Work Text:
He has lots of spare time in prison, while waiting for the death. His own. There's a pile of books on the desk, with sheets forming a letter left there, and a pack of cigarettes on the bed.
The clangour of hinges as the dungeon door shuts down, and then the sound of footsteps as the captain walks in.
He recognises them immediately, now being accustomed to them. They're Levi's, the captain. He stays where he is, in the chair. He puts aside the pen and paper so that he can concentrate on the other.
Zeke's eyes often, if not always follow Levi's figure. He looks at him from afar, staying silent and immobile. This is one of those moments, when he gets lost in thoughts while looking at him, this is one of those instants.
He's ready to get everything, love or hate, as long as something is coming from the other. To be loved or to be hated, it doesn't matter. He needs emotions and feelings, even if they're negative ones. He prefers it very much, rather than being avoided or ignored by him. He already knows their fate is most likely the one to kill each other. For Levi to kill Zeke, it's the one with the highest probability, not Zeke to kill Levi. He doesn't even want it, to kill him. Why would he want to kill the only one he's in love with? He doubts he can gather the courage to hurt him. To really hurt him. The idea sends a shiver down his spine, making him feel uncomfortable. He definetely doesn't like it, and it shows from the goosebumps.
He can't hurt him, he's sure about it, just as he can't kill him.
What a fool Zeke is when it comes to Levi and he knows it. He just pretends it's not like this.
He knows he won't have him. Ever. He knows he won't kill him. Ever.
Zeke looks at Levi like it's always the first and last time, staring at him through the bars of the prison. Blue eyes into grey ones. The distance between them is like an abyss. He lets himself drown into it. Into the greyness, into the dullness.
"It's tomorrow. At the dawn," Levi announces to Zeke in such a plain tone and firm face, as if he doesn't care at all about it.
If only Levi could say something, do something, to make Zeke believe otherwise. That it's not an unrequited love. But Levi doesn't say or do anything, and so Zeke knows it. That he's going to die loveless. This is the truth.
He balls his fists, smiling weakly, and he clenches his jaw.
He nods in assent, still waiting for something - anything - that doesn't arrive.