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Eren rolls around in his bed, blinking into the darkness.
The ceiling stares back with a murky grey. Snow pelters against the window. The room is silent. The air cold.
Another restless night.
A storm pulses through his blood in a heart-quickening thrum. It itches in his feet, prickles on his palms, tears at something deep inside, spurred on by dreams he never sees during his sleep. They haunt him nonetheless, invade his waking hours, fill him with longing for repose, only to make repose itself feel impossible when he goes to bed. It never is enough. It never would be. Not by itself.
The unused pillow to Eren’s right shines silvery in the niveous gloom. Rubbing his left foot on the mattress, he reaches for it, fingers brushing over the cool crisp cotton before he seizes it in his empty arms. It's soft, compresses against his hollow chest as he nuzzles into the fabric.
Soap invades his nostrils, fills his head. Laundry detergent, lavender, fresh air from the opened window earlier that day. Below that, hidden beneath herbs, wintery sunshine, and feathers, he imagines a trace of what he longs for. It’s too faint. Too faded. So vague it’s almost like it never was there to begin with. Trying to catch it all, Eren inhales deeper.
It’s close to a week since the last time; five days since he woke up with a full bladder in the wee hours after midnight, to find Levi on the couch in their common living room. Nose buried in a book, a cup of tea in his grip, the threadbare blanket wrapped around him. Frost gnawed at HQ's walls, as today. It slipped through small creaks in a relenting howl that made the flames sputter in the hearth.
“Can't sleep?” Eren asked without having to. No steam rose from Levi's cup, nor from the teapot, and the candle he'd lit was far more burnt down than when they’d parted for the night.
“As you see,” came the reply. Levi didn’t shiver, yet the square set of his shoulders implied he was cold. “You?”
“Just have to piss.”
Levi still looked determined to not show his state when Eren returned from the bathroom, approaching the sofa. Grey, bruised eyes met his. Heavy-lidded and blood-shot behind the black fringe. He allowed the touch when Eren traced a knitted sharp eyebrow. His face was chilly despite the struggling fire, his lips pressed together in an unspoken order to not point it out.
Eren didn’t. Instead, he took Levi's hand, pulled him up his feet, and brought him to his still-warm bed. Levi sighed yet accepted the treatment anyway, tired eyes glistening in the dark as he slipped under the covers to rest his head on the second pillow.
He held out for Eren to snuggle close before he pressed his icy feet against Eren's shins. A few heartbeats later, his breath gentled out into a deep, rhythmic lullaby. Eren buried his nose in Levi's nape, drifting into peace with Levi’s fingers searching his. The nightly three-worded promise escaping him in a voiceless brush of lips across Levi’s skin.
In the morning, it was how it always was. Drunk on Levi's scent and body from up close for hours, Eren rose from sleep hard, aching, and content. Levi was warm and solid. His breath steady yet alert.
Levi stirred. Waited. His thumb brushed over Eren’s resting on his chest.
Don’t go this time, Eren thought. Stay. Forever. Please. Ask me if I want this too. I think I know you do.
The words never made it out.
For a minute there was only their shared lingering and thumbs drawing devoted circles on the other’s hand. Then Levi squeezed Eren’s fingers with a firm “thank you,” disentangled from their embrace, and left the bed with the polite, privacy-granting question if Eren wanted tea.
Listening to the familiar sounds from the kitchen, Eren ignored his morning wood and closed his eyes. From the moment Wall Maria had fallen, there'd never been a place he called home. The ghetto certainly wasn't one. Neither were the barracks during his Cadet days. Then Trost happened, and he was constantly on the move. A dungeon, a castle with another cell, a city base, a farm, a cottage at a river, a cave. Another HQ. Another prison. On and on until Levi was the only certainty Eren knew.
As long as Levi was there, Eren felt safe and sheltered. And yet he couldn't help but dream. It was simple enough.
There was a quiet little house in a quiet little wood nearby a quiet little town. The trees grew tall. Chickens picked for seeds in the garden. One brown, one black, one both. There was a goat for milk. A row of fields with vegetables: Thick golden pumpkins in autumn. Colour donating carrots and cabbage in winter. Sour rhubarb in spring. Juicy cucumbers and sweet peas in summer with some ripe red berry-gems to handpick hiding amongst the green treasures. A pair of birds lived in the apple tree in the centre. A rivulet gurgled nearby.
The house wasn’t much. There was one tiny bedroom with a big bed. It had the most comfortable sheets in the world, the kind Eren remembers from his childhood days—cosy and safe, smelling of love and comfort. The kind you could build forts with. The kitchen was snug, its hearth big. The chimney was never cold. Levi was always there.
The war wasn’t happening—
But they are soldiers. They have a war to fight. A mission to fulfil, a promise to upkeep.
Eren has two years left.
Chasing Levi’s essence in the lonely night, Eren inhales cotton and down.
Levi’s scent is gone for good. The pillow cold, too soft, too lifeless. He tosses it aside, huffing a self-depreciating groan into the icy chamber. Closing his eyes, he presses the heels of his hands against the sockets, ordering his mind to go quiet, to cast embracing memories and homespun fantasy aside.
“Stupid,” he chides himself. “This is pointless.”
Since there is no house. They have no chickens, no goat, no berries amongst vegetables. No welcoming bed.
All they have is each other. And Levi isn't in his arms.
Eren’s skin is on fire.
Sleep won't come anymore tonight, so he shoves aside the blanket to move into the living room. Levi's scent would be on his side of the couch. Eren could sit there, enveloped by Levi’s blanket, and at least let it ease his mind, if not his soul.
He doesn't turn on any additional light as he steps into the provisional kitchen, making as little noise as possible as he pokes the embers in the hearth, adding two thick logs. Levi’s door is closed, though he sleeps so light giving in to the urge to press an ear against the wood to listen would wake him up. Hence Eren stays put before the crackling stove, quietly pries the caddie open, and brews himself a Darjeeling.
Despite the flames licking at the new kindling with blazing ardour, the floor is frosty, and he rubs the soles of his naked feet against his shins as he waits for the water to come to a boil. There was a time when quiet sleepless nights like this were a sanctuary. When he’d sneak through the deserted corridors to check whether Levi’s light was still on, it always was, and they’d share the hours before dawn over smiles and conversations. Now, they pluck at his nerves.
His gaze trails to the closed door, his senses stretching in an attempt to make out any sounds from inside.
Some days Eren hates that door. It seems to symbolise everything standing between them. A barrier. Unlocked yet nonetheless shut. Massive. Growing by the day. Today it causes his stomach to cringe as it tries to creep up his throat.
In their house by the river, there is no obstacle between them.
This thing between Levi and him—their relationship...friendship...partnership—has changed over the years. What started as simple court order when he was fifteen soon turned into comradeship, then trust, and finally a bond Eren couldn't put into words first.
It started to shift with some innocent kicks beneath the table. Feet began to linger pressed against legs. Simple gestures developed into little touches here and there, grew into embraces, and then there came Shingashina. When Eren was finally released from jail, he entered Levi’s quarters without knocking that night, asked if he could stay, and crawled into Levi’s bed where he cried himself to sleep.
The conjoint nights continued in irregular intervals, and one day at breakfast, Eren found his fingertips feathering across Levi’s stubbly jawline over a pot of tea. Levi’s eyes were clear as he tucked a strand of Eren’s fringe behind his ear in return, and after exchanging a set of smiles they carried on just as before. The week after Eren brushed the first kiss against Levi’s temple before they went to sleep in an effortless tangle of limbs, Levi’s fingertips exploring Eren’s hand. A fortnight later Hanji allocated them to a two bedroom quarter to “make things easier.” She was sick and tired of giving Eren detention for breaking the curfew by tiptoeing back and forth between rooms in the dead of night.
The following first months were the happiest Eren ever had. Getting up in the mornings was easier. The nights seemed infinite. Training went better. The tea was sweet. Eren felt alive. Then he realised they were oddly stuck in a considerate rut of intimate distance, and everything became painfully crooked from there on. That was three years ago.
Eren knows what the others think of their living arrangement. It would take an idiot to not hear the whispers, feel their gazes, see their pointing fingers. He doesn't give a fuck what they say. Not as long as Levi doesn't anyway.
The water effervesces in the open kettle, and Eren pours it over the tea leaves, holding his face over the rising hot steam to take in their flavour. A heavy creak from behind the shut door announces Levi turning in his bed. He is restless too.
Heart twisting, Eren worries on his lip.
He can’t count the times he wished he knew how to overcome this last hurdle between them. Levi has been his goal since he was a child and first heard of Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. It doesn’t feel right to make the final step, doesn’t seem fair to impose in this matter, to burden Levi with a romantic bond that has an inescapable expiration date. Forcing himself on Levi would equal the demand “Love me now or I’ll be gone.” It would feel like blackmail. Levi deserves better, so much better than having to make this choice. So Eren stays away in their bilateral inhibition, basking in whatever he can get and get away with. Never crossing the threshold.
Maybe it’s silly. Maybe he is. He has everything he wants—their friendship, their closeness, their mutual affection. Since it is mutual. He knows it is, can see it in Levi’s eyes and feel it in everything Levi does when they’re alone. Eren has Levi’s touches, his private smiles, their chaste kisses against temples, brows, and napes, occasional nights spent in each other’s arms. They even shared a tub a few times, holding each other together in the hot water after cruel battles. So why can’t it be enough? It should be.
Instead Eren wishes he doesn’t have to guard himself anymore. He wants to shout “I love you,” right into Levi’s face without having to mouth the breathless words into secret spots where no one can hear them but himself. He longs Levi to admit he wants to crawl beneath his skin to expel everything and everyone aside from the two of them.
Eren craves to hold Levi whenever he wants, without the gnawing doubts in his guts insinuating to him he doesn’t deserve it. He aches to yell at Levi he learned his patience, so it was about time Levi learned his impulsiveness in return. He hankers for Levi to greedily take what he wants for himself, relentless, rough, and ravenous just so Eren has the permission to roll up against his heart and finally find sleep. It shouldn’t be this fucking hard. Not when everything else between them is so easy.
Arms jerking in a shiver, Eren removes the tea sieve from the pot, scanning the shelves in search for inspiration. The bottle with blackberry brandy catches his eyes, and he blinks against the images pushing in.
A garden. Chickens. Brambles hanging heavy in the summer. Their flavourful juice bursting in his mouth. Tinting Levi’s lips with ambrosial purplish red before Eren steals a smiling kiss to chase their taste.
He reaches for the booze before he made the conscious decision to do so. His thumb runs across the obscure fire-reflecting glass, and Eren shrugs. Only a spoonful for the entire teapot won’t hurt. Too little to affect his head, yet enough to warm his chest tonight, artificial or not.
The old couch protests as he lowers himself onto the cushions with a yawn. An intake of breath later he finds Levi’s scent and closes his eyes. Good. Right. Yes.
He leans back on the sofa, snuggles into the enticing space to soak it all up, letting Levi’s ghostlike presence be a shield against his doubts. They’re never this bad when the sun’s up in the sky.
During the days they have a schedule. A target. They set out for it in the morning and finish it by evening, whatever way. Then dinner and some paperwork. A game of chess here and there. Joint vigil when it’s their turn. Sometimes Levi immerses in a book. Other evenings Eren reads to him while Levi rubs his feet, only to take turns the following day. It's all proper and civilised. Natural. Then they part for sleep, and with the door clicking shut behind Levi the yearning returns to claw at Eren’s insides, like a well-functioning clockwork doing its job.
Relishing in Darjeeling and summer spirit, Eren wraps Levi’s blanket around his shoulders, imagining the threadbare weave was a pair of strong muscular arms.
Something has to change.
He’s just refilled his cup, when bed coils screech in the adjacent room, followed by a muffled hiss, and approaching pads of feet.
The door opens, and Levi’s pace falters on the brink, slumber-small eyes going wide.
He’s huddled into his blanket against the frost, inky tufts of hair poking out from under the hood, starkly dark against the white fabric and pale cheeks. The faint fire glow paints him into an oneiric creature, made of desirable shadows and unsolved mysteries.
It’s unusual for them to meet like this; it’s always Eren who finds Levi sitting in this spot.
Movement comes back into Levi with a mouth-closing nod when his eyes find the coffee table. “There’s still tea?” He rubs his hand as though to cast out some cold, gaze roaming across Eren’s face.
“There’s tea. But it has a kick to it.”
Levi lifts an eyebrow. “‘A kick?’”
“Blackberry brandy.” Not wanting to think of gardens brimming with fulfilling happiness, Eren pats the couch. “Sit with me.”
“You know I can’t get drunk.” Levi sighs, yet fetches a cup before he sits down next to Eren, shoulders close to touching. Scrutiny flits across his irises. “Are you drunk?”
Eren huffs because, no. This would be a bad idea. “No,” he says. “This is only my second cup.”
“Is that shit any help?”
From this close, he notices the delicious colour dusting Levi’s linen-creased cheekbones. His hair looks soft. His features torn.
Eren’s pulse speeds up below his throat. “Not really.” He swallows and summons a smile. “But it tastes good. And my throat is tingly and warm.”
“Nightmares?”
Eren’s guts stir. During nights like this, the small cottage feels like one. They’ll never be able to have that, and the worst part is, Eren doesn’t even mourn the loss of the house itself. He mourns Levi from that dream. Even with the real, living and breathing version of him sitting right here at his side. But perhaps he isn’t real. Perhaps none of this is. It sometimes feels like it.
Taking a chance, Eren leans closer to what he can’t have until their arms press against each other. The contact instantly makes him smile. It is real. “No,” he tries to explain, gulping down some of his spiced tea. “The problem is my body is tired, but my mind isn’t.”
“Hm.”
Levi’s low hum rolls through Eren’s system, resonates in the pit of his stomach, and rouses the desire to explore Levi’s hands that clutch around his cup. To trace lifelines, calluses, and scars, to make them his own. Before he knows what he’s doing, Eren opens his blanket to wordlessly ask Levi inside with him, upholding their eye contact when Levi wets his lips as though considering whether to give in or not.
Please, Eren thinks. Please don’t deny yourself this too. Let me at least warm you. It hurts when even you look like you’re about to break.
When Levi’s shoulders sag and he shifts nearer, Eren has to stifle a relieved sigh. He drowns it with the rest of his tea in one hasty go before pulling Levi closer. Levi must hear his pulse racing, yet Eren can’t bring himself to care. Levi is here, in his arms, allowing him to nuzzle into greying hair and to run his palms across the broad back.
Tentative fingers come to a rest on his shirt-covered heart, tracing a rib before going still as if ordered back from going further.
Catching a glimpse of the open doorway to Levi’s bedroom as their bodies relax together, Eren exhales. Why are they both so stubborn?
This situation would be so endlessly easier when one of them just gave in. Any first step would suffice to break this revolving agony of knowing, not knowing, and the nagging uncertainty of what exactly it is the other wants so they can give it as long as they can.
Whatever their fates may allow, two years, a few weeks more, are all Eren has left. Bit by bit, they slip through his fingers, day after day. Hanji has been searching for a cure, a medicine, anything, but so far to no avail. Eren doubts there is one anyway, has come to terms with slowly but surely fading away. He can’t allow himself to wait. He needs Levi to know he was loved when Eren is gone. Because what if Levi hurts as much as he does? Eren can’t stand the thought. Wouldn’t it be better risking this to end as long as they still can fix things together?
Levi’s lips brush against his collarbone, and Eren’s heart breaks, making the decision for him. Pressing his nose into the top of Levi’s head with closing eyes, he inhales deep. If this is goodbye, he needs to at least remember.
“Sometimes I want to leave.” His confession is a mere whisper, and since his lungs are suddenly full of words, he lets more of them out so they won’t choke him. “I know I can’t, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to.”
“You already did that,” Levi says in an exasperated tone telling of multiple discussions of the same topic, over and over again. He means the war. Speaks about going straight to the enemy and causing as much havoc as possible.
Have they dodged this topic for so long they can’t even detect when they actually talk about it, curled up around each other with quickened breaths and rushing blood?
Eren presses closer. “Not like that. A home. I want a home. Simple, and warm, and far away.”
Levi sighs, the puff of air feathering against the underside of Eren’s chin. “But it’s not that simple.”
As if Eren didn’t know that. And yet, the answer is wistful and understanding, prodding him to continue.
The birds from his dream seem to have nested in his throat. They flap their wings there, pushing his air back and forth as he elaborates. “I want a garden. Full of vegetables and chickens. And a big hearth in a little kitchen.” Sensing Levi listen, Eren swallows as he sets it all free. “A giant cosy bed. With lots of pillows, too. One that I can wake up in every day, and it’s so comfortable I don’t want to get out of it. Not like the one I have now.” His voice hitches before he reached the end.
“Some of us don’t get to have those things.”
I know.
I know, I know, I know. It’s not how I mean it.
They’ve become so accustomed to the other over the years, it sometimes feels as though they’re thinking the other’s thoughts. Or perhaps, maybe they always did. But some things need to be said, and so Eren reaches for that last final truth as he cards his fingers through Levi’s hair.
“I’d bring you with me,” he breathes.
Silence falls.
“Eren…”
“Levi…” Eren tightens his arms around him. If he looks into these eyes now, he might lose the little composure he has left, and the world might fall apart. “We never talk about it.”
“Why should we?”
Please don’t. You know why.
Eren struggles for a response as his eyes turn hot with treacherous salt. It’s not a rejection, yet somehow it nonetheless feels like one. Like the air was kicked out of his lungs when it’s never been this crucial for him to talk. He needs to know what Levi thinks and feels. Must demolish that infuriating shield he usually seeks refuge in. Even if it takes him down too.
When his voice comes it sounds raspy to his own ears. “Because it feels like that big stupid boulder I carried to the wall when I was a kid, and I hate it sitting between us.”
Levi looks up. “I’ve always been here.”
“So have I.”
Because Eren has. Always.
He never could stay away, even when he tried. Not from the very first day under Levi’s command. Following him everywhere, constantly hovering near, soaking up every little detail, embracing whatever Levi had to teach, ceaselessly striving to be better. A better soldier, a better monster, a better friend, a better listener. A better man. He can’t even put distance between them now, with confused hurt slicing his every cell, and it makes him furious at himself for still wanting to lose himself in that daring grey gaze.
Maybe he should. He never really knew how to stay away from danger after all. He’s always been a reckless fool.
He doesn’t care what Levi does to him after today. It can’t be any worse than this.
Resolution settling in his guts, he takes Levi’s cup from where he holds it propped up on his chest.
“Oi, I wasn’t finished with that,” Levi starts, but Eren stifles the protest with a defying brush of lips against his. A whisper of a touch.
Levi freezes, his breath speeding up against Eren’s face, his body hot against him. Not pulling back. Hope flares up, so Eren does it again, maddeningly slow yet insistent, heart thundering in his ears as he knocks—knocks at Levi’s door.
Tell me to go away, he thinks. Push me away and out of this place if you must, but show me right here and now what you want and need. Show it!
His lips tingle, thirst for wet sultry elation as they graze over delicious scratchy bliss, yet he holds himself back for now, waiting with continued not-quite kisses. Offering a soul-baring, this is me.
When Levi shivers, something in Eren ignites, and then Levi sighs, whimpers, his grip tightening on Eren’s waist, nails biting into his flesh. Eren catches the sound with a voracious oh, fuck! thrilling through his veins, shuddering in return since he did this. The reception is his. His alone.
He takes more.
Parting his lips, he slides his tongue into Levi’s mouth, gently nudging further when Levi welcomes him with incoherent whispers and moans. Tiny, sinful, greedy little chants pouring softly into Eren’s mouth, into his lungs, into his heart. Bodies pressing closer.
Eren’s fingers move into Levi’s hair.
Levi is so warm, so real in Eren’s hands, so breathy against his chest. Willing, melting, pushing back into the kiss with achingly sweet curls of his tongue Eren doesn’t dare to speed up. He will shatter if he does, since Levi tastes like blackberries and tea and like finding the only truth Eren will ever need.
When they part, Levi blinks, looking incredulous. His eyes are glossy and blown black with desire. His cheeks are flushed. His chest heaves. His hands hold on tight.
“I know we still can’t go,” Eren says, leaning his brow against Levi’s cheek for a moment. “And I know you think it’s why I kissed you.” Biting on his lip, he’s tasting Levi all over again. His nerve endings sing.
Levi peeks up at him. “Why then?”
A dark chuckle rips from his throat. “Because this is fucking stupid,” he admits, suddenly feeling drained. “And I’m tired of not being able to sleep. I’m tired of waking up and thinking of a home together that we’ll never have. I thought maybe if I never said it, or did anything about it that it might go away. But I can’t ignore it or fight with it anymore. I’d rather have a piece of my dream than none of it.”
“We can’t run away,” Levi says.
It’s a lie. They could. For Levi, Eren would, just as Levi would for him in return. They would leave all the obligations behind and find felicity in a ditch somewhere. Still. “I’m not asking you to.”
“Because there’s a war to fight.”
Humming, Eren threads his fingers into Levi’s silky hair and finds his gaze. “Yes. But maybe someday there won’t be.”
Levi looks at him for a long while, searching his face before he says, “If we can someday, but for now focus on this.” He brushes a strand of tickling hair out of Eren’s eyes, fingertips so gentle and kind it glitters all over.
“This?” Eren asks and kisses Levi again. Again and again, letting the hunger spark over now as he strokes Levi’s sides, arms snaking around his narrow hips to pull him up against himself, as close as he can. Nearer, nearer, not close enough!
“Levi,” he mumbles, quivering at a lewd tongue devouring his mouth as though Levi was starved. As though Levi wanted to climb inside him. “Levi…yes.”
Levi pulls away. “Yes…” he pants. His voice is raw. His lips shiny and red. “This.”
Though the desire is unmistakable, Eren sees the exhaustion in Levi’s eyes. They won't go further than this tonight. He doesn’t want to.
“Your bedroom or mine?” he asks, running his palms up and down Levi’s chest, feeling for the powerful heartbeat and Levi’s strength. He swallows when Levi hums and closes his eyes.
“Surprisingly, I don’t really give a fuck.”
“Yours then,” Eren pleads as he nuzzles into the crook of Levi’s neck, dragging in his scent and almost wishing they didn’t have to move. “I like how your bed smells better.”
Levi huffs. “We wash our sheets together, it smells no different.”
Eren smiles. Standing, he takes Levi’s hand, heart fluttering behind his ribs when Levi holds on tight.
“It smells like you,” he says, pulling Levi up his feet.
Levi doesn’t reply as he follows Eren to the bed, his blanket hanging more loosely around him now, their feet tapping quietly on the floor. “Which side?”
“As always,” Eren says, settling on the left and burying his nose in Levi-scented linen welcoming him in a sleep-promising embrace. “Can I be the small spoon? I need you to hug me from behind tonight.”
The mattress dips behind him a moment before Levi scuttles near, covers rustling as he drapes them around them both, cocooning them in. “Yes.”
His arm wraps around Eren from behind, his body presses close with his lips against Eren’s nape, and it’s so fucking good, Eren curls up as small as he can make himself to fit against this wonderful chest, squeezing Levi’s arm. Icy feet nudge against his, making him smile. Eren bets they were warm not even a minute ago.
“You have a really low cold tolerance, haven’t you?” he mumbles.
“Shut up, brat,” Levi says, kissing his nape before his cheeks swell against Eren’s neck.
Once more squeezing Levi’s arm, Eren obeys and closes his eyes, drowsy visions and Levi’s embrace already lulling him in.
They fall asleep. They sleep, and they dream in each other’s arms of peace. They dream of a house and a garden. A hearth in a kitchen filled with simple food and fragrant tea.
They dream of a bed that’s warm and safe and smells like that priceless word neither of them ever say out loud because it's not enough.