Work Text:
Levi had become accustomed to covering the name that slanted across his wrist by watch and shirtsleeve and sometimes glove; whatever worked best with the weather. As many students as he’d taught thus far in his career, several of them had the name Eren; the absolute last thing he needed was someone getting a stupid fucking idea in their witless brain and making any sort of untoward moves.
Untoward moves were, unfortunately, something that already happened on occasion. No need to increase their number.
Besides, none of said students named Eren shared the handwriting that covered more of his wrist than four letters should; bold and possessive even in the writer’s absence.
Then, of course, the years moved up yet again and Levi was stuck with yet another freshman English class. Which – other than yet more reason to despair over how many teachers passed students who had no fucking clue how to write without autocorrect – never failed to have the newest batch of brats flaunting the names of their soul mates all over the damn place.
It wasn’t that Levi was old fashioned. He just remembered how much shit had gone down over such things when he was in school. These days of social media at everyone’s fingertips? Was seriously fucking scary, alright.
Especially since he could see the angry slash of letters that spelled out his own name trailing down the neck of one of those students. Right in the area Levi tended to mark up most on his lovers with teeth and tongue. In the angry slashes of his own penmanship. In the seat assigned to one Eren Yeager of the large eyes, tanned skin, and messy bedhead; lean limbs already beginning to lengthen and fill out with the promise of strength and beauty.
Shitting fucking Christ. Hange, Erwin, and Mike would never let him live this down.
A goddamn freshman.
Levi needed a drink. As soon as fucking possible.
Goddammit.