Archive of Our Own

(an interlude.)

Winter

849

Snow is new to you.

You blink at the sight of the courtyard, littered in clouds of white, ice smothering the blades of grass into specks that could hardly be seen. The air is crisp. Fresher than it’s been all year. The scent of pine and wet grass hang in the air, flooding your lungs with a peculiar zing. Warm breaths mist around your face in small puffs, and your cheeks sting with the bite of the morning chill. Sunlight glistens against the blanket of white, shimmering like a garden ripe with precious jewels.

Of course, you’d heard about snow before.

You had read about it too.

A certain boy used to gush about it to you, brown eyes shimmering with wonder as he pointed at the old books, reciting the tales without even having to take a second glance at the inked up paragraphs from yellowing pages. 

You think he’d have liked to see this.

You think he would be standing out in the courtyard if he were here, scooping it up in his palms and throwing a handful of it at you with a cheeky grin, the little shit.

You think you miss him.

Winters in the underground were harsh. The cold was all consuming, and it was the most common time for hunger to strike its savage claws, and reap the souls of the unfortunate. Food reserves were low, resources were low, and people stopped coming down from Upstairs, too, so it was always more difficult to secure money, no matter how established you were.

Winter spelled death. 

Winter spelled starvation. 

Winter, in a simpleton's terms, fucking sucked in the undercity. 

It was very often nothing but an utter shitshow. And there was no snow down there to blanket the cold in some faux veil of beauty, either. It was just simple, dreary darkness, and dirty rain leaking in through the drains and the sinkholes from above. The sewers would often get so flooded that the rotten water would start spilling out into the streets, carrying with it aeons worth of disease. The districts that were situated lower down, closer to the abandoned mines, always took the worst of it. You’d heard horror stories of people drowning in the depths of them, frail bodies carried away by the gushing drains and crushed to nothing.

The flooding was always horrible, and was often the worst part of the underground’s winter, besides the famine that would strike the city.

So it's jarring to you, just how beautiful winter looks when it's aboveground. And it makes you feel alarmingly guilty, revelling in the allure of it, knowing you were standing atop caverns of death and starvation just below.

You think it's cruel that there's beauty in just about everything, up here. Even in something as evil as winter. 

Beauty in darkness. Beauty in rain. 

And beauty in snow.

You feel Hange’s arms wrap around your shoulders from behind, and their face is thrust into your peripherals. You’re not exactly startled when it happens, seemingly out of nowhere— they’d started screaming your name as they ran over to you a second ago, vivaciously enough to challenge the volume of a titan’s thunderous footsteps. 

“There you are! I was looking for you all morning!” Hange smiles, leaning all their weight against you as they slump into your back.

You turn awkwardly, and look at them over your shoulder. “Didn’t I just see you an hour ago?” 

You’d literally just had breakfast (tea) together that morning, before you’d left to go take a shower and warm up. You doubt it's even been the full hour yet, actually. 

“Yeah, yeah,” They dismiss, poking your face with mittened fingers. You’re about to complain— but then they pull back, keeping one arm slung around your shoulders. Then they’re pouting at you. “Please come keep me company, Moblit’s gone home for the holidays and I have absolutely nothing to do. Let’s hang!”

You pause. All of Levi Squad had also left for the winter break. It was just you staying back at the base, and Levi. There were a handful of others left in the HQ, but you’d noticed that almost all of them were veterans that practically lived and breathed for the corps. Either that, or they were orphans, with no family to call their own. You find it kind of ironic that you're some weird hybrid of both categories, now.

You sigh. You’d kind of wanted to stay out in the courtyard a little longer— but you just give them a nod instead.

“Alright,” you say. “Anywhere but your lab. It’ll be too cold in there.” 

Hange’s lab didn’t have a fireplace, for obvious reasons, so it got really cold during winter time. You remember walking into the lab a few weeks ago, before everyone had left for the holidays, and found Moblit doing Hange’s paperwork while bundled up in so many layers he was practically nothing but a ball of fluff. 

“Sure!” They grin at you. “Okay, come, come! Let’s go bother Levi and Erwin, then. You guys need to hear about all the things I did with Chiccachironi and Albert— It’s the last time I’ll be able to play with them until the winter’s over and the soldiers are all back. Hopefully they don’t die out in the cold, my poor, poor children.”

You grimace. “You really have to stop calling the titans your children, Hange,” you mutter.  

“Awe, but they are my babies!”

You shoot them a blank look.

“… kind of.”

Both of you make it into the building quickly, eager to get out of the cold, and Hange practically leaps over to Erwin’s door when you both make it up the stairs. 

“Would you look at that,” Hange grins as they swing open the door. A wave of warm air rolls out from the room, and you sigh quietly, your shoulders dropping as the warmth hits you. “We have a full house!”

You walk in after Hange, shutting the door closed behind you. Mike and Nanaba were also there in Erwin’s office with Levi, sprawled out around the room and drinking tea as the fireplace crackled to the side. They were sitting together on the couch next to the tea table, and Levi’s sitting on one of the chairs in front of Erwin’s desk, his arm thrown over the back of it. 

Erwin greets you both first. “Welcome, you two,” He smiles. “We were wondering who would be next after Mike and Nanaba showed up.” 

Levi’s eyes meet yours from across the room for a brief moment. You catch his gaze, and he nods at you in greeting. You return the gesture. 

Hange laughs, stealing your attention again. “Guess you didn’t have to wait too long then,” They reply, walking over and squeezing into the couch between Mike and Nanaba with a happy sigh. There’s only another empty seat next to Levi, in front of Erwin’s desk, so you walk over and take your place there.

Mike leans closer to Hange and sniffs. His brows raise. “You showered.”

Hange grimaces. “You know, it’s really creepy that you can do that, Mike.”

You... had to agree.

Levi rolls his eyes. “Nobody needs to be a bloodhound to tell when you’ve showered, four eyes,” he says dryly, and Hange squawks in protest.

Nanaba snorts a laugh at Levi's comment, and even Erwin chuckles, hiding his smile behind the rim of his tea cup.

“We should go out for drinks tonight, since we’re all here.” Mike suggests, leaning back against the couch again, arms crossed. 

Hange perks up. “Hell yeah!” They whoop. “Let’s go out!”

Erwin hums. “That does sound tempting,” He murmurs. “We haven’t gone out as a group for a while now. And we have a new lieutenant to celebrate, too,” He says, dipping his chin at you.

“It’s already been a year,” you remind him, as if he’d forgotten. 

“All the same,” He smiles, amusement in his eyes. “A full year surviving Levi’s meticulous cleaning standards is an achievement to celebrate, in my opinion.”

Levi clicks his tongue. “Fuck off, Erwin.” He mutters, and Erwin gives an amused chuckle.

“In that case, there’s a new pub in Trost that’s really nice,” Nanaba pitches in, leaning forward. “The one near sixth street. Fairly quiet, too, usually— not sure how it’ll be in the middle of the holidays, though.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard good things about that place,” Hange says. “Think Moblit’s been there before, he said he liked it!”

Erwin smiles. “It’s decided then. An early dinner might be wise to consider. I’ll arrange for a carriage to pick us all up from the east entrance at six. Does that work?”

Nods and hums of assent come from everyone. Everyone, but Levi.

He finishes off the last of his tea, and pulls the cup away from his lips. “I’m not coming,” He says dryly, setting his cup down with a quiet clink. “You guys go.”

Hange whips around and stares at Levi like he just kicked their puppy. “Yes you are, Levi, it’ll be so boring if you’re not there!” 

Levi frowns at them— but Erwin interrupts before he can argue. “You should come, Levi,” He says. “You deserve a break as much as we all do.”

“I can have a break right here,” He says dryly, looking away. “Besides. It’s too cold.”

“Well. None of us are gonna go if you’re not coming,” Hange shrugs. “And you literally never get cold, so do not try and give me that excuse.”

“Yeah. No fun if it’s not all of us.”

“Mhm.”

“Hm.”

And there’s a small pause, where everyone’s just staring at him in wait.

His brow twitches— and Levi sighs harshly. “I fucking hate all of you.” 

Hange snickers. “We love you too, sour plum.”

✼

Evening comes quickly. You get dressed in a warm sweater and slacks, and borrow a winter coat from Hange since you haven’t had the chance to buy one for yourself yet. It’s a dark, thick, woollen material, and comes down to your mid-calf, so it shields you well from the onslaught of freezing weather outside.

You'd taken Erwin’s suggestion and had an early dinner, knowing you’d be able to handle the alcohol better with something there to soak it up. You weren’t a lightweight by any means, but you know it’s better to be safe than sorry. You never liked drinking on an empty stomach, anyway. It made you nauseous too easily. 

The carriage that Erwin had secured for the six of you had been surprisingly spacious. You’d expected it to be a cramped, tight fit, considering the survey corps’ budget— but well, apparently being the Commander of the regiment did come with some perks. Like soft, cushioned seats instead of a plank of shitty wood to sit on, for example. 

There’s a lot more snow on the ground by the time the carriage drops you all off at the mouth of town. 

The snow is wet and brittle under your feet as you step down from the carriage, and not at all how you’d expected it to feel. It’s not at all like walking on a cloud, or soft hay, or even mud, like you thought it would be. The snow is rough. And you realise it’s actually pretty dirty, too, so you refrain from reaching out to touch it.

It’s ice, you realise. It’s just… powdery ice.

And you also quickly come to realise that you really like the sound the snow makes when it crunches under your boots. 

You think you must look weird, staring at your boots, dragging your feet along the ground like it’s your first time ever using them. But you can’t help it. 

Snow was new.

Snow was nice.

You think you liked winter, when it wasn’t all just storm and rain.

Hange calls your name. You look up. They’re waving you over— and you realise you’re still standing at the carriage while the others had already started walking along the path into town.

“Hurry up, you two!” they call out, waving from ahead, while Nanaba waits just beside them.

You blink. You… two?

It’s on cue that you feel a shadow falling over your back, as someone exits the carriage behind you. You look over your shoulder. 

Silver eyes greet you.

Oh. 

“Levi,” you realise, blinking at him.

He’s got one leg out on the foot rail of the carriage, while a hand clutches the lintel just above him. He’s wearing a long trench coat similar to yours, dark and woollen, and a scarf is wrapped loosely around his neck. 

“Done staring at the ground?” He says gruffly, ducking his head to descend from the carriage.

Your face warms, and you look away from him. “Yeah,” You mutter lamely, as he gets down, boots sinking into the snow beside you. Hange and Nanaba have started following Mike and Erwin into town, so you start moving too, and Levi falls into step beside you. 

He’s first to break the silence, to your surprise. “It didn’t snow last year.” 

You're silent for a second. Snow crunches under your boots as you walk. Cool air fills your lungs. The chill of it is a weird contrast to the warmth you feel to your side, every time Levi’s shoulder brushes against yours. “No,” you reply eventually. “It didn’t.”

He hums. You think the low tenor of his voice feels really nice in your ears. “You like it?”

It does surprise you that he asks. You didn’t think he’d care about something so trivial. “Yeah,” you murmur, looking down at the snowy path as you walk. Ice and mud cakes the soles of both your boots and Levi’s beside you, glistening wetly with white sunlight. “But it’s not really what I expected.”

You see him glance at you through your peripherals. “What’d you expect?”

You tilt your head. “I don’t know. I thought it would be softer,” You say. Your eyes trail up to the sky, and you quickly realise why the snow had felt so off to you. “Like clouds.”

He pauses. “Clouds,” he repeats. 

You grimace. “... It sounds stupid when you say it,” you mutter.

“Idiot. It sounded stupid when you said it too,” he returns dryly.

You roll your eyes. You hear Hange’s bubbling laughter echo from ahead, from where they were talking to Nanaba, so you look in front of you again. The town ahead starts to come clearer into view, kissed in a serene blanket of white. Birds trill in the air, swooping through the skies in a spearhead crescent.

“I like it,” you admit, eyes trailing the rooftops of the buildings, shingles slanting with icy snow. “It’s nice.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then you hear a breath leave his lips. “It’s not bad,” he mutters. “Makes everything look cleaner.”

You shoot him a look. “Of course that’s all you care about.” 

“That’s all that matters.”

“Right.”

The rest of the walk goes by quietly, his shoulders occasionally brushing against yours whenever the sidewalk becomes too narrow. You don’t mind the silence. You don’t think he does, either. It’s not an awkward one. You don’t think it ever is, with him.

A few minutes later, Mike and Erwin make a turn, and you make it to the sixth street. You spot the bar just ahead of you. It’s not a bad one at all, honestly. It’s a dimly lit hole-in-the-wall, walls panelled with varnished wood that hasn’t yet yellowed, and floored with stone brick. You can see that it’s surprisingly spacious inside, too. It’s strikingly obvious that it’s a new establishment— and now it's bustling with new people, since it’s in the middle of the holiday season. Nanaba had guessed right, you think.

Levi steps aside to let you enter first, holding the door open when Mike passes it over to him. You murmur a thanks as you pass him. There’s a few bells tied to the top of the doorway, and they tinkle with all the movement. Lantern lights flicker dimly, hanging down from the low ceilings, swaying from decorative bronze-metal chain links. A thick wave of warmth hits you when you step inside, courtesy of the large fireplace crackling in the back end of the pub— And everyone’s already shedding their coats by the time Erwin spots an empty booth in the back that’s large enough to seat all six of you.

You, Hange and Nanaba file into one side of the booth, and the men take the opposite side. The booth is narrow enough that everyone’s knees are knocking together under the table, and Hange’s fully squished between you and Nanaba, but no one really seems to mind the close quarters. You try to shuffle closer to the edge of the booth anyway, to give Hange some space, considering you were at the outer edge— but they only threw their arms around your shoulders and tugged you back in, grinning goofily and telling you it was fine.

You couldn’t find it in you to protest, and instead just let yourself relax into their hold.

There’s some chatter, before Mike flags down one of the waitresses so you can place your orders. You and Nanaba agree to try some warm mulled wine, when the girl suggests it to you from their winter specials. Mike and Erwin order a bottle of Cognac to share, and Levi gets whiskey. Hange cheerfully asks the waitress for a glass of fruit juice. 

The girl blinks at the stark contrast of their order for a moment— but says nothing, quickly jotting down all the orders, before heading back into the bar.

“Fruit juice,” Levi says dryly, from where he was sitting across from you, once the waitress leaves. He’s taken off his coat and his scarf, and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “Are you five years old?”

“Leave me and my fruit juice alone,” Hange snarks from your left. “It’s tasty. And one of us needs to stay sober, anyways.”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t get drunk,” He reminds them. “Get something if you want to, four eyes.”

A blinding grin blooms on their face. “Awe, Levi!” they coo mockingly, wiggling their fingers at him. “Is this you caring? Do you care about me? I knew you were a total softie inside!”

He stares at them blankly. “Rot in a ditch.”

Hange cackles. 

The waitress soon returns with all your drinks, placing down the mugs and bottles and glass of alcohol onto the table, and there’s a bit of chaos until everyone manages to claim their drinks and settles into more chatter. Hange starts off with telling everyone about their developments with their titans, Chicacchironi and Albert, and they’re so enthusiastic about it that it does capture the table’s attention— you even see Levi listening to them, through sips of his whiskey. 

You talk with Nanaba for a while. She asks you what you thought of the winter markets they’d briefly passed by outside, and you tell her they were nice. She makes an offhand comment about how they’re nothing compared to the ones up North where ‘you come from’— and it’s then you realise she doesn’t actually know you’re from the undercity yet. She’d been fed the bullshit cover story that Erwin had come up with, since she wasn’t a section commander. You’re quick to correct her and tell her the truth, since you don’t see any reason to hide it anymore. For a second she just stares at you like you’ve grown a second head, before the story finally clicks.

“Oh, fuck. So that’s why I could never place your accent?”

You pause. “I have an accent?”

She shrugs, smiling. “Well, you can’t really hear it if you’re not looking for it,” she tells you. “To be honest, you being a thug was the last thing on my mind. I really thought you were an aristocrat’s daughter or something with the way you were carrying yourself when we first met.”

Your brows raise. “So you thought I was a snobby bitch,” you say dryly, taking another sip of your wine. The drink slid down your throat warmly.

She snorts. “Yeah, pretty much,” She laughs. “Until Lynne told us about that fuckin’ abnormal you killed like it was nothing! After that, I just thought you were a total badass.”

You give a short hum and say something in return, and she laughs, the corner of her eyes crinkling with mirth behind the rim of her glass. 

It’s nice, you think, just sitting and talking. There’s music echoing through the bar, from where a small crowd has gathered around a band of men playing guitars and humming tunes. The windows looking out into the streets are frosted with ice, and you can see the stark white streets contrast against the warm light coming from inside the bar.

You lean back into your seat, holding your glass of wine in your hand, the warmth of the drink seeping through the glass and warming your palm. The thrum of laughter and conversation echoes in your ears, and makes you feel lightheaded. You’re not drunk, but there’s a pleasant buzz under your skin, and your shoulders feel loose and without tension.

But you’re starting to feel really warm, with the fireplace crackling in the back and the heat of everyone’s bodies smothering the air, so you think it’s time to go and cool off outside before you actually do get too drunk. 

You stand from the table quietly. Hange notices, since they were sitting right next to you, and looks over. “Hey! Where’re you goin’?”

“Just going to get air,” you tell them, setting down the glass onto the table. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“Okay! Be careful, though, there’s a ton of drunk idiots around here,” they pause. “Actually— you need me to come with?”

You blink. “I'll be fine.”

Hange catches the look on your face when you say this— and they nearly choke on their drink. “Hey, okay— don’t kill anyone!” They manage through coughs. “Unless they try first obviously, in which case that’s totally self defence, and I’ll back you right up if you’re taken to court and—”

“I'll be fine, Hange,” you cut them off as they begin to ramble, and they laugh and call out another “stay safe!” as you turn to leave.

You just barely remember to grab your coat before you do, and pull it over your shoulders as you step out of the pub, sliding your arms through the sleeves of it.

Refreshing, chill air washes over you the moment you step outside. You hear the door thud shut behind you, the sound accompanied by the jingling of bells. The bar is facing west, so mellow sunlight falls in your face and in your eyes, and you can see your breath curl into white puffs around your face. Dusk colours the skies in pink and orange. The stars still manage to shine through the sky despite the fact it is still bright outside, shimmering little pinpricks of white against the golden pink expanse. 

You think it looks really nice, outside.

You pull your coat tighter around your frame, tucking your hands deep into the pockets of the trench coat. The collar of it is popped up awkwardly and your hair is trapped uncomfortably around your neck, but you’re not bothered to fix it, because that would mean having to pull your hands back out into the icy air— which you really don’t want to do.

You suck in a lungful of the icy air, letting the chill saturate your veins instead of the stuffy warmth. The cold doesn’t make you feel completely sober— your skin still feels hot and flushed by the buzz of alcohol— but the chill is enough to wipe most of the lethargy clean from your system.

You spot a wooden bench just ahead, beside one of the street posts. So you head over there, snow crunching beneath your boots as you do, and sit down, your back to the pub.

Snow is everywhere. Coating the world in the thick veil of white, covering up the cobblestone streets and piling up around streetlights. There’s men bundled up in thick woollen jackets and scarves, trying to shovel the snow out of their doorsteps, and there’s stalls of steaming food everywhere. Couples are strolling together, hand in hand, as they walk through the evening’s markets, and you see some kids running around, laughing wildly as they run through the snowy streets, hands mittened with woollen gloves.

In the back of your mind, a voice reminds you this is the humanity that you’ve been fighting to protect. 

And it makes you remember the night before the thirty-first expedition. The night before your entire world crumbled from beneath your feet. And you remember what Levi had told you back then, when you’d asked him why he stayed in the corps. Why he’d stayed, knowing full well his freedom would never again remain to be his alone.

“If Erwin’s cause was not such a righteous one, maybe I would have found the strength to stand against it.”

You don’t think his words had ever left your mind, since the day he’d first spoken them to you. Back then, you don’t think you understood the gravity of it.

But you think you get it, now. 

You think you understand.

After fighting in the corps. Fighting for the corps. 

Seeing death after death after death.

You think you get it. 

Because you’re really a soldier now. You know you are. And you think you’ve known for a while, now.

You hear the doors open again behind you, bells jingling and tinkling softly from above it, jolting you out of your thoughts. The sounds of laughter and music increase for a second, before you hear the door shut again. 

You ignore it, thinking it was just people going in and out of the pub.

But footsteps start to sound behind you, and it’s becoming obvious that someone’s approaching your bench, so you turn and look over your shoulder to see who it is.

Your eyes meet with sunlit silver. 

Levi’s standing there, just a few steps away. And he’s looking right at you.

He has his coat on, but not his scarf. You can see the dress shirt he’s wearing underneath, the top few buttons of it messy and undone, exposing his collarbones to the chill wind. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his slacks, making the long end of his coat lift and flare out a little behind him. His cheeks seem to be reddened by the alcohol and air's chill, and his hair is much messier now than it was when they'd first come here.

“Hey,” he says. You see his words mist around his face, fogging around his mouth like steam. 

“Hi,” you reply. He looks away and starts walking toward you again, so you break your gaze, and slide over on the bench to make space for him.

Levi takes his hands out of his pockets, and sits down beside you. And he sits close. Maybe it's because the rest of the bench is still layered with snow. You’re practically sitting thigh to thigh with him. The heat of his leg seeps through the fabric of his trousers, and presses up warmly against your own. The thickness of your coats all that separate your hips and your arms. 

Weirdly enough, you don’t find yourself minding the proximity. He's warm, you think.

Eventually, you break the silence.

“Hange told me something interesting this morning,” you start casually.

He’s silent for a second. “About?”

“What day it is today.”

He doesn't give much away. A stranger wouldn't have noticed, you think. But you're not a stranger to him. You see him pause through your peripherals, for a fraction of a second, and it’s confirmation enough for you.

You lean back fully against the bench, letting yourself be supported by the backrest. 

“I’m surprised that the squad didn’t mention it once before they left,” you say.

You see the warmth of his breath mist around his face, as he dips his chin. “Because they don’t know.” He mutters. “They’d be insisting on doing something if they did.”

You hum. “They probably would,” you agree. “Oluo would never let it go.”

“Never.”

“You should tell them,” you suggest. “Who knows. Maybe you’ll like it.”

“Right,” he says dryly, also leaning back against the bench. His shoulders brush against yours again when he does. “And hell is lukewarm.”

Your lips twitch. “Horrible analogy.”

“That was a perfectly fine analogy.”

“It was so basic.”

“What do I look like to you, a bard?”

“Maybe,” you hum. “Put one of those shitty hats on and say that line again.”

He clicks his tongue. “Fuck off.”

Your lips twitch. You steal a glance at him.

He’s not looking at you, staring out into the streets, but there’s a small curve to the corner of his lips. 

You don’t know why something flutters in your stomach when you catch it.

Maybe it’s just the wine.

You avert your gaze. “Have you never done anything for it?”

He pauses. “Used to,” He says. “Before.”

You pause. Before. “Before,” you test. “You mean... back in the underground.”

He’s quiet for a moment, before giving you a nod. 

You remember him telling you about the two people he came above with, a year or so ago. 

Their names… Isabel and Furlan, you think. 

Your gaze falls to your hands, still tucked into your lap. “Do you…” you feel your throat tighten, but you force yourself to continue. “Do you ever miss it? Being there.”

“No,” he says immediately. His voice is gruff. “Never.”

You’re not surprised at all. It’s not like you ever miss that place, either. You don’t think you’d ever miss it. 

He looks at you. “Do you?”

“Not a bit.”

He nods, and averts his gaze again. There's a small pause, before he speaks again. “I don’t miss that place. But…” He trails off, the low baritone of his voice lingering in your ears. You think his eyes seem really far away, even if he’s just staring at his boots. “I still had a home there.”

Home.  

You think you get it. For you, home was a goofy grin, shaggy hair and mirthful brown eyes. Even if that meant living in ditches, slums and sewers.

You think, for home, you would’ve endured it for lifetimes more.

“I get it,” you murmur. The way he talks about home makes you think it was the same for him, too. Maybe that’s why it feels so easy to talk to him. Maybe that’s why he’s still talking to you, as well. Or maybe it was just the alcohol, turning you into mush. You swallow, curling your fingers into your palm. “But… you have a home here, now, don’t you?”

A home with the corps. With Hange, Erwin. With the squad, Petra, Oluo, Gunther, Eld. And with… 

He turns to look at you. You find yourself meeting his gaze. 

Silver eyes search yours. “You do too,” he says, quietly. His words mist in the air. “You have a home here, too.”

You’re not really sure what to say to that. Your heart, weirdly, suddenly feels so heavy with guilt. You just feel the urge to speak.

Your lips part. “Thank you,” you tell him. Your voice cracks. “For everything. Seriously.”

You don’t really know what the fuck you’re saying. You’re really, really not sure why you just said that. 

But, fuck, there's just something about him today, the way he’s sitting next to you and speaking to you and listening to you, that makes you want to kneel down at his feet and serve your soul to him on a silver platter.

It’s the wine, you remind yourself. It’s just the wine.

You can’t decipher the look that crosses his face. 

He’s looking at you like you’re a different person. Like he doesn’t recognise you anymore. 

Like he’s seeing you, for the first time.

His lips part. “You don’t have anything to thank me for,” he says. “at all.”

Your stomach churns. 

You look away from him, fixing your eyes to your lap. But you can feel his eyes still lingering on you.

“I do, though,” you say, staring down at your hands, your knuckles and fingertips flushed pink by winter. “I have a lot to thank you for. And I…” you swallow the lump in your throat. “I don’t think I ever did.”

You remember how comforting it was, talking to him on that day. How comforting it felt to know that you had someone there, back when you’d never felt more alone in your life.

He’s always been on your side, you think. From the beginning. You don’t think he’s ever done anything to harm you or deceive you. You can’t even remember a single time he’s told you a lie, even when your entire foundation of coming to corps was built on nothing but.

He’s looked out for you, you think. Since the start.

You’d just been too blind to see it.

“Like I said,” he mutters. “You don’t need to thank me. I didn’t do anything special.”

A breath leaves you. “Still. I don’t think I would’ve listened if it were coming from anyone else,” you admit.

You don’t thank him again. You think he appreciates it.

A similar breath leaves his lips. “Maybe not,” he murmurs. “You’re stubborn like that.”

You feel your lips lift, despite it all, as dip your chin. There’s still a heavy weight chained to your chest, but you think it feels a little bit lighter. You think you might be smiling. You’re not so sure.

You turn to look at him. 

And you see that he’s still looking at you, with that impossibly light look in his eyes.

The breeze around you isn’t harsh. It sifts through his hair like the touch of a mother’s hand, ruffling through silky strands in a dark halo around his face. His face is cast in warm pink light by the dusk’s sun, turning silver eyes into molten gold. 

Your throat grows tight. You’re not really sure why it does. You just faintly realise that you’re starting to feel drunk and warm again, all of a sudden. 

His eyes seem to catch on something on your face. 

You blink. “What?” you murmur.

He pauses for a second. Then his hand lifts. “Don’t move,” he murmurs lowly, leaning forward. 

You lock up instantly. You’re not sure if you could’ve even moved if you wanted to. 

Ice cold fingertips graze your cheek. You think it’s the warmest thing you’ve felt all day.

Then he pulls away, staring at something in his palm. “Eyelash,” he says, voice dropping to a low baritone.

The sound of him rumbles in your ribs. You can’t form any words. You just stare at him, like you can’t quite believe he’s real.

You notice that he’s about to drop the eyelash. You reach over to circle your fingers around his wrist. “Wait,” you murmur quietly.

Levi freezes up when you grab him. You don’t think too much of it.

Gently, you lift his hand to your face. You see your eyelash sitting in the well of his palm. You pause, for a moment. Then you lean over, and blow it away. It disappears from his hand like it was never there in the first place.

You look back up at Levi. He’s already looking at you.

Your face warms. “Sorry,” You mutter clumsily, releasing his wrist and forcing yourself to look away. “Wish.”

There’s a moment of pause. Then he curls his fingers into his palm and tucks his hand back into his lap. 

“Didn’t think you’d care about something like that,” he mutters.

He’s not really wrong. You shrug, staring at the snow on the ground. “Habit,” you mutter. “Louis used to… insist on it.” 

Levi’s quiet for a moment. Your words hang in the air, ripe and heavy with foreign emotion.

“It’s tomorrow,” he eventually says. “his anniversary.”

You swallow tightly. Then you nod. “Yeah,” you reply. 

Two full years since he’d died. You can’t believe it’s already been so long. 

He gives a short hum. “Don’t shut yourself in this time,” He murmurs. “Hange will be bothering me all day instead.”

That’s all it really takes from him to diffuse the mood. The tension melts away from your shoulders. 

A breath leaves you. “Now I have to stay inside to spite you,” you say.

He shoots you a look. “Don’t,” He threatens. “Or I’ll assign you all my paperwork for the month.”

Your lips twitch. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

You open your mouth to say something in response— but you’re cut off when something cold chooses then to flutter down from above, and land on your nose. You blink. Your fingers rise to your face to wipe away the biting chill, as your eyes drift up to the sky— and you freeze in surprise.

Wonder glazes your eyes.

Ice is falling from the sky. Raining down from pink and orange clouds, fluttering to the ground with the grace of all of heaven's fallen angels. 

“Snow,” you hear Levi murmur beside you.

Snow, you silently agree, mesmerised. It’s snowing.

Light flakes drift down from above, catching on your hair, your hair, your lashes, your coat. 

A breath leaves your lips, misting around your face in a cloud of white steam. You hold your palm out. Snowflakes flutter down from above, and land on your hand. Ice stings your hand pleasantly. You bring your hand up to your face to try to take a closer look at the ice crystals, but the flakes have already melted to nothing from the heat of your skin.

You curl your fingers into your palm, and turn your head to look at Levi.

He’s already staring at you, his face soft and guileless. 

And all your thoughts evaporate like steam.

Everything around you disappears. It’s just you, him, and the snow fluttering down between you.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so unguarded around you.

You’re not really sure why your heart begins to stutter in your chest, at the realisation. But there’s alcohol thrumming in your veins, there’s snow in your palms and you’re feeling all warm inside, so you really can’t bring yourself to care about why.

He hasn’t stopped looking at you. And honestly, you really can’t bring yourself to look away from him, either.

The sun’s sinking quickly. Bright orange sun is flooding his eyes now, instead of the soft pink from a while ago. The world stares back at you through the golden reflections in his iris.

And it makes you think that even the dirty yellow street lights look nice, when you’re seeing it through his eyes.

It makes you think that anything would look nice, if you’re seeing it through his eyes.

He’s really close to you. Your shoulders and your thighs are still pressed flush against his. 

But you’re not really paying attention to all of that. 

You’re not really paying attention to anything, but the way he’s sitting there, staring at you like you’re the only thing his eyes can see.

You think his eyes just flickered to your lips, for some reason. 

Or maybe it’s you. 

You’re not really sure. But you don’t care.

You just like the way static begins to saturate the space between you two. You just like the way you can feel the heat of his skin, radiating dully against your own. You just like the way there’s small, crystalline snowflakes clinging to his dark brows and the length of his lashes, raining down from above.

You just like the way he’s staring at you like he wants to kiss you to ruin.

Warmth floods your body.

His lashes slant. You’re so sure he’s looking at your lips now. You can feel his warm breaths feathering across your face. You can even smell the whiskey on his breath from so close, and now you really, really want to know how it would taste to drink it from his tongue.

Your own eyes dip. You think you’re moving closer to him. 

Or maybe it’s him. 

You’re not really sure. But you don’t care.

The cool skin of his nose brushes softly against yours. Your lips part in invite. 

The door slams open from behind. 

You both freeze. 

Unfamiliar laughter echoes through the streets, as some random civilians exit the bar, shouting drunk, jovial remarks into the near-empty streets.

A harsh breath spills from Levi, feathering all over your lips, and he jerks back— and you flinch away from him, ice cold air flooding out of your lungs fervent rush. And for a second, you’re just staring at each other, wide eyed and in utter disbelief, as it sinks in what the fuck just nearly happened. What the fuck you nearly wanted to happen.

His lips parted. “That—”

“Never happened,” You finish hoarsely, before he can get anything out, and you see his shoulders drop in relief. You tear your gaze away from him, heart thrumming in your ears.

“Alcohol,” he excuses roughly.

You feel stone cold sober. 

“Alcohol,” you agree, voice strained and throaty.

Silence lingers between you.

Neither of you move. You see him curl his fingers into fists over his thighs.

Your heart is pounding in your ears, and there’s static on your lips.

It feels like you’re both holding the ends of a rope drawn taut. You don’t want to let go. You don’t know if he’s going to let go. But you know you need to stand, before the tension shreds through your palms and wrecks you both.

You both turn to each other at the same time. 

“We—”

“We should—”

You press your lips shut immediately. Your face warms.

He stares at you for a second— before clearing his throat and looking away from you again. “We should… go back inside,” he finishes. “It’ll be dark soon.”

You swallow, nodding. “Yeah,” you say. “I was… yeah.” 

Levi nods too, but you think it’s more to himself, then anything. Then he braces his hands on his knees and pushes himself to stand.

He turns to you.

You look up at him. Snow continues to fall from overhead, catching on his clothes and his lashes like static. His breath curls around his mouth in steamy puffs, and the tops of his cheeks are dusted in pink from the bite of winter weather. 

Your heart stutters. You ignore it.

He extends his arm to you, palm open in wait. “Come on,” He murmurs.

You swallow. Then you reach up, and clasp his forearm with your hand. Cold fingertips curl around the fabric of your coat, and he pulls you up with ease.

A breath leaves your lips, furling out from the corners of your mouth, as he lifts you up. And when you're on your feet, you're just standing there for a second, staring at him, still hanging onto his arm.

He doesn't let go either, staring right back at you.

You think his eyes look really nice, flooded by the bright orange light of the sinking sun. You think you really like the shade his skin glows, pink by winter and orange by dusk. 

And you think you really, really like the way your chest grows so light, when he’s looking at you, and you’re looking at him.

He swallows. Then he drops your arm and turns away, shoving his hands back into the pockets of his coat— and you take your arm back when he does, pushing your hands deep into the pockets of your trench coat the same way he did.

Your chest feels tight. Again. You ignore it.

He starts to walk away. Back toward the pub. And you know you're supposed to follow. 

But you linger behind.

A thought crosses you, as you watch the sight of his retreating figure.

And the words leave your lips before you can find it in you to stop them.

“Levi,” you call.

He hears you. Like he always does.

His footsteps pause in the snow. Slowly, he turns, looking at you over his shoulder, and ice grey eyes lock to you like you’re the only place his vision belongs.

Sunlight paints his face with a warm, pearlescent glow. His breath fogs around his mouth in cool puffs.

There’s snow gathering on his lashes, his hair, the shoulders of his coat.

And it makes you think that the snow looks especially nice, when it’s clinging to him.

“Yeah?” 

It makes you think that the snow is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Happy birthday.”