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The first time Eren whimpers into the hollow of Levi's throat, they're sitting together with their legs cramped and the window shut. It's a hot summer day without anything resembling a redeeming breeze. The low gurgle—halfway between a cry and halfway between a sigh—makes its way out of the back of Eren's mouth. His teeth and lips choke it, force it down, but Levi's shoulders heave and he hears it reverberating throughout his bones.
The stifling heat forces them to sweat heavily, trails of moisture already soaking their backs. There isn't even any comfort in their touches, because there isn't anything resembling an embrace. The moment is too intimate for even an embrace, because Levi thinks that neither he nor Eren can pick out the stitches from their ribs. To even try, he thinks, would be pathetic. It would just break them even further apart. To try means to move, and to move means to admit that they have further obligations, and that, and that means—
He moves his hand and sets it on top of Eren's.
Four hours later they ride different horses on different trails. As Eren's 3dmg straps dig into his flesh, he can hear the thrum of his heartbeat. The sound of his blades swooping down on a lone titan is heavy, but he lands gracefully back on his feet. His hair is drenched in sweat.
His heartbeat is a gurgle, an unsteady thrum that snakes its way into his bones, into his limbs, into his blades.
They go on.
The second time Eren whimpers into Levi's throat, they're drunk into oblivion. The sound of cheering is muffled but loud from the hallway several doors down. It's noisy, and it only serves to turn the dull throbbing in their heads to steady buzzing and then to the grind of machine gun bullets. Eren bumps his head against the wall as Levi drags him away, but he smiles unsteadily.
Neither of them remember much except getting entangled in 3dmg straps halfway, and then collapsing into bed and kissing each other desperately. Neither of them remember the taste of dinner fresh on a warm mouth or the shiver that ripples through their backs when one touches the other.
They only remember waking up, Eren pushing Levi out of bed, and the latter smacking him on the head with only the slightest hint of affection.
But it is there.
The third time Eren whimpers against Levi's throat, he's pinned underneath his commanding officer, wrists numb but bones unbroken. He shudders, shatters, dragging out hiccups until they shake his entire body. Levi's brows crease and he sets his head gently on Eren's chest. His fingers rub soothing circles on Eren's wrists, on Eren's palms, on Eren's arms, and he listens to him whimpering. Levi knows what he should do, but he's not entirely sure what he wants to do.
Eren's words are buried underneath hiccups and jagged exhales and blood pumping steadily through his veins. Levi traces his thumb along the lines where Eren's bruises should be. He tries not to think, because right now no one really needs to think, and right now thinking would only kill both of them.
Though that's not to say that they didn't leave their blood in grassy fields outside of the walls, in empty wells, in burned houses, on stone pavements. Though that's not to say that they aren't dead already, but Eren likes to think that as long as he can hear the roar in his pulse, beating against his temple, then he is alive.
Levi thinks otherwise. Levi thinks that there's nothing but a tiny spark left of him. A tiny spark, but a spark nonetheless. He's never known anything greater.
These are the things they like to think. Though that's not to say that they think it all of the time.
Truth, lies, ignorance—it's all pretty exhausting.
The fourth time Eren whimpers into the hollow of Levi's throat, there is blood in his hair and blood on his teeth. He can taste iron on his tongue. Levi's shoulder is drenched in red, and it steadily pools beneath him. He grits his teeth, and with the slightest movement the sound of crunching bone explodes in their ears.
"Shit. Shit. Shit."
Eren's hands shake. He gets up, wills himself to regenerate fasterfasterfaster (Levi's suffering, you fuck, Levi can feel pain through every nerve underneath the wide expanse of his hardened muscles and sickly skin) but collapses onto his back. It's difficult to get up when all you have are two arms and two stumps and two blades and several kilograms of heavy gear.
The ground shakes. Heavy footfalls echo in their ears. Both of them perk up, but Levi's shoulder grinds against the earth and he lets out a grunt. Eren knows he wants to scream.
Actually, Eren wants to scream too. He screamed when both of them fell. He screamed when he felt flat teeth chomp down onto his legs. He screamed when he sliced his way out of a titan's mouth. Right now his throat is raw and sore, but so is the rest of him, so does that really matter?
In a moment, Eren remembers several things, namely: the way his internal organs are conspiring against him, but he's not dead yet, how hard will Mikasa and Armin shake when they see this?, numerous splatters of gore and corpses strewn like ragdolls, Annie's somber face as her crystal is carted away to a laboratory deep under the earth like a burial, his mother's desparate scream, killalltitanskillalltitansKILLTHEMALL and Levi, oh Levi, Levi, we're going to die.
Levi, we're already dead.
Eren realizes that he has never felt as desparate or helpless as this, because nothing can solve this now. He bites down on his hand in sheer determination, but while his teeth break skin and pain shoots up his nerves he cannot feel himself becoming helpful.
"Eren."
Eren looks behind him and focuses on Levi's eyes, the creases and dark circles underneath them, the dirt in his hair.
"In the end, even monsters can die."
"What? I-Of course they can. We have to—"
At this point they can no longer pretend that the oncoming footsteps are the sounds of their hearts beating furiously against their ribcages. But here are several details that Eren will want everyone to remember: the way he tried to protect Levi and the way Levi tried to get up and fight, the way they both crumpled to the ground, the way they sliced at the titans and did prolong their fate, the way Eren grabbed Levi's cape before the latter was snapped into half, and most of all, how Eren did not whimper.
He roared.
Five years later Eren wakes from a dream and turns himself over, clenches his fists shut and tries to go back to sleep. His throat is dry and the air is warm. His shirt clings to his back. His wrists are bruised and rubbed raw.
He sits up, removes his shirt and throws it across the room. In the darkness he feels for painful bruises, but as usual, finds none. His skin is pure and his muscles are firm. His legs hang off the edge of the bed.
He finds his heartbeat. He feels for his pulse. He is alive, though the darkness could have fooled him otherwise.
"Fuck."