Chapter Text
In the end, Levi only has himself to blame.
He’s cleaning. Mostly because it’s one of the days that Eren is at school and won’t be around for his practice, so he can be a little more flexible with the timing. He can commit to degreasing the oven for an hour without worrying about any insistent knocking or eager faces.
Although, as much as Levi is loathe to admit it, he’s grown accustomed to having Eren around, and the days when he’s too busy with his own life to make an appearance in Levi’s are… Strange.
Levi doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t like being so dependent on Eren’s company, either.
He scrubs the oven even harder.
When there is a sudden, insistent, raucous knocking on his door, Levi is chipping the accumulated ice out of his freezer. He really needs to start doing it weekly, rather than bi-weekly, but it’s one of his least favorite cleaning chores and he isn’t keen on doing it more often than he already does. Levi glares at the inside of his freezer and doesn’t stop working. If he ignores it, maybe whoever it is will go away.
They probably aren’t important, anyway. Levi rarely has visitors.
45 seconds later, the same person knocks again. Levi knows it’s the same person, because the knock is just as obnoxious as it was the first time.
Levi’s brow dips over his eyes as he scowls, still ignoring them.
But then they just start knocking in a constant stream, louder and louder and louder until they must just be banging their fists against Levi’s door and what the fuck? Levi is going to call the fucking police if this keeps up. This has to be some form of fucking harassment.
He rips the gloves from his hands, slapping them with far too much force on the counter and shoveling all of his frozen food back into the only-half-de-iced freezer, before stomping and cursing all the way to the door.
“What?” He yells, nearly yanking the door from its hinges with the force of his pull, and the aggravation is slapped from his face when he sees Eren standing there, gripping a flyer so tightly in his outstretched hand that Levi can’t even tell what it is.
“What the fuck, Levi?” Eren rages, shaking the crumpled paper around in Levi’s face. “What the fuck?!”
“Yeah, what the fuck were you doing banging on my door like that?” Levi snarls back, defense mechanisms activating in the wake of Eren’s sudden and inexplicable anger. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“I was!” Eren storms past him into the apartment, just pausing to kick off his shoes and leaving them in a pile by the door. Levi glares at them, and then at Eren, slamming the door behind him and ready to order Eren to store his shoes properly or get the fuck out, when Eren turns on him. “I was, and guess what I saw plastered all over one of the announcement boards?” This time, when Eren thrusts his fist out, he waits long enough for Levi to actually extract whatever it is he’s waving about from his hold.
When he manages to smooth out all the wrinkles, he sees his name in block print over a far too artsy shot of a lone piano in a spotlight, with details of a performance listed underneath. He wrinkles his nose. Is this the sort of advertising he’s getting?
“You’re playing at Carnegie Hall next month?” Eren demands, and Levi glances over the top of the paper at him cooly.
“I’ve been playing at Carnegie Hall for the last two weeks,” Levi responds, voice slow and cautious. He gestures at the paper. “Next month I’m doing a special performance for the students, faculty, and alumni for Columbia University. It just also happens to be at Carnegie Hall.”
Eren looks about two seconds away from punching him in the face.
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
“…that I’m playing at Carnegie Hall?”
Eren growls in frustration. “That you’re famous.” Eren’s anger burns like the wick of a candle sometimes, hot and bright and dangerous until it suddenly goes out. His shoulders slump, and the anger is replaced by something else.
Levi knows what it is, but naming it means he has to own up to it, so he stops himself.
“Like.” Eren drags a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that is far too attractive whiles still making Levi’s fingers itch to brush it back into place. “You’re really famous. Not Brad Pitt famous, I guess, but you’re like. The Brad Pitt of classical piano or something.”
Levi can’t help it—he snorts at the comparison. Which he immediately realizes is the wrong thing to do, seeing as it draws Eren’s big, sad, guilt-inducing eyes back on him.
He sighs.
“You could have googled me,” Levi suggests, and Eren’s face skews up.
“Google you? Really?” The disbelief saturates his voice. “You could have just told me. You know, two months ago, when we met? Instead I had to find out by chance!” Eren turns away and stalks back down the hall towards Levi’s living room, and Levi follows after him, feeling very much like a scolded house pet which makes him frown deeply.
Eren is at the piano when Levi finally forces himself all the way down the hallway, fingers curled over the rim. Levi feels the urge to protest rise in his throat—he just cleaned it that morning, wiping all the finger paints away, and now Eren is messing it all up again.
He says nothing.
“…were you ever planning on telling me?” Eren asks, staring out the balcony doors, voice too quiet. Eren is not a quiet person, and as much as Levi laments his loudness, it feels wrong to hear something that normally takes hold of an entire room diminished to a pinpoint.
“I—” he doesn’t know, if he’s being honest. He always sort of imagined Eren would find out on his own and it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Eren doesn’t care for classical music, after all. Why does it matter to him if he’s been passing four afternoons a week in the Brad Pitt of classical piano’s living room?
When the silence stretches too long, Eren huffs out another sigh.
“What did you think would happen? That I’d take advantage of you?” Eren’s voice is sharp and venomous in a way that Levi has never heard it. It stirs up Levi’s own feelings of antagonism, even though he knows they won’t exactly help this situation. Whatever this situation is. He still doesn’t really see what the big deal is.
“It didn’t seem relevant,” Levi says, dismissively, and Eren’s shoulders tense.
“It didn’t seem relevant,” Eren echoes, and this time his voice echoes, empty and hollow and rooting Levi in place. “You’re right. It’s just your career. Who you are. A part of you. How could that ever be relevant? How could that ever be something that I needed to know?”
“You don’t need to know anything about me,” Levi responds, keeping his voice even, aloof, unconcerned. Eren finally looks at him, and Levi can’t deny what he sees there a second time.
Hurt.
“My life is exactly that—mine. What I choose to tell you is my fucking business, so stop being a child about this.”
Something registers somewhere in Eren. Levi only knows because he’s so open, let’s everything just shine through his skin for the world to see. But even if Levi can tell that Eren has come to some sort of conclusion, there’s no way for him to know exactly what it is.
Their gave holds until Eren drops his head, staring at the floor, bangs shadowing his eyes from few. “So that’s how it is, huh?” His voice is tight, and the second Levi hears it, he knows he fucked up. Somewhere, along the line, he fucked up, and he has no idea where or how to fix it.
Before he has the chance to say anything, Eren is barreling past him and down the hall, stopping just long enough to pick up his shoes but not putting them back on. He escapes out into the hall in just his socks, and Levi watches him go.
A part of him thinks that he should go after Eren, but he reasons that he doesn’t even know what he would say, or do. What good would chasing after him really do?
He just needs time to cool off, and Levi needs time to think.
*
By the fourth afternoon that Eren doesn’t show up to sit in on his practice, Levi starts to think that maybe there’s a little more going on here than he originally thought. He doesn’t stop practicing, and he opens the balcony doors, just as he always used to do—back when Eren was just notes under his door, and disembodied applause. Back when he was an idea more than an actual person.
He plays songs that Eren has requested several times, or the ones he would sing along with. He does it almost unconsciously, and only realizes it when he’s done and there’s no applause.
When there’s no Eren.
On the fourth afternoon, he cleans. If Eren shows up, maybe Levi will play, but otherwise he needs to vacuum the couch and wash the ceiling and figure out why the fuck Eren is still mad at him.
From a logical standpoint, it doesn’t make sense. It’s not like what Levi does for a living changes who he is. He’s still the same person as he was before Eren knew, so what fucking difference does it make? Even if Levi had never told him, the chances of Eren finding out would have been slim. He’s not exactly a person that people recognize on the streets, and Eren probably isn’t going to have any sudden whims to see a classical concert. And it wouldn’t have made a difference.
The biggest change now is that Eren is mad at him, when before, he wasn’t.
Fuck, why had Levi never asked what school Eren attends? If he’d known Eren went to Columbia, he never would have agreed to the performance there, and then Eren never would have found out, and—
Levi stops the vacuum, leaning against it as he stares at the wall.
Maybe he wasn’t telling Eren on purpose.
Maybe he was keeping it from him.
He still doesn’t know why, though.
Levi glances over at where his phone is sitting on the coffee table. He could call Hanji. He is sure they would be absolutely ecstatic to help him sort through… Whatever this is. Levi has never exactly been a pro at recognizing and labeling his own feelings and revelations, but the idea of bringing Hanji in on it in this particular instance is less than enticing.
No. He won’t call them. This is the sort of thing they’d lord over him for years down the line, and he doesn’t want to deal with that shit. Besides, he can figure it out.
His brow pinches together. Probably. He knows the best way to do that would be to put himself in Eren’s position, but he’s never really been good at that. If Levi knew how to be other people, he’d probably do that. As it is, he only knows how to be himself, much to the frustration of everyone around him—most notably those responsible for his musical career. He’s not personal, he lacks any sort of social grace or charisma, and the default expression on his face makes people think he hates them.
Which isn’t necessarily untrue.
So no, that won’t work.
He tries to imagine Eren doing something similar. What if Eren was some sort of famous video game designer? Or something? And Levi hadn’t known. His mouth thins into a line. He can’t see it upsetting him that much, even though it would be odd for Eren not to share it. Eren shares basically everything about himself. Levi’s even tried to dissuade him, assure him that it’s unnecessary to tell Levi every little thing about his day and his life, and Eren just laughs and says, “But that’s what friends do!” and—
Oh.
Oh shit.
And people wonder why Levi doesn’t have friends. He doesn’t exactly know how to go about being one in the first place.
Remorse. That’s what he’s feeling. He fucked up, Eren is mad, and now he has to… Make it up to him? Is that the next step? Levi never really gets that far. Has never given enough of a fuck about another person to ever try and bridge these sort of gaps. Normally, Levi does something that upsets someone else, and that’s basically it. They cut him out of their life and it makes no difference to him, and everybody moves on. End of story.
Levi glances at the empty spot on his couch. Eren’s spot. The thought of never seeing Eren there again makes his chest feel tight, his lungs too small, like there’s not enough air in the room to keep him fully oxygenated.
He’s scooping up his phone before he thinks about it, collapsing onto his piano bench and thumbing through his contacts. He’s never been good at saying sorry.
Levi stares at his phone for a second, and then flips open the lid of his piano, staring down at the familiar sight of the keys he knows so well. They help him feel settled, and he runs his free hand along them, closing his eyes, as if the feel of them alone will calm him down.
The next thing he knows, he’s more or less playing a very simplified version of Darth Vader’s leitmotif from “The Imperial March.” Levi snorts, his dial, and then puts the phone up to his ear, waiting.
“Erwin, I need a favor.”
*
It’s another two days before Levi finds himself on the fourth floor, knocking on every single fucking door because he’s an idiot. In the last week it’s come to light how, even after attempting to get to know Eren, he still knows jack shit about him. Doesn’t know where he goes to school, doesn’t know his phone number or email address, doesn’t know his fucking apartment number. It doesn’t help that he’s not a registered tenant—he can’t exactly go subtly check the mailboxes or intercom listing for a E. Jaeger.
The only saving grace is that he knows Eren lives on the same side of the building as he does, which at least cuts out half of his possibilities.
By the time Eren is the one answering the door, Levi is disgruntled, a scowl settled onto his mouth, and a the tension in his shoulders tenfold what it was when he started. He already has to fucking apologize, which he hates. Add that to over a dozen unwanted social interactions and Levi is about ten seconds away from committing some sort of violent crime.
“Levi?” Eren asks in surprise, gripping the door with one hand. “What are you doing here?” His eyebrows furrow. “How did you know where I lived?”
“I didn’t.” Levi chooses the easiest question to answer, first. “I just kept knocking on doors until you answered.”
Too much honesty. Levi knows it is by the shock that takes over Eren’s expression.
“I—why?”
Levi reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, and pulls out two long slips of paper, holding them out to Eren. He takes them without question, looking at them with interest.
“Tickets?”
“To my concert at Carnegie Hall,” Levi elaborates, even though it says as much on the tickets themselves.
“You mean the ones I can get for, like, fifteen bucks at the student center?” Eren asks with a grin, and Levi huffs an annoyed sigh.
“Not tickets that good.”
And he hopes that Eren gets it. That he sees it as the peace offering and apology as it is. Levi doesn’t think he can actually get it out, make his lips form the words.
Never been good at saying sorry.
“There are two,” Eren states obviously. Levi crosses his arms and lifts an eyebrow.
“Yes?” Levi drawls into a question. “Bring someone with you.”
Eren nods, opens his mouth to say something, and then starts laughing. Not just laughing, but full on cracking up. Bent over and supporting himself on the door and everything. Levi just stops himself from taking a step back, afraid to catch whatever strange virus has just inflicted itself upon Eren.
“Sorry,” Eren gasps, wiping under his eyes, and he’s grinning so large that Levi’s pretty sure the next few beats of his heart are audible.
He doesn’t understand how he could miss something like a smile so much after only a handful of days.
How did he let this happen?
“I might be a dick, but I’m not going to get mad at you for laughing,” Levi says around a scowl, and Eren just keeps smiling and shaking his head.
“No, no, it’s just that—I was about to invite you, because I forgot that you—” Eren makes a miming motion with his hands, that Levi realizes is a bastardized way to indicate playing the piano. “I’m going to see you play,” Eren deduces, as if he’s just realizing the fact, and Levi tchs in the back of his throat.
“Idiot. You see me play all the time.”
“Yeah, but this is… It’s different, you know?” The look Eren gives him begs to be understood, so Levi inclines his head ever so slightly, even if he doesn’t get it. He wishes there was a way to explain how much people would pay to get what Eren does—private performances. They’re one of the only things that Levi outright refuses to do. He’s not good enough with people for those sorts of close quarters. “Oh shit, I’ve never been to a concert like this. What do I wear?” His eyes widen in panic, and Levi can’t help but smile a little bit.
I missed you, you brat.
“Something nice.”
Eren glares at him. Obviously, it says.
With what needed to be done done, Levi turns to go without another word, when he feels Eren’s hand close around his upper arm. The touch is too hot, and while Levi’s normal reaction would be to recoil, the warmth draws him in.
“Hey, Levi—”
He doesn’t glance back, and feels Eren’s fingers tighten before releasing him. He suddenly feels cold all over.
“—thanks.”
Levi nods.
“No need to thank me.” He takes one step, pauses, and then turns his head ever so slightly. Not so much that he can see Eren, but so that Eren’s at least aware that he’s still speaking to him. “If you ever want to see me perform, just… Let me know.”
“I will.”
When did Levi start hearing Eren’s smiles in his voice?
“Oh, and Eren?” He’s still at his door as Levi steps onto the elevator, and they lock eyes one more time. “Don’t be late.”