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The backlash from civilians after expeditions is always expected. Levi is so used to it at this point. The curled up lips showing yellowed and blackened teeth, ready to sneer and curse at their wing cloaked backs. He’s always up front, at Erwin’s right, so he has a clear view of him. Not a single twitch, not the slightest slouch from his broad shoulders, nothing on his face but set features and a single determination to get back to their headquarters, deep and tucked away. Out of sight, out of mind for their government no doubt. Erwin doesn’t stop, not when weeping mothers beg him to bring back their dead children, and not when angry mobs throw rocks at him. Most miss but some hit him and cut a line of beading, stark red on his jaw or nose. So he’s used to it, and he’s used to watching Erwin walk through it with a straight back, and a cold look but bright, icy eyes that he knows so well.
But this time it was different, worse than any other time.
It’s right after the battle outside the walls and this time, they don’t just sneer and curse. This time the death count is too big, the cost of the mission too great, and the civilians grieving their dead loved ones are many. This time they leave pig heads at the gates near the training grounds, and this time there’s newspaper articles calling for the devil Erwin Smith to die a gruesome death, fitting for the demon that enjoys sending soldiers to their deaths. They gather at the small clinic he was recovering in and threaten to burn down the building, their torches ready and their shouts angry. They’re loud, and their chants are filled with fury. Murderer, devil, Erwin smith is evil. Levi listens to the sick melody and wonders if he hasn’t woken because of them. If by sheer forceful anger and hatred, they’ve managed to hurt him. More than just a scratch or a scrape this time. If he’s finally showing a twitch. But he’s still. Still as stone. And he hasn’t woken up in weeks. He wonders for a split second, if this is Erwin finally caving under the pressure of the mass of fury. But it’s gone almost as instantly as it came.
He lost a lot of blood, that’s what the doctors say. He’s just getting it back. He’ll be up soon. Soon… so he waits. Doesn’t leave, even as the mob eventually dissipates and the people forget, he sits on the wooden chair the nurse brought in for him that first day, and he waits for him.
When Erwin wakes up his eyes are dull. It’s not right. He knows them, and this colour isn’t right. Even after Erwin is eventually let out of the clinic, and they return to their normal routine, they’re still not right.
So he’s not surprised when he finds him with a glass of that scotch he only pulls down after bad expeditions. After they’re back in their headquarters and all the death certificates are signed and sent to their intended recipients, only then does he find him with that glass of scotch, and a far away look in his eyes.
This time around he’s got a newspaper at his desk. He’s still at his desk, he always is, and the candles are almost out. The light dim, and the shadows barely there. He doesn’t know how long Erwin’s been sitting there, but doesn’t bother with asking him. He won’t know either. So he just pushes the door to the office closed behind him and leans back on it. He stays there, not sure for how long but he looks at Erwin’s clouded eyes and his blood itches under his skin.
Even though he always finds him with a glass of scotch, his eyes are always the same icy blue. And right now they look grey, and it's so wrong .
“Have you seen this? It’s quite the piece, I think this journalist might be promising.” His voice is steady, and smooth. Levi comes further into the room and glances at the newspaper sitting on Erwin’s desk. It’s from a few weeks ago, when he was still under, and when the mob was surrounding him, cornering him as they tried to cage a beast as great as the devil himself with pitched forks and lit torches. He only spares the paper a glance but when he looks back at Erwin, his eyes lock onto dull blue ones, even if Erwin’s smiling with amusement as he looks at him, it doesn't reach his eyes. “They’ve done their research as well,” he’s looking at him still as he recites a line from the article, already memorised, “ Orphaned at a young age, commander Erwin Smith has no family, no connection to humanity. He is uncaring and cannot feel compassion nor understand it. To him, death is an inconvenience.” He finishes.
Erwin seems to be waiting for Levi to say something, maybe quip back with an aggressive comment or a rude dismissal, but he doesn’t. He looks back at him, and Erwin seemingly realises that he's not going to say anything so he turns to look out the large window that sits behind his desk. He’s rolling the now empty glass in his hand, so Levi takes it from him and sets it on the desk, on top of the newspaper.
This time, when Levi is looking at the right side of Erwin’s face, like he always does when they’re back from an expedition, his mouth is taught, his eyebrows are furrowed, and his eyes are ashy. This time, there’s a slouch to his shoulders and a twitch to his eye. And Levi’s chest aches.
He needs him back.
“When I first saw you underground, I thought you were an especially prissy bastard,” Erwin looks back at him with a confused look, but Levi continues before he can say anything, “your hair was too blonde, your uniform was too neat, and your shoes were too shiny. Not even the MP that came down for the brothels and the drugs were that spotless, especially underground where filth clings to the very air.”
“Isabel said that you’d got to be a statue. That you were too perfect to be a human..” It hurts, to this day, to think about his old friends.
“But I watched you sleep in that bed at the clinic for weeks. I watched your hair and nails get longer, I watched your scratchy stubble get worse than I’ve ever seen it get, and I watched that creepy smile on your face when Hange and Connie told us about the titans.” He’s closer now, and finds himself looking down at Erwin sitting in his big chair, at his big desk, and this big job that puts the world's weight on his shoulders.
He stands between Erwin’s legs and traces the small, faded scar on his face from the last time an angry mother threw a well aimed sharp rock at his face.
“You’re not perfect Erwin. Your hair gets longer if you don’t cut it, and your breath stinks if you don’t brush your teeth. And you have scars on your face that don’t go away.”
“You’re ruthless in chasing a selfish hope that your father was right,” Erwin looks pained for a moment but it’s gone instantly.
“But you also fight for these kids' lives and you lock yourself in this stupid, big office for days trying to find the best way to keep them alive with new formations. You spend hours in Mitras kissing nobles’ asses so we can have enough funding to keep food on our tables.”
“The devil doesn’t forget empty cups all around his office, and socks all over his bedroom floor. He doesn’t smile when he sees a litter of kittens in the hay stacks of the horse stables, and he doesn’t go all the way East of Sina to find the scotch his dad used to drink.” He takes Erwin’s face in both his hands and looks deep into his eyes. The ache in his chest is swelling.
“You’re so, painfully, human,” he whispers. Because if he spoke any louder, he’ll have to face that fact more than he already has.
“You bleed, and you get hurt, and you’re missing an arm .” And the ache is in his voice now, even as he tries to keep it down, deep in his stomach where he can pretend it's not there.
“Isabel said you were perfect and that day, out beyond these walls when I looked up at you even with everything that happened, you still looked perfect. I didn’t know if I would stay.”
Erwin’s hand is holding him tightly, his grip on his waist is bruising, even with one hand, and his knuckles white. Levi feels the ache finally spill out of him.
“But I stayed.
And It wasn’t because you were a perfect soldier,
but a good man .”
And his eyes are finally back. The right colour, the right shade, just…right. Even if he couldn’t see them well through the blur of his vision.