Archive of Our Own ^beta

At about eleven, someone finds Levi’s rum. 

There’s smoke stinging his eyes. He can’t remember where he put his coat, but he remembers where he put his rum. Behind the spare microwave, under the boiler. It made it warm, but who gives a shit? He’d rather it was secure than cold. Turns out it was neither. 

“You know you should let loose a little? You look like a freshman trying to be edgy.” Hange says. He can’t tell if they’ve taken something or they just haven’t slept in a while.  

“I’m not trying to be edgy.” 

“I know, it’s all natural, baby! You’re all edges. Like…a razor. No! Like…uh…well, anything three-dimensional, I suppose.” They sling their arm over his shoulder and crowd close. Their spit sprays his cheek while they talk and he makes a big show of wiping it off. 

“Make yourself useful and go find my booze or I’m leaving.” 

“Are you still avoiding that girl? She seems sweet, give her a chance, ol’ pal.” Levi extracts himself from their embrace and glances at a familiar red head bobbing in the crowd, disappearing and reappearing like a plastic bottle caught on waves. 

“My booze. Now.” 

It’s not that his recent apparent vow of celibacy is out of concern for his health, or his studies, or a backwards social hierarchy thing. He isn’t too good for Petra Ral. She’s cute. She scrunches her nose up when she’s frustrated. She matched him shot-for-shot at the last varsity event. It’s just he’s got…other things on his mind. He’s developed quite the fixation, actually, contrary to his chilled, phlegmatic image. It’s an inconvenience. It’s a fucking farce. 

“I think Gunther had it.” Hange says. Their glasses are steaming up. More people file in from outside. A bunch of frats knock each other on the back, whooping obnoxiously. Levi scoffs, his hackles raised, absolutely does not check the throng of football jerseys and testosterone for something more specific. 

“I’m gonna check upstairs.” He says, grumpily. Always grumpily. He’s too old for this shit. Surely they all are? Levi’s been drinking and making bad decisions since he was 15. Aren’t these people tired of it too? 

“I’ll come with you!”

The carpet on the staircase is worn through to the wood in some places. Levi doesn’t want to think about how often it is cleaned. Lightbulbs hang bare from the ceiling. The upstairs corridor is narrow, with doors on either side, open gates to drastically different atmospheres, a branching pathway of portals. Levi doesn’t want the smell of pot to settle in his hair and so power-walks to the end - to Sasha’s room - where he thinks he left his coat.

It’s dark and quiet and smelling vaguely of hot chips in her room. Levi lets the door shut behind him, leaving Hange in the corridor where they’ve been swept up in a truly riveting conversation with a freshman about pondweed cells, or something. 

So Levi takes a second to himself - luck of the fucking draw, these parties - sighs, rubs his eyes, laments the loss of his liquor. Light creeps under the door. Sound creeps through its hinges. Pot-smell through its empty keyhole. Levi pads further into its comforting embrace, the sudden stillness making him feel more drunk than he thought he was, than he has any right to be, really. 

Coat first. Secure the quick exit. Then worry about the rum. 

This night’s a dud. He doesn’t know what he expected - for it to be all smooth and sensual and sophisticated, to be able to actually have a decent conversation, or to slip away if he didn’t want that. That’s his fucking issue - he doesn’t know what he wants, or what he finds fun, or what he thinks is good or worthwhile. Not until it’s happening. Because he never had shit like this. Never got this much…attention, or sympathy, or people wanting to be his friend, or whatever. So it’s all a bit much sometimes. And sometimes it isn’t enough. 

Well, he knows some things that he wants. Knows with burning apparentness. With hot demand. His grip is too tight. He’s greedy. He’s ungrateful. 

Still, it’s quiet here. His head stops swimming. Like white noise. Like static. He can breathe for a bit, with Hange’s muffled voice outside, to prove that they’re still there. 

“Do you hate me or something?”

“What?”

“You glare at me a lot.”

“I glare at everyone.”

“Oh. Ok.”

“It’s just my face.”

“So I’m not special?”

“No.”

“That’s good to know. Shall we get going, then?”

Unflappable good nature. An immovably good mood. His smile didn’t budge. He kept his face open. He didn’t ask prying questions. 

“Sure.”

“I’ll do the Kennedy Escalation between 61 and 63, you do the rest? 63 to 69?”

“Whatever. If you don’t care about having more to do.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.” 

It was good. Levi had other shit to worry about. Like how he was gonna have enough money to survive the semester. 

So he met this jock, this bonehead, reluctantly, basically every other day, for four weeks. 

He spoke to Levi with his mouthful the first few times they met over lunch. Not officially lunch. Half-lunch. Sandwiches eaten while walking. Coffee in the park. Snatches of spare time between classes, cramming food and information into a free five minutes. 

He must have seen how Levi sneered at it. He stopped doing it around the 8-day mark. 

Crucially, he didn’t patronize Levi. Well, he did, but Levi doesn’t believe it was intentional. He said things, waited for Levi to have a reaction to them, noted his response, and then adjusted his manner accordingly. It was fucking weird. Levi rarely meets someone like that: who gives a shit if what they said makes him bristle or bruise. 

He is tall, as well. Levi could get a crick in his neck from looking up at him as they walk around campus, or sit next to each other on a bench. Levi has this comic image of him with the sun behind his huge head; glinting like a sunrise from behind a mountain. Levi hates and loves taller people in equal measure. He resents them, distrusts them, is extra snappy with them, but even he won’t deny that it prods a nerve, piques a base interest in him. He blames Kenny, or his third grade teacher (six foot or so in her high heels), or his own height, or his lack of actual parents. When tall people speak, he pays attention. He can’t help that.

So he stopped the snapping and the coldness. Sure, that was his mistake, and he has to be responsible for the fallout. The fallout is him standing in Sasha’s dark bedroom, having found his coat, not quite wanting to rejoin a party that he’s only really at because he thought maybe his project partner would be there. 

He sighs. He feels for his phone. He slides it into his back pocket and prepares himself. He opens the door and is back out in the bright hallway, the harsh light, the bombardment of Hange’s latest hyperfixation. 

“I’m going to the bathroom.” He grunts. 

“Good luck!” They actually seem to mean it. Five steps down the hallway and he sees why. 

Some fuckers from his com-sci minor are crammed in the bathtub. Mike’s there - another tall frat boy - who has that rich kid thing of not knowing how to cut his own hair, or how to find someone else to do it for him. 

He’s got Levi’s rum. 

He upends the bottle and pours a sizeable quantity of the stuff into and around the open mouths of the people in the bathtub, who squeal and laugh like baby birds, as the liquor gets in their eyes and over their chins, making their shirts sticky. 

“What the fuck.” Levi snarls, snatching the bottle off him. 

“Ah, Scout! Sorry, didn’t know it was yours.”

“Sure you didn’t.” Levi gives him his most scathing look. 

“Surely you don’t need all that to get drunk.” Mike says, and one of the people in the bath giggles. 

“‘Cause you’re small!” 

Levi glances over at them, unimpressed. 

“Congratulations, Sherlock, you are the first person to ever point that out.” He takes a swig straight from the bottle. It’s sweet and burning, like a bonfire. “I can handle my liquor, but thanks for your concern, Zacharias.”

“Really.” Mike watches him, sharper-eyed and curious, “Wanna put it to the test?”

Levi wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, rolls his head back on his neck to ease the tension, feels the rum slip lava-like through his veins. 

“Sure. Not with this though, I’m not wasting it.”

“Vodka?”

“Sure.”

“Alright. Come on then.”

They amass a small crowd on the way down to the kitchen. Hange’s hanging off Mike’s arm, trying to talk some sense into him. 

“He’s like Polish or something! This is a death sentence!”

“He’s a pipsqueak. I can take him easy.” Says Mike, clearly he has a lot of faith in their ‘friendship’ to expect Levi to take that as a joke and not break his nose for it. 

“As I remember, the last time we had a proper fight you ended up in the lake.” Levi says. The kitchen is warm and there are more people. He shrugs off his sweater. 

“That wasn’t a fair fight. You were sober.”

“You’ll soon see that that doesn’t make a difference.”

Nanaba appears over Mike’s shoulder, laughing loudly. Hange knocks an ashtray to one side and hops onto the counter. Conversations trail off as Mike continues his tirade of theft by snatching a vodka bottle out of a freshman’s hand with barely a peep of protest. 

That’s what being on the football team will do for you. 

Two shot glasses are procured from somewhere. Levi takes his to the sink to give it a proper wash. 

“The alcohol will kill the germs, weirdo.” Mike says. Levi just shrugs, checks for residual smears against the urine-yellow light fitting overhead. 

“All to your liking?”

“Yes. Get on with it.”

“You’re no fun, Scout.”

“Isn’t this what you frats do for fun? Goad each other into stupid competitions that end in inebriation?”

“Ha! He has a point there!” Hange heckles. 

“What’s the winner get?” 

“Bragging rights.” Levi says. 

“Not good enough.”

“This isn’t enough of an achievement for a prize. Better make it a forfeit.”

“Alright. The standard?”

The standard is streaking across Central Courtyard and through the library cloisters. 

“Yeah, why bother being inventive?” They shake on it, over the kitchen table, swept free of plastic cups and butts and cold pizza crusts. 

Someone’s taking a photo, or else filming, but fuck it up by leaving the flash on and immediately lose their nerve and turn it off. 

“C’mon then.” Mike lifts his shot glass. Levi mirrors him. He throws it back. It burns, but barely. 

000

“God, it’s my fucking project partner.”

“Him?! I know him! Mike’s friend! He’s so nice!”

Levi wanted to spit at ‘nice’. 

“He gets the work done.”

“Let’s call him over!”

“No.”

“Too late. Hi Erwin! You know Levi?”

“I do. Good evening.”

“You guys wanna talk about history?”

And they’d both echoed “no!”

Hange cackled, coughed, floated off in that delightful, infuriating way they are so adept at. 

“How are you doing?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” He had vodka that night, too, that’s why the memory returns.

“Do we need to talk about the project?”

“We don’t need to talk about anything at all.”

“Sullen silence your preferred option then?”

“No, it’s just better than inane small talk.”

“Big talk, then. Do you feel like the college has failed you as a scholarship student?”

“What? What kind of question is that? You think I look poor or something?”

“No, Levi, you told me two weeks ago that you are here on a scholarship.”

“Oh. Well, yeah. Kind of. The money is barely enough to live off and the faculty has me in a chokehold because if I don’t get good grades they’ll just...kick me out. And they can do that.”

“That feels illegal.”

“It isn’t.”

“I know, but it feels like it should be.”

“What do you know about it, anyway? I’ve seen the way you dress. The way you stand. You’ve got money.”

“The way I stand?”

“Yeah. All...upright, with your head up, somehow looking like you own the place but also like you’ve got a stick up your ass. Rich people stand like that. Confident that the world wants to see you and talk to you and shit.”

He doesn’t walk like an ass. His posture is good, sure, and his shoulders sit backwards, relaxed, like he’s confident, but it’s not as bad as he’s making out. Levi’s overcompensating again. He can’t tell if the conversation is making him nervous or irate. He doesn’t like talking about money, or his lack thereof. So why is he doing it now?

“You have a point.”

“This your bit of charity, then? Seeing how the other half live?”

“I apologise if I offended you, I was just curious.”

“Yeah, well I have to live it. Get some perspective.”

He blinked at him, no malice, no judgement, just that vague air of being genuinely, prophetically above it all. “I am trying to.”

Levi scoffed, rolled his eyes, didn’t feel like arguing, took another swig of his mixed drink. The vodka was cheap. It burned on the way down. The noise and heat of the bar pressed in on him from all sides. Erwin had a bottle of beer, but was sipping at it lightly.

“You got a deadline tomorrow or something?”

“No. Why?”

“You’re in a frat and it’s 1 am and you’re not blackout. What was the point in coming?” He clinked his cup against the beer bottle sarcastically.

“Oh. Well, I tutor in Stohess on Fridays and have to be up early. And then I have training in the afternoon.”

“Tch. Of course you tutor. Daddy’s money not enough, then?”

“I’m a volunteer, actually.”

Of course he offers to teach kids for free. He’s fucking perfect. No wonder everyone thinks the sun shines out of his ass. Levi would honestly prefer it if he was a dick. That would be less infuriating.

“Your loss.” He took another drink. 

“How much of that have you had?” 

“Uh, almost a bottle, probably.”

“You feeling ok?”

He was feeling pleasantly woozy, actually. Maybe that’s why he was humouring this jock. 

“Yeah.” He shrugged.

Erwin stood there and smiled placidly, looking out over the rest of the bar, perfectly happy in silence, apparently. Good. Silences are Levi’s speciality.

Did he not have anyone else to hang out with?

“Where’s your girl?”

“She’s gone home for the weekend.”

“Where’s home?”

“Upstate.”

“Hm.” Levi has not had any meaningful conversation with her, but she was polite, friendly, even, when they briefly met the week before. She smiles big and wide. She’s French, or something. Clever, sparkling, popular, very pretty. 

“You at a loose end, then? That’s why you’ve come to talk to me?” He muttered. Erwin laughed. 

“Sorry, Levi, I thought we were friends. That’s why I’ve come to talk to you.”

Levi realised then that they were. They were friends. They’d had enough conversations to know things about each other, like friends might. They knew now how to behave around each other. Levi had seen him in enough different outfits to picture his wardrobe. He’s guessed at his childhood, idly, subconsciously. They didn’t formally greet each other when they met, they just got on with it. No bullshit, or pretense. That’s what Levi looks for in a friendship.

Huh. Who’d have thought? He was friends with a jock.

“Fine. Let’s go outside. It’s too hot in here.”

He’d followed Levi out of the bar. In the damp street, under the street lights, he was washed of color, blended into dual tones. Levi leaned against the wall and looked up at him, even as his vision went a little warped with the booze, even as his palms sweated and his head swam. 

“Won’t your girl miss you?” He asked. Levi’s brain tripped over itself in an attempt to understand him.

“Huh?”

“That girl from earlier, who you always hang around with - tall, glasses, lots of hair?”

Levi snorted, knocked the hair out of his eyes.

“Hange’s not a girl, and they’re certainly not my girl.”

Erwin laughed at his misunderstanding. “Sorry for assuming, on both counts. No girl, then?”

“Pft. What do you think?”

He seemed confused. His blue eyes narrowed. His huge eyebrows drew together, which made Levi want to laugh in that stupid, childish, flighty way he does when he’s drunk. 

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m short, poor, ugly and unfriendly. So no, I’m not exactly beating them off with a stick.”

Erwin laughed again, loudly, in surprise. Levi watched his eyebrows climb back up, settle back in their normal place of benign politeness.

“The girls worth dating don’t care about money. I don’t think you’re ugly at all, or unfriendly. You’re just...shy.”

“Ha. Shy? Me?”

“Your rudeness doesn’t come from malice, it comes from not trusting your own social instincts. Like being shy.”

“And I don’t trust them for a reason, Dr Freud.”

“Well, we are friends, so you cannot be that unfriendly. Hange is your friend. Mike thinks you’re funny. Girls like funny.”

“Must just be the height then.”

Levi wanted to say ‘guys don’t care about funny, they care about height’, but didn’t. He doesn’t know why he didn’t say that to Erwin.

It was hot on his face, a flush rising in his cheeks, probably making them all blotchy like he was embarrassed, when in actual fact it was the shadow of an old problem, when he used to get anxious and stressed, and would lock himself under the stairs and breathe too hard until he passed out. He lifted his hair off his neck to get some cold air against his sweaty skin.

“Hold this for a sec.” He thrust his cup into Erwin’s hand. He scraped his hair up and slid the band off his wrist to tie it back. While he was doing it, this tall, calm football player, with his kids to teach tomorrow and his flowery French girlfriend, tilted Levi’s cup forwards in an invitation, knocked it against Levi’s lips. Levi glanced up at him, hands still fastening his hair up, and dropped his mouth open a little. 

With care and gentleness, Erwin tipped the cup, feeding Levi a mouthful of flat soda and vodka, which he took without a thought, swallowing, holding casual eye contact. Then the cup was gone, and a thumb was there instead, wiping away a drop that had escaped the rim, catching it before it slipped down Levi’s chin.

“Thanks.” he said, swallowing again, wanting to clear his throat.

“Do you need a haircut?”

“What do you think?”

“Sorry, is this another obvious answer I’ve missed?”

“No.” The cool air was soothing the rising heat, the sourceless panic, batting back the embarrassment of having to say ‘sorry, I’m gonna need to put my head between my knees for a bit, please don’t think I’m a pussy’. “No, I genuinely wanted to know what you think.”

Erwin considered, evidently taking it seriously. Levi had to remind himself that he was well on his way to drunk and this guy was almost sober. 

“It’d be less of a pain. It’s not quite long enough to tie up properly now. I like the undercut, though.”

“Thanks.” Levi has had the same hairstyle since he was a brat. “I do it myself.”

“Yourself? How do you reach round the back?”

“Short joke?”

“Nope. Genuine curiosity again.”

“Practice. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“Oh. Cool. It’s cool.” 

It was weird hearing him say ‘cool’, because he is objectively not cool, but he’s the kind of guy that Levi begrudgingly looks up to regardless. High School Cool vs Actually Cool, aesthetically cool vs plain-old-popular - what a bunch of bullshit.

Hold on, did he just make a height joke about himself?

“You want me to get you some water?”

“Such a gentleman.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a ‘no, I’m fucking fine’.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Don’t you have a keg to chug or something?”

“Not tonight. I’m off duty.”

“You’re like a pack of hyenas, I swear.”

“Laughing?”

“Scavengers.”

“I think most of the house would compare themselves to the predators, actually. Then everyone else scavenges our scraps.”

“Yeah, that’s one of the worst things I’ve ever heard.”

“I struggle sometimes with my self-awareness.”

“Why join if you’re so smart and good and responsible?”

“Camaraderie? The College Experience? I’m not sure, I like the communal life.”

“And the initiation?”

“Part of the fun, surely?”

“I imagine it’s difficult to humiliate you.”

“Difficult, but not impossible.”

“Hm. Sounds like a challenge.”

“You’re welcome to try.”

“Don’t say that. I’m not nice like you. I’m cruel.”

“Oh, I’m so frightened.”

“Alright, jackass, watch yourself.”

Levi’s tongue fizzed in his mouth. Erwin smiled, looking pleased with himself. His teeth were big and white and straight.

Levi can’t remember what happened next. They were accosted by a group of girls that Erwin knew, but whether they were still outside or if they’d gone back into the heat and the dark, he isn’t sure. The night had gone on, with Levi going to find Hange and Erwin being tossed from one group to another until they were kicked out at closing. 

000

Levi thinks of it now, mouth full of vodka, with Erwin’s friends, in Sasha’s kitchen. He thinks about Erwin holding the cup for him, slipping the liquid between Levi’s lips. 

There’s a cheer. He’s had his first. Mike pours his second. He knocks it back, thinks of home, thinks of his college room and his lumpy mattress, thinks of passing out in a gutter.

Petra Ral has appeared, clustered in the doorway with some other girls. She smiles at him, all dimples and sunshine, gives him a little cheer, laughs.

Some girls don’t care about money. The good ones don’t. Or height. And Levi’s undercut looks cool.

“You’re giving Levi more!” Hange protests. Levi snatches the bottle from Mike to make sure.

Three. Four. Five. 

Mike’s nose has gone red. Levi’s stomach complains - he hasn’t eaten enough. It roils and growls with the assault.

They amass more attention with the cheering. Hange hops off the counter to pat Levi on the back.

Six. Seven. Eight.

Levi feels it now, a creeping, sweet sickness. He doesn’t want to lose himself. But he doesn’t want to lose to Mike either. Mike’s like Erwin: Southern, sure, but from money. His watch is nice and his shoes are clean. He has a truck, but like an expensive city truck, not a dirt road truck. He’s probably always been drinking for fun, with his siblings or his high school friends. He doesn’t know that Levi used to drink to lose himself, and that he spent so long chasing that state that it is surprisingly easy now for him to stop at the brink.

Mike’s beginning to wobble. He has a crew, too: Nanaba and Gelgar and a guy that’s 80% muscle. 

“Don’t let it touch the sides, baby.” Hange says into his ear. They’re too close and talk too loud - he winces and downs his ninth. 

“One more and we’ll take five.” Mike says, voice thick with it. Levi nods, goes for apathy, hopes he isn’t visibly sweating.

Ten. Mike pulls a chair out from under the table and sits, seems to make a conscious effort not to drop into it too heavily. Hange brings Levi some water and he sips it nonchalantly. 

“Do you want some chips?” Petra Ral asks brightly. 

“No, I’m good.” Levi says. The thought of adding food to the washing machine full of acid in his guts is repellent. “Thanks.” He adds hastily. Not unfriendly. Just shy. Not fucking shy just, awkward, untrusting, I don’t fucking know.

His mouth fills with saliva, and he swallows and swallows, tries to lube his throat up a bit, watches Mike go pale, go quiet. 

“C’mon, then. Unless you’re done?” Levi says, hand on hip. He’s too warm in his big black T-shirt.

“Ok.” Mike says, stands, sways, slams the shot glass back down. Hange takes over with the vodka, wielding it like a flamethrower, with that manic glint in their eye that used to terrify Levi. 

Eleven. Twelve. The people are counting along, now. Thirteen. Mike has to lean on the table top and drop his head between his shoulders for a second. Fourteen. Levi’s vision is getting blurry. His stomach complains. His balance is off.

Fifteen. “What is going on in here?” A voice carries through the kitchen.

“Drinking contest. They’re at fourteen!” Hange says, and then “Fifteen!” When someone corrects them.

Erwin comes in. He’s in a white shirt that fits him well, and expensive-looking jeans.

Levi’s, maybe. He’s wearing Levi’s jeans. Ha. 

Ok, maybe the alcohol is finally getting to him.

Sixteen. “How are you doing, Mike?”

“‘M fine.” He mumbles. 

“Bold to challenge Levi, he’s stronger than he looks.”

“Tiny fucking body, where does he put it all?” Mike says, bitter. Seventeen. 

Erwin rounds the table to Levi’s side, standing alongside his other allies.

“You seem stable.”

“I thought this was the warm-up.” Levi says. His usually cold, disinterested voice has lost its sharpness a bit. He’s slurring. Oh god, is he slurring his words? How pathetic.

“I’m sorry I missed the conversation that led to this.” Says Erwin, with warm amusement.

“Where’ve you been?”

“I had another party before this.”

Levi squints up at him. Fucking ridiculous. “Are you drunk?” He looks pristine. Not a hair out of place.

“Getting there. Not as quickly as you two.” He says. Mike gives him the finger.

Eighteen is accompanied by a shout of the number. Levi’s beginning to feel sick now, can’t quite close his mouth around the taste of it. 

Mike is visibly fighting the urge to vomit. He just manages Nineteen, face white and shining, lips downturned, and then wipes his mouth and throws the glass down.

“Fuck you, Scout.”

Levi is, admittedly, quite glad that he doesn’t need to drink Twenty.

“I believe,” Levi says, clearing his throat, half to be dramatic and half to stop the vodka making a reappearance, “I told you so.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever.”

“Shall we do the forfeit now, or would you like to wait until you can run without hurting yourself?”

“Forfeit?” Erwin asks.

“Standard.” Levi replies.

“Ah. Mike’s third time, then.”

“When will he learn?”

“I’ll do it, just gimme a minute.” Says Mike, from his chair. Nanaba is stroking his hair away from his face. He looks torn between wanting to down his water and never drinking anything again. Petra takes him her chips.

“Shouldn’t‘ve taken my damn rum, Zacharias.” Levi says. 

“He took your rum?”

“Mn. And poured it in the bath.”

“Did not.” Says Mike, lunging to his feet and stumbling out of the door to get some air. 

“He did.” Levi says. He can’t have the last word if he's left the room. 

“I’m sure he won’t do it again, now.” Erwin says. 

“I wanna dance!” Hange announces. Levi thinks that if he moves more than drawing in breath, he’ll stir his stomach up into a frenzy. 

“Go dance then.”

“Come with me!”

“No.”

“Spoil sport. Erwin, dance?”

“I’ll come and watch you, if you like.” 

“Too dignified for the YMCA, Smith?” Levi says, leaning against the kitchen counter, hoping it looks casual and not like he can’t stand up unsupported. 

“That depends.” He says, but he’s distracted by Hange, yanking on his arm, dragging him through to the lounge where they’ve cleared a space for dancing. Levi stands for a few minutes before relenting. It’s not like there’s anyone else he particularly wants to talk to. 

Hange’s letting loose again, which always spells disaster. They down the rest of their drink, throw their empty cup over their shoulder, and begin gyrating at the group of sophomores swaying to a considerably slower tempo. Levi sees Erwin’s laugh of surprise. He leans by the door and watches them. 

Hange sings the lyrics to the song loudly, and off-key. One of Erwin’s frat brothers stands on a chair and it immediately collapses under him. 

Levi is too drunk for this. Maybe he thinks he’s too cool for this. Maybe he’s right. He crosses his arms and watches from the corner with a vague apathy that’s half second-hand embarrassment and half genuine inebriation. 

“Erwin, c’mon!” Hange whines. They seem determined to get him involved. They grab a beer off the table and open it with their teeth, standing on their tip-toes to pour it into Erwin’s mouth. Not expecting it, Erwin laughs enough that a lot of it misses its mark. He smiles good-naturedly, wiping his mouth off, humouring them, allowing them to grab his forearms and swing him around a bit. His smile is like sunshine. He’s so fucking pretty Levi wants to rip his eyes out. 

Petra Ral comes to talk to him, even though he must look like a miserable bastard, all scowl and scrunched shoulders, ruining everyone’s fun. She’s sweet. She asks about his classes and his accommodation. She’s also drunk. She laughs loudly at every half-attempt at a joke he makes. Two months ago, he would have tilted his head back a bit, cocked his eyebrow ever-so-slightly, said ‘I need some air’ and she would say ‘I’ll come too’ and they would have been back in his room and in his bed within a half hour. 

Instead he gives her short, friendly answers, distant but not impolite, making an effort not to insult her, which is a feat for him, sometimes. She must get the message. Her roommates whisk her away after a while, and she looks much more relaxed away from him and his raincloud. 

Hange’s friend - Moblit, Levi recalls distantly - is trying to have a conversation with Erwin over the music and Hange’s singing. They throw their arms around both guys, knocking them together, grinning maniacally. 

Levi wishes he was like Hange. He’s somehow managed to cultivate a delicious cocktail of too much pride and too much insecurity to let loose like that, to enjoy other people so openly, to close his eyes and not worry about where the nearest exit is. He supposes a childhood of ‘tough love’, constant uprooting and not knowing where your next meal is coming from will do that to a person.

People like being around Hange, even though they are annoying. They stand easy, like Erwin, like Mike, like Kenny - open, confident, assured of their right to their place in the world. Levi should get in some practise. He’s been in enough scrapes to know that no one could physically hurt him even if they tried - he has no reason to back himself against the wall.

He has an assignment due after the weekend. Maybe he should end the night here.

000

When it happened, it happened quick and hard.

He didn’t think, when Erwin said ‘Oh, I used to do jiu jitsu in high school. I’m a little out of practise, but if you need a partner, it might be fun?’ that he actually meant it. 

Levi cycled through MMA partners like condoms. He kept leaving them a little too black-and-blue for their liking, so was pawned off on someone else in a shitty cycle of people being pussies. He supposes he should go to therapy.

Erwin was an enticing challenge; bigger and visibly stronger than a lot of people Levi had fought before, but so mild-mannered that Levi struggled to imagine him hitting him, squeezing against his larynx until he saw spots, but hey - he’d been a diligent and reliable project partner, and Levi was in need of some fresh blood, so what harm could it do?

It could, and would, do a lot of harm.

He knew when the gym would be quiet, and when he arrived ten minutes early, he scowled at the couple wrestling on the corner mat until they twitched, fidgeted, and collapsed under his gaze, murmuring that they’d had enough and shuffling away with their bags. He limbered up, coaxing the blood higher and faster through his muscles, shucked off his sweater. When Erwin arrived, two minutes late, Levi was wrapping his hands.

“Good day?” He asked. Levi grunted.

“Not shit. Yours?”

“Difficult. I’ve been looking forward to venting some frustration.”

“I hope you mean with your fists. I don’t want to have to listen to you complaining.” Levi said, without really meaning it. He’d lost his bite with Erwin by now. Their conversations were occasionally scathing and sarcastic, but friendly. Levi would even go as far as to say he liked listening to Erwin talk.

Erwin laughed (Levi liked that too - specifically when Levi was the cause), and dropped his bag down.

“No talking. Good. I like the sound of that.”

“Warm up, first, then we’ll get on with it.”

Erwin’s built, sure, but Levi hadn’t really appreciated it before. God knows why - did he just...forget that he is on the football team?! - but it was obvious when he stripped to his vest and sweatpants. His thighs were thick, his stance set neatly and strongly over his waist, the muscles of his arms rolling like hills up to the mountains of his shoulders. Levi watched the planes of his back shift and stretch as he warmed up. 

This might be harder than he thought it would be…

“Go easy on me, Levi. It’s been a while.”

“I’m sure it’ll come back to you.” He said dryly, pulling his arm up over his head until his shoulder clicked. Erwin must have stood a foot taller than him, but he wasn’t the biggest opponent Levi had faced. He skipped up weight classes like hopscotch. 

Once Levi was satisfied they’d stretched enough, he assumed his stance, nodding at Erwin, bringing his hands up. 

Erwin wasn’t as quick as Levi, but he was quicker than he expected him to be. His feints suffered from being too perfect, like he was dancing; in-rhythm so Levi soon learnt when they were coming. His hits were strong, with an even force, but when Levi slid out from under one, the resulting balance loss was enough to get him on his back. That footballer strength came into play, and he propelled himself to his feet before Levi could get a good enough grip to keep him down. 

He knew he needed a precise hold to grapple him out. Erwin’s bulk meant he always had the brute strength advantage. Levi would need to get him into a position where he couldn’t use it. 

He ducked under Erwin’s arm, got a reverse grip on it, swung down hard. Erwin threw himself into the movement, slipping behind Levi’s back and going for his legs. 

Huh. Good. 

Levi was quick, however. He slid onto the back foot and landed a hit on Erwin’s jaw, the effort causing him to only partially block Erwin’s hook that came after. A second of disorientation each, and they were back to striking; throwing fists out and moving to block each other. Levi’s blood fizzed. His heart pounded. He hadn’t had a good fight in months. It felt good to let loose, knowing that Erwin wouldn’t mind as much as a stranger might if Levi hurt him a little. 

Levi weaved around Erwin, like a zip wire round a tree, looking for an opening as Erwin swung at him, replaced his back foot to keep his balance. His hair fell messy over his forehead, his eyebrows effectively keeping the sweat out of his eyes. 

So that’s what they’re for, Levi thought. 

His gaze was focused. A lesser man might have even been intimidated. Levi decided to stop fucking around and get him on the ground, where he’ll have the advantage. He stepped back out of the trajectory of Erwin’s right fist and planted his foot on Erwin’s hip, boosting himself up and using the momentum to wrap his other leg over his shoulder, climbing him like he was hopping over a railing. Erwin was sufficiently stunned to lose his balance, and Levi took the opening, linking his right arm under his left knee behind Erwin’s back and forcing them both to the floor.

He heard the air leave Erwin, clamped their bodies together, used his opposite leg and arm to begin suffocating Erwin with his own bicep. He felt the hot flood of victory wash over him, his chest tight as he caught his breath, every muscle tense as he went for the kill.

Erwin used his legs - massive thighs, Levi should have remembered - to thrust himself up and unseat Levi enough to give himself some room to slip out. His face was red, his teeth were gritted, his breathing was deep and fast and desperate, and he looked at Levi with a sort of manic glee, attempting to wangle himself back on top.

No, that’s not how this goes, Levi thought.

He allowed Erwin to flip them over, then harnessed the momentum to pin Erwin down again. A hand shot out, gripping Levi under his left armpit, and another wrapped around his wrist. It jammed Levi’s body in place, hovering over Erwin, panting down at him as he stared up at Levi. 

His grip was tight. Levi looked at his hand. It encircled his wrist completely, and with room to spare. He had big, strong hands. Like a construction worker, or a sailor. They weren’t very calloused, though - perhaps more like an artist, then. There was a switchboard of veins along the back of them, like you get from delicate work. Sculpting, or sketching. They were clean. The nails were short, pink and properly taken care of.

It must have only been a couple of seconds, but it felt like a stupidly long time, looking at Erwin’s hand wrapped around his wrist like that, holding him so surely, locking him in place. Levi realised quite suddenly while contemplating how to get Erwin’s hand off him, that he didn’t really want to.

Hesitation is fatal. Erwin yanked his arm to one side, shrugged off his other, and grappled Levi finally onto his back. He pinned each limb down with his own massive ones and grinned victoriously. 

“You’re very good.” He said, out of breath, sweating and panting and too hot and too close, all triumph and good spirit, all his stupid golden retriever, brains-and-brawn charisma, altogether too far into Levi’s space. Levi opened his mouth without knowing what was going to come out.

Nothing did, for a second. He was too prideful to give up yet, so attempted, hilariously, to force Erwin off him, but Erwin pressed him back to the mat using his hips. 

Like smacking the side of an old TV to get rid of the static, something broke into Levi’s head and kicked his brain awake, clearing the clouds. His mouth went very dry very quickly. He blinked; one minute it was Erwin being an arrogant ass, a big guy, sure, but Levi could take him easily, even like this, and the next all Levi could see was his flushed cheeks and his blue eyes and his white teeth and his well-formed body. He saw a tendon pulse in Erwin’s neck and almost moved to bite it. His chest felt tight. His skin prickled. His cock twitched.

Ah. Great.

Had he always looked like that?

“Finished already?” Fuck, his voice - was it always like that? All low and smooth like good whiskey, like oak and satin?

Levi prayed his expression had stayed neutral. He frowned, remembered where he was and who he was, and used Erwin lowering his guard to knock his grip away, to slide out from underneath him, crawl across his broad back and get him in an arm bar. Erwin barely even tried to stop him - he seemed to have switched off his concentration and was now all languid, laughing good-naturedly as he tapped out on Levi’s forearm.

At least I didn’t lose, Levi thought. Levi never lost. He would never let himself be so easily distracted so as to lose…

Erwin sat back on the mat, resting on his arms, catching his breath and looking up at Levi. His grin was lopsided. He looked like Levi guessed he might look freshly fucked.

Levi swallowed and dragged the hair out of his eyes. 

“Thanks. I needed that.”

“You’re not so bad.”

“Did you expect worse?”

“I shouldn’t have. I should have known you’d be all humble.”

Levi extended a hand to him, because that’s what you do to training opponents. He heaved Erwin to his feet, having to throw his weight backwards as a counter-balance. 

“I was telling the truth. It’s been a couple of years.”

“Must just be because there’s so fucking much of you, then.”

Erwin laughed, ran a hand through his hair - the hand Levi just touched. His vest was dark with sweat in some areas. His chest was straining under it as he drew in more air. 

“And you’re fast. Really fast. I should have known that. We’re a pretty good match for training.”

“I guess so.”

“And assignments, too.”

Levi rolled his eyes, turned away a bit to hide any crack in his scowl under the guise of getting his water bottle. “Yeah.” He said simply.

“Wanna shower and then get something to eat?” Erwin asked casually, heading for the changing rooms. He lifted his vest over his head and Levi forgot to look away. Levi forgot not to stare. Levi forgot where he was.

The idea of showering in the gym changing rooms, with all the grime and hair and communal filth, was revolting to Levi. The idea of showering next to Erwin, however, was somehow both terrifying and something Levi very much wanted to do.

“Uh, no.” He said bluntly, then hurried to correct the rudeness. “I don’t shower here. I shower at home. Where I know it’s clean.”

“Alright.” Erwin said from the doorway, half-in and half-out, his complexion already evening out. “We can meet somewhere else, then. After you’ve showered.”

He was going out of his way to ask Levi to hang out. Levi wasn’t sure they’d ever done that before.

“Sure, whatever.” He pulled on his sweater and wriggled his feet into his battered sneakers.

“You like pizza?”

“Tch. Of course. Who doesn’t?”

“Cool. San Antonio’s, then? In an hour?”

“Yeah, alright.”

“We don’t even have to talk about Vietnam.”

“No talking, just eating.” Levi said, deadpan, but Erwin knew he was teasing.

“As you wish. See you later.” He said, and disappeared into the showers.

Once he was gone, Levi allowed himself to collapse onto the bench and drop his head into his hands.

He’d showered, changed twice, and been ten minutes late to dinner. Erwin was dressed casually, hanging around outside on his phone, not looking concerned in the slightest that Levi hadn’t shown up yet. On his approach, blue eyes caught Levi’s and he smiled easily. Apparently, fighting each other until they were pink and panting had really eased the awkward tension of their not-quite-friendship.

They did talk over dinner. A lot. Erwin kept asking questions and so Levi deflected by asking them back. In the end, he just listened to Erwin talk, found it more tolerable than ever, more interesting filling in the blank bits of Erwin’s history over half-decent pizza and slightly flat beer. Candlelight that was supposed to be atmospheric but was probably only there to distract from the state of the restaurant’s upkeep made Erwin look older. Bizarrely, it made him look famous, like he should be a celebrity or something. Levi felt plain and small opposite him, so it was a good job he didn't give a shit about that sort of thing.

When they left afterwards, Erwin patted him on the shoulder and thanked him for the training, and for keeping him company, and then strolled off towards his frat house without a care in the world, completely oblivious to how things had changed for Levi. How, by complete accident, Levi had tripped and fallen down the stairs, down a hill, into a crevasse. He watched him leave with this strange, annoying ache. And that was the end. And that was the beginning.

It’s been increasingly unbearable ever since. Levi hasn’t been able to force Erwin back into the place in his head he had occupied before. He keeps spilling out, spilling over, taking up more space than he should, in more ways than he should. Levi thinks about him when he texts, and when he doesn’t text. He looks out for him on campus and stares at him when they’re together. He considers what he’s doing with his day, who he’s with, if he spent the night at his girl’s place, if he’s at training or at the library, if his body aches from their fight, if he stretches out his sore muscles and thinks of Levi pinning him down. Levi daydreams about inviting him over for more food, or more fighting, of getting enough alcohol in their systems that Levi might let loose and Erwin might forget that he is at least a dozen social leagues above Levi. Maybe Erwin would like to sit quietly with Levi while they study. Maybe the evening would get away from them, and he’d have to stay the night. Maybe he’d insist it was fine for them to share the bed, and he’d fall towards Levi in his sleep, and Levi would wake up with him all hot and close again and breathing down his neck and half-hard against his thigh, and maybe that would be ok, because boys do that, surely? Some boys. Every now and then. Right?

He has a crush. A big, bad one. Like a middle-schooler. On the handsome, popular football player. The smart, charismatic, heterosexual one. Fucking figures. This is almost unprecedented for Levi. He has no idea what to do with it, so decides on his most comfortable course of action which is silent resentment and passivity. Him and Erwin are friends, growing closer with every coffee and stupid message, and Levi is a fucking grown up who can control himself. Erwin also a lovely, rich, bilingual girlfriend so if Levi did speak his mind Erwin would probably look at him like he’d grown two heads and never talk to him again. 

It doesn’t help that they keep training. It’s a good opportunity to learn, to get better and stronger, and so Levi endures all the skin and sweat and Erwin grunting in his ear as he wraps him in his arms and crushes him against his chest. He’s good at keeping a straight face anyway. 

Erwin’s the busiest guy he’s ever met. He’s constantly on the move, or expected somewhere else. Half the parties Levi goes to begrudgingly, expecting him to be there, he isn’t, and it turns the excitement bitter, like drinking orange juice after he’s brushed his teeth over and over again until he goes home. He’s studious and athletic, and apparently charitable, so between all his classes and practice and time spent tutoring and visits home to his mother, of course he would rather spend what little time he has left with his frat brothers and his girlfriend than with Levi. 

He was sluggish and distracted on the mat one evening, and Levi lost his temper.

“If you’re not gonna take it seriously, why bother coming? I was completely open, that should have been an easy take-down. What the fuck is wrong with you today?”

Erwin sighed, rolled his shoulders back, and shook his head.

“Sorry, Levi. I haven’t been sleeping much. There’s so much to do with midterms, and this game coming up....I think I’m just out of steam.”

“Then do less. Tell the Stohess kids to suck it. Tell me to go fuck myself, I don’t care. There’s no point being shit at everything, when you could be decent at a couple of things.”

Erwin conceded with a tilt of his head, dropping onto the bench, drawing his hand over his chin. It rasped - he hadn’t shaved properly. 

“You’re right, of course, but I can’t let anyone down.”

“You won’t. People might get butthurt, but they’ll recover. We won’t train until your midterms are done.”

Erwin looked affronted. “That’s not fair, I like this! I don’t want to stop because I’m tired. This is the only time I actually get to unwind!”

“Well there is no point in doing it when you can barely put up a fight. Hange has a better chance of taking me out than you do right now, and they can barely walk two paces without tripping up.”

“A little harsh, don’t you think?”

“Do you get my point, Smith?”

“Yeah, I get your point.” He looked at the mat, at the spot where they wrestled, and chewed on his lip. “I don’t want to stop, though. You’re getting better, I’m getting better. We owe it to each other to keep the momentum up. I don’t want you to stop because I’m a bit tired. I’ll make time for rest. I’ll get my strength back, from somewhere, I promise.”

He thought he was disappointing Levi. What a joke; Levi was just concerned, but obviously he couldn’t say that outright. He’d realised then that Erwin likely got the way that he was by being an unyielding people-pleaser. Looking at him on the bench, gazing at Levi all apologetic, he’d wanted to knock some fucking sense into him. He’d also wanted to deepthroat him until his eyes watered. 

“No. Not until you can give me an actual challenge. You’ll hurt yourself.” He pulled on his sweat pants and rubbed his towel over his face. 

“Get some rest, Smith.” He’d said, deliberately sofly so Erwin wouldn’t feel guilty, and left him sitting there, staring at the mat.

000

Someone shoves his shoulder as they leave the kitchen: some blonde fucker with stupid glasses. He turns to apologise, and then evidently stops himself. There are a couple of other people with him, and Levi recognises none of them.

“Wow, I’m gonna need to see some ID, son.” He says. Levi gives him a withering look and then glances right past him and back at Hange, Erwin and Moblit on the dancefloor.

Spurred on by the tittering of his friends, he presses: “I’m talking to you, shortie.”

“What?” Levi says in his most disparaging tone.

“How old are you?”

“Same age as you, I assume, since you’re obviously not a child prodigy.”

“Why are you so small, then?”

“Malnourishment. Why are you so big?”

The guy barks out a laugh. He’s twisting an unlit cigarette around his middle finger. His expression is a little lop-sided: he’s drunk. Great.

“I eat children. Don’t worry, you’re safe. There’s not enough meat on you.”

Levi rolls his eyes. “Can you kindly fuck off, please?”

“Wow, quite the mouth on you, sport.” He gets all up into Levi’s space and Levi resists the urge to snarl at him.

“Haven’t you got anything better to do?”

“I’m talking to you. We’re having a lovely conversation.”

“Get out of my face.”

“You didn’t say please.”

“Zeke, I think you’re pissing off the wrong guy there.” Erwin’s voice, ever-warm, ever-amiable, comes from over blondie’s shoulder. He turns away from Levi.

“Huh?”

“The bruises last week? That was Levi.” Erwin says, smiling in amusement, good natured.

“Wait, you fight this guy?!”

“Yep. He’s a lot stronger than he looks. You’d be mincemeat, my friend.” 

Glasses scoffs and looks back at Levi, clearly not buying it, but he’s lost the interest of his friends.

“What a novelty.” He says, in the most disdainful way he possibly could, gives Levi a once-over and ambles off, putting his cigarette between his lips.

Erwin comes over. He’s tall and blonde too, but in a nice way. In the right way. Levi feels a little light-headed from the heat and the booze and the noise. He blinks up at Erwin haughtily. 

“Zeke’s a pig.” Erwin says casually, arms crossed. It’s an unexpected insult coming from him, and it makes Levi laugh. Actually laugh.

“He seems like it.” Levi thinks about Erwin’s tone when he spoke to him. “Isn’t he your buddy?"

“He’s on the team too, so we have to be friendly. I’ve never liked him much, though.”

Amazing. Erwin can just... pretend to like someone. He must have supervillain-level duplicity. Levi tries to imagine what that must be like: to make people think of you a certain way when the truth is the opposite. Levi is good at hiding his emotions, but not masking them. Distrust and dislike leak out of him like shit from a sewer. Sometimes too much. Sometimes he’s so used to saying what he thinks of people that he offends someone he doesn’t want to. Sometimes the people who are important to him don’t realise just how much, because of his pinched face and ugly words.

Air. He needs air. Actually needs air, rather than his ‘I’m going to get some air’ line. Erwin turns away to greet yet another tall, athletic friend and Levi slips away behind him.

He stops by the kitchen to chug a glass of water and then heads outside to the back yard.

It’s more of a communal patch of overgrown grass than an actual yard. The student houses around this one all share it. There is a pathetic attempt at a wood over on one side, probably full of condoms and needles and god knows what else, and an eclectic assortment of lawn furniture in varying states of disrepair. Levi sits on the grass, wet with dew, and listens to the muffled thumping of a baseline from inside, shifting away from the squares of light falling onto the ground from the windows, content to be without for a moment. 

He feels dizzy. And sick. Tired and awake all at once. The vodka’s hit him hard and left him for dead. He’s on the downhill, though, he can feel it. He takes in several deep breaths of cold night air and steadies himself, feeling the damp blades of grass between his fingertips, squinting at the sky in a futile attempt to see the stars.

The door opens and it’s just his luck that someone’s going to come and disturb him when he feels like his head has been stapled together and his skin is made of cotton wool. He wants to be alone. Anyone with a brain cell could see that. Why else would someone leave a party to go and sit on the grass?

He turns to scowl at them, but it’s just Erwin. Obviously it’s Erwin, who is somehow both top and bottom of Levi’s list of people he wanted to disturb him.

“Are you alright?”

“I drank a third of a bottle of rum and nineteen shots of vodka.”

“And?”

Levi turns his back to the house again and huffs out a laugh.

“I’m tipsy, perhaps.”

“Do you want to be alone?”

“Does it matter? I’ve already lost my train of thought.”

Truth be told, his train of thought has been sitting in the station for hours. Erwin’s the only passenger.

“Sorry about that, then.” Erwin says, but doesn’t sound it. He sits down next to Levi on the grass without waiting to be invited.

Levi doesn’t feel like talking. Levi feels like slipping away, into a dream or a stupor, or a lake or something. He wants to float. He wants to not have to think about carrying his body around.

“Why does Mike call you ‘Scout’?” Erwin asks.

Levi snorts. “One of his many strokes of genius. Scout - boy scout - because I’m short.”

“Would you resent me if I said it suits you?”

“Yes.” Levi sniffs. He cracks his knuckles and leans back on his hands, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I’ve been called worse.”

“I don’t think it scratches the surface with you.” Erwin says. It sounds admiring. Levi frowns.

“You saying I got no pride?”

“I’m saying you have chosen a select few people whose opinions you actually care about.”

Levi smirks, runs his tongue over his teeth. His mouth feels foul. It feels like someone’s administering electric shocks to his temple, but from the inside of his skull.

“And what about you? You have a reputation to maintain. Must be exhausting.”

“Hm. It must be quite freeing to not give a shit.”

“You should try it. I could teach you.”

If only Levi was authentically this person he’s painting himself to be. He does give a shit. He gives so many shits. He thinks he’s at his limit and then it stretches and balloons like a stomach trying to swallow more and more. So the apathy is a good disguise as well as a good defence.

“Perhaps these lessons will involve fewer bruises.”

“Unlikely.”

“Ha. I’m secretly pleased by that.”

“Tch. Masochist.” Levi mutters. Erwin pulls one leg up, resting his arm on his bent knee, and follows Levi’s eyeline like there’s anything to see but empty chip packets and weeds. 

Erwin looks at the blurry smudge of the moon behind the clouds, like he’s auditioning for a movie. He’s unfairly beautiful, absurdly perfect, in this dim light, in every light. How is everyone not like Levi? Not falling over their damn words and staring like he’s stained glass. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to get you some water?” He says. 

“Yes. I don’t want fucking water.” Levi says. He swears they've had this conversation before. He feels sober, suddenly. He feels present. He can feel the way the breeze creeps under his shirt. He can feel the dew under his hands. 

“Tell me, if you need anything.” Erwin says. It’s a shit line. It’s all full of meaning, of this syrup-and-pancakes thing he’s got going on. Levi would be bolstered by this if he wasn’t aware of how different they are, of how they shout at each other from uneven levels of life. 

“Ok, my hero.” He can’t help the sarcasm. He regrets it, as soon as it’s out. 

Erwin’s lips crook up at one side. He leans back further on his hands. There’s so much of him. Levi feels small, but it’s as good as it is bad, for once. 

His profile’s nice. His aquiline nose demisects his face into even halves, his prominent brow and strong jaw bookending high cheekbones and his deep-set, blue eyes. He’s laid out and planned perfectly. He’s carved with precision and care, and a love for the human form. His eyebrows are too big. His nose has a bump in it. He’ll probably lose his hair one day. His top lip juts out a little. He’s full of tiny flaws. He’s lit by God tonight, starlight in his skin. Levi looks away. 

“Thanks. For earlier.”

“My pleasure.”

Is it? Is it a pleasure to defend Levi? He doesn’t need defending. 

It was nice to know that someone wanted to try, though. 

He’s staring again. He notices because Erwin does. He turns his head, meets Levi’s eyes, looks at him a little questioningly. 

“Sorry.” Levi says quickly.

“For what?”

“Nothing.” Fucking idiot. The booze has got him. His filter is slipping.  

“You can look, Levi.” Erwin says lightly. “No one will punish you for looking.” 

Levi snaps his head around, intends to ask what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, but Erwin is smiling softly at him. Erwin is lifting his hand to brush his knuckles against Levi’s cheek. The touch is like hot wax on his cold skin and he forgets what he was going to say. 

“I’m the one that should be sorry.” Erwin says quietly, and then he leans in and kisses him. 

Weird. Levi’s quite drunk. And quite tired. It takes him a minute to piece everything together. 

What happens is this: Erwin Smith, in his golden glory, with his muscles and his voice and his face and his status, touches Levi gently on the cheek, and gets this look in his eyes like he’s hurting, and then bends down, and slowly presses their mouths together, like a ship docking, like something easy and inevitable, but also important. 

Levi sits in shock. His lips are parted. Erwin kisses him firmly, dryly, like he isn’t sure what he’s doing. Levi’s heart leaps into his throat. Hot, addictive anxiety, the type that burns good like liquor, floods his stomach. He maybe gasps a little. He desperately tries to commit the feeling to memory. 

Erwin pulls away. He looks sad, and accepting. 

“Like I said: I’m sorry, Levi.”

Oh, has Levi ever liked someone saying his name so much before? He doesn’t even think. He stares at him for a few seconds, incredulous, and then grabs him by his shirt, yanks him back down, kisses him again, kisses him properly.

Fucking frat boys. Levi claws his way up Erwin’s chest, pulls at his hair. His lips are soft. When Levi kisses his mouth open, he lets him. He meets his tongue halfway. His arms are like tree branches, looping round Levi’s back, pulling him in close. He gives as good as he gets. Levi’s kissing him, really actually kissing Erwin, with his eyes closed and his pulse racing, with his teeth on his lower lip. 

Levi has to break to breathe, apparently forgetting he can draw air in through his nose, and there’s a slow, liquid pleasure trailing down his spine, like lava, bubbling from the sudden darkening of Erwin’s eyes. His hand drops to Levi’s thigh, looks huge against his jeans, and Levi surges forward, climbs onto him so he’s kneeling over his lap, gets his hands back on Erwin’s cheeks, guiding his face up, falling back against his lips like a lost cause. 

He tries not to throw all his weight forward, slightly concerned he’ll topple them both, but Erwin’s just an expanse of smooth warmth and Levi wants to press himself closer. He tastes like alcohol, smells like shower gel and hair product. He cradles the base of Levi’s skull in his palm, lets him kneel over him, encourages him closer. 

Levi knows they’re outside, in the damp early morning, begging to be discovered at any minute, and he knows they’ve drunk a lot and Erwin has a French girlfriend waiting for him somewhere, but he genuinely thinks this is perfect anyway. The dew seeps through the knees of his jeans. When their tongues brush together, Erwin sighs a little, a tiny exhalation through his nose, and it makes Levi quake. 

Maybe he could convince him to fuck him in the trees over there. It’s not a great deal of cover but he doesn’t care. Maybe if Levi just unbuttoned his pants right now, Erwin would let him blow him. That would be enough, maybe, for now, if this is going to be the only moment they’re allowed. Levi just wants to know. He just wants...he wants so badly, so much. This big, beautiful, blonde idiot has stuck hard and fast in Levi’s head. How is he going to extract him without slicing something open?

His thoughts whir, spinning like the wheel of a car, like interference - static - and he finds himself resting his lips on Erwin’s only just, panting against each other. He grits his teeth together against the barrage of frustration.

“I’m sorry, Levi.” 

“Stop fucking apologising. It makes you sound pathetic and me sound helpless.”

He is helpless, but that doesn’t matter. That’s for him to keep. He doesn’t want Erwin feeling guilty...over what? The snapping of a thread? The break in the tension?

“Ok. Ok.” Erwin says. His hands slide down Levi’s back, sit snugly against the dip of his waist, spreading wide until his thumbs brush his hip bones. He can hold almost all of Levi’s circumference in his grip.

“What’s gotten into you?” Levi mumbles, not really looking for an answer, keeping his face close, lips on Erwin’s forehead, his nose, his cheek. “Thought you were straight.”

“Apparently not.” Erwin says. His voice is low and rich, it makes Levi want to squirm. 

“I should have more self-control.” He continues. He presses his thumbs into the hard edge of Levi’s hipbones and Levi instinctually rolls his hips forward, forgetting himself. “I can’t help it. Wanting you is exhausting.” He groans it like he’s exasperated. Levi has to strain to hear him over the thudding of his own heart in his ears, like he’s half-asleep at the back of a lecture hall. Erwin wants him. He's exhausted by it. Maybe that means he feels a modicum of what Levi has been feeling for months.

How does this end? Where do they go from here? People will know; someone is bound to notice that they disappeared at the same time, and even if they aren’t sure, gossip spreads like chlamydia in these circles. Marie will hear. What will his teammates think? Levi doesn’t even have Erwin yet, and he’s already ruining him.

“Are you...do you…” Levi’s lost his eloquence. Ha, like I ever had any. He bends nearly in half to rest his brow against Erwin’s. His lips brush against Erwin’s eyelids, his high cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, pulled like a flag in the wind, like he can’t help it. Erwin draws his face up, Levi lets his lips drift down, and they kiss again, by accident. 

Levi still can’t believe this is happening.The shock flushes the alcohol out of his system, like he’s been irrigated by this sharp, sudden current. Erwin’s wrapped the entire length of both arms around him. Any feeble attempt he made to keep the distance is rendered impossible. He wonders if Erwin can feel how fast his heart is racing.

He gets a crick in his neck from the angle and he couldn’t care less. They kiss for a long time, long enough that it gets slow and sensual, losing urgency, mellowing into something low-burning and addictive. Levi thinks that if they’re just going to stay here and make out until he’s had enough, they’ll be here until dawn, through the weekend, maybe days. They’ll miss all their classes. 

Erwin’s pulling his hips in close, and Levi realises he’s been making little circles against Erwin’s crotch like a pathetic animal, like a puppy who doesn’t know any better. He must taste horrid - like vodka and panic. Erwin’s mellow and smooth. He kisses like it’s an art. Levi knew he wouldn’t disappoint. 

“I want you to come home with me.” Erwin murmurs, sounding woozy, sounding drunker than Levi’s ever heard him. He kisses Levi again, a deliberately slow peck to the corner of his lips. He squeezes Levi’s hip. He nudges his nose into Levi’s hair and breathes deeply. It makes Levi feel small, precious, even, which is a very foreign concept. Levi’s a brute, a sour little shit with no sense of joy or lightness. He’s rough and scrawny - white trash - with no delicacy or allure or sensitivity. Why does he feel like this? Why does Erwin make it feel like desiring Levi is easy? 

“But we can’t.” The end of the sentence that he knew was coming still sinks like a stone in his stomach. “Marie - she - I can’t…”

“Yeah I know, idiot. I know.” He drags Erwin’s lip into his mouth, bites it, strokes his temple so tenderly, feels so full, so empty - like he’s in a cave looking up at a serene patch of sunlight, like he’s had a Xanax and a Red Bull at the same time. 

“I’ve fucked up.” Erwin says. Levi doesn’t think he’s ever heard him curse before. 

“Yeah.” He has to agree. He tilts his hips forwards, grinding down into him, as if to demonstrate. “We fucked up.”

Erwin stifles a groan with breathy laughter - aroused and exasperated all at once. “I wouldn’t even know what to do.”

“I’m sure it would come to you.” Levi says, not even bothering to be coy with the pun. Erwin laughs again, the laugh Levi loves drawing out of him, except this time he can feel it against his face. 

Once. Just once would have been nice.

Erwin’s perfect and that comes with drawbacks. He shouldn’t cheat, and so to make up for his deviancy he’ll marry that girl. Eventually. In a few years, perhaps. Maybe Levi will be invited to the wedding. Maybe he’ll be able to see Erwin show love openly, brandishing it like a prize, and maybe Levi will learn something. Maybe he’ll finally learn how to do that himself.

“You’ll be missed.” Levi says quietly, a little bitter. The only one who’ll miss him is Hange but they’ve probably passed out on the floor somewhere by now. Erwin will be missed. Removing him from the scene leaves a gap.

“Mn. We should…” Erwin says, practically a whisper, sounding drawn-out-thin and strained. 

“Mm.” Levi agrees. Their lips meet again, falling into the pull of it. Levi gives in and wraps his arms around Erwin’s neck, cradling him closer. He wants to scream. He sighs instead. 

They part gently, like clouds drifting away from each other, slow and silent and sad. 

Erwin looks like he’s going to apologise. “Don’t say you’re sorry. I won’t believe you, anyway.” Levi says, surprised his voice is so even.

Erwin smirks at him a little. It flashes white in the darkness. 

Like extracting a tooth, Levi peels himself off Erwin and stands. It’s gotten cold. He hadn’t noticed. The pink pinch of dawn peeks over the dumpster.

“Let’s go in separately.”

“I’m not going back in.” Erwin says wistfully.

“You got all your shit?”

“I didn’t bring a jacket. I’ve got my phone. They can keep the rest of my beer.”

“You’ll freeze.”

“It’s a short walk. Might bring me to my senses, who knows?”

“Well Hange will kill me if I leave without them.” His coat’s in Sasha bedroom, still.

Erwin stands, and he towers over Levi once more. Levi’s mouth is suddenly dry. He wants to kiss him again, but then they’d be here forever. He's not sure he's ever wanted somebody so much in his life. Just my fucking luck that it's him. 

“I’ll see you around, Levi.”

“Will you?” Levi crosses his arms, raises a disbelieving eyebrow. He expects Erwin to look sheepish, but instead he looks like stone.

“Yes.”

The conviction is convincing. Something inside Levi’s chest unwinds.

“Alright.”

“Get home safe, Levi.”

“You too.”

Like either of them need to be worried. Levi doesn’t want to think about Erwin’s bedroom, about the laundry he probably hasn’t put away, the light layer of dust that probably lines the shelves because he’s too busy to clean properly, the textbooks open on the desk, the photos of his family and teammates, the mirror that shows him himself every day, the sheets he sleeps between. 

Fuck. To have had a taste of it is even worse than when it was impossible. 

He gets to the back door. There is still shouting and singing coming from inside but the kitchen looks quieter. He stops on the step to look back at Erwin.

His shoulders drop. He breathes for a moment, looking out at the beginnings of the sunrise. Levi takes in the upward tilt of his head. His hair is slightly mussed.

What would it be like to see Erwin in sunrise: face awash in orange and pink, eyes tired and peaceful? It’s a nice image. A hopeful one. 

Erwin looks over his shoulder and smiles at Levi softly, pointedly. He sighs, and starts walking: a casual, contemplative amble towards the road. Levi watches him go until he turns the corner, and then slips through the kitchen door, back into the noise of the party.