the articles of clothing join his sweater. Levi shifts closer, and Erwin’s arms easily open.
Slotting himself against Erwin’s chest, Levi recognizes the feeling of his body hair tickling him, the pure heat of his skin warming his body considerably. The skin on skin contact is extremely comforting, therapeutic in a way Levi had never felt before he met Erwin. Levi melts heavily into him, letting his cheek fall to the pillows. Face to face, he feels Erwin’s soft exhales against his skin. Levi admires Erwin’s lax face one last time, appreciating this precious vulnerability the other man is granting him. The way his mouth falls slack, his brow relaxed, barley hair imperfect. Levi stares at Erwin’s nearly-blonde eyelashes until he simply can’t hold his eyes open any longer.
The last thing Levi pictures before slipping into perfect slumber is the visual of a younger Erwin bringing enchanted herbs and a bowl of ethereal spring water to his bedridden father, who strokes him on the head and says ‘I love you’. Young, innocent Erwin smiling broadly with tears in his eyes, fulfilled and beautifully human.