Work Text:
He knew he should have stayed home tonight.
He rarely ever attended these parties, but Erwin and Hange had insisted he had to at least attend this one. Most of your peers are graduating this summer, finally done with their requirements for their respective postgraduate courses. He knows you are one of those finally leaving the hallowed grounds of your university for good. Not that he was keeping tabs. Not that he decided to come tonight because it could be one of the last times he would have a valid reason to spend time with you.
He skirts past a couple who is all but procreating against Mike and Nanaba’s wall. Although, he supposed, it won’t be Mike and Nanaba’s wall anymore in a few weeks time. The two blondes had met as undergrads and had gotten married last summer, finishing their last year as a happily wed couple. They had plans to move back to Mike’s home state, where they had already secured their more permanent nest.
He hears a familiar laugh at the other end of the hall and he fights the urge to immediately whip his head towards the source of the sound. He would never admit that he could recognize that giddy laughter anywhere, probably be able to pick it out from a crowd of hundreds, thousands. He clicks his tongue as he moves past a few other people who have clearly already had one too many shots that night, telling himself that he’s only going to check if it really is you and if you still had at least some of your wits about you.
He relaxes when he catches sight of your dark hair and sees that you’re with Hange, your arms intertwined as you continue to giggle over something the bespectacled brunette must have said. Hange notices his approach and waves him over, “Levi! Perfect timing.”
He scowls but makes his way over, his expresion darkening when he notices that your wits have definitely left the building already. Your face is flushed, eyes twinkling, and your smile unguarded. You turn to look at him, that dangerously disarming smile still on your face, and he feels a pang as he remembers the last time he had seen you smile at him that way.
“Hey there, stranger,” you crow, untangling yourself from Hange and throwing your arms around Levi, “Where have you been all semester?”
He catches you easily, his own arms automatically finding purchase around your waist, the scent of your flowery shampoo intermingling with the saccharine smell of the cocktails you must have downed earlier flooding his senses. Hange winks at him as you press your cheek into his chest, making a contented sound as you did so. Levi would have glared at Hange if he hadn’t been drowning in, well, just all of you, in your ridiculously drunk, happy, clingy glory.
“Take care of her, will you?” Hange doesn’t bother hiding their smile, “I’m gonna go check on Erwin, make sure he doesn’t leave this university a baby daddy.”
Levi sighs as he watches as they duck into the living room, waving at Levi one last time. In his arms, you’re giggling softly to yourself, babbling stuff that should be nonsense but also somehow makes sense still, because, well, it’s you.
“You always give the best hugs, Levi. Which is weird, cause you’re, like, all muscle. Or maybe it’s because you’re all muscle. You’re so warm. Probably from all the thermogenesis going on in your myocytes.”
You look up at him, those damned eyes of yours with their damned long lashes studying his face, “You’re so pretty too. You have very nice lips, you know?”
He feels a small part of him die as brazen, ridiculously smart, ridiculously drunk you reaches up to brush your delicate fingers against his lips and then his cheekbones, “You’re like a painting, Levi. How have you never had a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend, for that matter? It’s such a waste.”
“You are wasted and I’m taking you home.” He ignores how hot his face feels, ignores how nice your featherlight touches feel against his too warm skin.
Somehow, he maneuvers you on to his back, where you’re quick to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He ignores how soft you feel against him and how hot your breath feels against his neck. He suddenly feels he really is in danger of possibly dying tonight, and Hange will only have themselves to blame, that scheming asshole.
He feels relieved that he is able to carry you out of the house and past the front yard with little trouble and fanfare, spotted only by Mike and Nanaba, who had been taking a breather at their porch. They had grinned at the sight of the two of you, and Levi would have given them a one finger salute had his hands not been otherwise occupied, making sure you didn’t slip off him and fall on your ass.
You’ve thankfully been silent since you had gotten on his back, and he wonders if you’ve already fallen asleep. He figures that's better and safer for the two of you, and he continues the trek down the street to the house you shared with Hange and two others (Historia and Ymir, who were also at the party).
“Levi,” he hears you suddenly murmur into his ear, the sound of you so close and your voice so soft and low sending shivers down his spine. He’s grateful that you’re probably too inebriated to realize the effect you have on him, especially in this close proximity.
“Levi,” you say again, a little louder this time, and he hums in acknowledgement. Your arms that are wrapped around his shoulders tighten a little, your nose brushing against his neck as you burrow your head at the sensitive junction, “You smell so good.”
He doesn’t say anything to that, not trusting himself to speak. Not trusting himself to not say things he’d regret telling you now, when you would likely forget.
“I’ve missed you, you know,” you continue, unbothered by his lack of response, “I know you’ve been avoiding me. I don’t know what I did, Levi. Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”
“Are you apologizing when you don’t even know what you should be sorry for?” He is unable to stop himself from asking you, a cocktail of regret, sadness and frustration settling heavily in his stomach. He grips your thighs a little tighter before sighing, shifting you a bit so you lay more securely against him.
“I am,” you affirm, voice tinged with remorse, “I don’t want you to be mad at me anymore.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
You sigh and he nearly loses his grip on you as your breath tickles his ear. He’s going to die tonight, he’s sure of it. Your left hand grips his right shoulder a little more tightly as you free your right hand to smack him halfheartedly on his chest, “Stop lying, Levi. In a few weeks, we might not be able to see each other again, you know? Why did you have to go and spend the past couple of weeks acting like I had the plague?”
He isn’t a religious guy at all, but he sends a prayer of thanks and a plead for mercy as a postscript (post prayer?) as he makes his way up to your front door. He runs his hand under one of your windows, retrieving your spare key that you keep taped there. He unlocks the door and pauses as he decides whether to dump you on your bed or on the living room couch. He winces when he sees that the couch is already occupied by several engineering books (Hange’s) as well as loose leaves of paper, what look like worksheets. He traces the familiar path to your room, nudging the door open with his foot.
He bends slightly so you can slip off him safely onto your bed. He turns around and is surprised that you manage to remain seated upright, arms now crossed, a pout on your face.
“Levi,” you sigh again, catching his hand before he could even consider walking out on you, “What did I do wrong?”
He studies you, eyes solemn, expression almost pained, and he adjusts your hand so that your fingers now intertwine with his, “You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not mad at you.”
You are unable to hide your surprise and he winces at the hurt that crosses your features, “Then why have you been avoiding me? Don’t lie, Levi. You owe me the truth.”
He hesitates before he leans down to cradle your face with his free hand, “I’m a coward, that’s why.”
“Levi, that’s such a blatant lie. You’re the most fearless person I know.”
He doesn’t miss how you lean into his touch, how your fingers feel right between his, and he closes the distance between you, brushing his lips against your forehead, “You’re drunk and there’s a good chance you’re going to forget about this conversation tomorrow. So can we talk about it then?”
You reach up to brush your fingers against the spot he had kissed, face warming, heart fluttering. You blink up at him and his steel grey eyes that are looking at you so tenderly, they look like molten silver, “Okay. But on one condition.”
He leans in close again, unable to help himself, pressing another kiss into your flowery tresses, “Okay. What condition?”
“Stay with me tonight. No running away.”
Your voice is firm and you punctuate your condition by scooting towards the other side of your bed, as though showing him that there’s enough room for the two of you.
He should say no, but you are looking at him so earnestly and he’s been so deprived of your company that he finds himself nodding, lowering himself on to your mattress, “Okay. Deal. No running away. But no kicking me off the bed tomorrow.”
“I promise,” you smile at him, pleased that he didn’t even bother to put up a fight. Your bed is a single and though you can both fit, it’s a tight squeeze. You don’t mind. Neither does he.
“Tomorrow,” he says, pressing his hands firmly but gently on your shoulders to guide you to lie down. Once you are tucked in, he lies down himself, staying above the covers. He turns to you, watching you with those silvery eyes of his. You smile again at him, slipping the hand closest to him out of under your blanket, reaching for his hand. His fingers automatically entwine with yours and you close your eyes, content, “Tomorrow.”