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Seven years after he let Erwin die, Levi wakes to the sound of raindrops tapping against the window and the sickening realization that he doesn't remember the warmth sleeping next to Erwin brought. Levi doesn't remember the exact feeling that would grow in his chest when arms larger than his own would find their way around his body, or the flavour of comfort that would settle over the atmosphere for the moment. He doesn't recall precise feeling of waking up after more than five hours of sleep, of working his eyelids open to find beauty asleep next to him. He doesn't remember. Not quite.
All he knows is the numbing cold and draining emptiness of nights spent alone.
And fuck, does he wish he knew more.
He remembers freezing nights as a child, surviving underground with no sunlight. He remembers the first time he slept next to Erwin, huddling for warmth on a particularly stormy evening. The times after when he found the security of Erwin's presence, the heat of his body. He remembers Erwin's eyes opening after his own, remembers Erwin's smile, his hair tousled, his voice deep and silvery from sleep. He knows Erwin's fingers on his cheek, palms against his chest, lips pressed to his forehead, the tip of his nose, his mouth.
"Good morning," Erwin would say, and the sounds of him speaking would make Levi shiver somehow. Not from the cold. Not with him. But the liquid silver in Erwin's voice would leak down Levi's spine, warming his entire nervous system, and making his heart beat different.
"Morning," Levi would reply simply, and Erwin would smile, and Levi would smile back sometimes. Erwin's smile was contagious. Not like a disease, spread by dirty rats and assholes with no personal hygene. It was more contagious in the way pollen was, brought from flower to flower by fuzzy bees and their fluttering wings. Levi doesn't remember what kind of flowers, but he knows they were in behind his ribcage.
"How did you sleep?" Erwin would ask, and Levi would scoff. Fondly. Erwin had a way of drawing those particular scoffs out.
"I slept," he would say. Erwin would laugh like sunlight. No, like the first time Levi felt sunlight on his face. Levi would just smile again, and he would remind himself of the feelings and sensations over and over, forcing himself to never forget.
Erwin would kiss him.
Levi would kiss back, and his chest would feel full somehow with each movement of their lips against each other. He would feel complete. What kind of flowers were there near his heart? How did it feel when they grew?
The safety of nights with Erwin, and mornings after the nights with Erwin, never lasted long. They would eventually have to return to the cruel world outside, to being fierce, and blunt, and deadly. But Levi knows nights with Erwin were warm. He fucking knows that. Erwin is still present, still clear in his mind, still. And yet, Levi doesn't remember the feelings any of this should bring. Not exactly. Not in complete detail. The flowers are covered in frost. He can't tell what they are. The bees are dying off. And he hates that it fills him with so much damn dread.
The light of day is dim, dawn only just coming to an end as Levi gets out of bed and manages to get himself outside. He isn't supposed to be moving around too much on his own. He doesn't care. He can handle himself, even if he's half blown to hell.
The rain is feels more solid against his skin, and its wintery temperature numbs his fingers. He stares up at the sky, allowing himself to succumb to the water as raindrops fall, crashing into him. They collide with his clothes like Erwin's hands removing them, collide with his lips like Erwin's kisses, with his eyes like Erwin's gaze. But they bring only emptiness, only unfeeling, and forget. They kill the flowers, dull the details, and Levi can't fucking remember.
He stands in the rain, letting it soak him to his soul. The raindrops slowly become less like kisses and gentle touches, and more like bruises and blood. The scars across his face sting like they’re fresh, before slowly becoming less sharp until they turn to ice against his cheek. He thinks of Erwin. He thinks of sleep next to him. He thinks of mornings, and evenings, and nights. Of solace. Sunlight.
He's forgotten.
Levi's eyes turn to the ground. He watches the puddles collect and ripple at his feet. He's forgotten. He's been in the cold too long, spent too many nights in an empty room, and he's forgotten. All the purposeful memorization, the forceful reminders, and still, the loss of those memories has caught up to Levi. He can't bring them back anymore than he can bring back Erwin. And as much as he’s moved on, as much as he doesn’t regret, he hates himself for letting those memories die, for letting them fall with Erwin into his grave, never to be seen again. He hates himself for not holding on.
But there’s no changing it. Levi won’t ever remember the kind of flower or the exact warmth of Erwin’s sunlight. He’ll remember only Erwin's image, until he becomes nothing but a colourless portrait of what he really was.