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It’s late. They’re the only ones still left in their “hide-out”, as Hange likes to say, them having left a while ago after tossing Levi the key and trusting him with locking up. There were quite a few more people than Levi could handle tonight, so he’s spent the entire night nestled into his designated spot on the armchair and quietly nursing a beer -- or two, or four, but who’s counting -- that he shouldn’t be drinking in the first place. (Hange hadn’t called him out on it, outside of a worried furrow of their brows, thank fuck.)
Erwin has his feet propped up on the table, slouching on the couch opposite Levi, and leans on his arm across the backrest. “You know,” he says lazily, uncharacteristically however many beers deep as well, “we’ve lived together” -- in the same dorm -- “for how long, and yet I don’t know anything about you. And you know so much about me.”
One and a half months, not that Levi’s counting that either. His head lolls to the side, his abandoned drink in his hand sloshing a bit in its container. “You know things about me.”
“Little things,” Erwin presses. “Like your-- cleaning thing. You don’t drink-- or--,” he furrows his brows, eyes falling on Levi’s beer can like he suddenly just realized it’s there, “well-- you consume copious amounts of tea,” he says instead, changing course. “And you smoke a lot. You pick at your nails. Chew on your cheeks when you’re nervous or worried. Little habits like that. But I don’t-- all I’ve gathered is that you have an uncle, and that’s it.”
Levi listens to Erwin’s rambling, watches him wave his hands around and rub at his temples when he’s trying to parse his thoughts together. He doesn’t know whether to be disturbed or embarrassed about Erwin having observed him this closely.
“Oh, and you write. Music. Or-- used to.” He says it like he doesn’t believe Levi when he says he doesn’t do it anymore. “I’m just saying-- you don’t really share much, do you?”
He doesn’t. But it’s not personal. It took years for him to confide in Hange and let them in. He’s just learned not to trust people, was taught that that’s how to get fucked up. Or maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with that and he’s just distrustful in nature. And it’s not -- he knows Erwin’s a good guy. Popular, successful, funny. Caring. Everything Levi’s not, and that’s the problem. And outside of trust and asociality and what ever, it’s just fucking embarrassing.
But, he thinks -- Erwin’s looking at him expectantly, with his blue irises boring holes into Levi’s skull; and Levi’s drunk and tired, and right now he doesn’t mind throwing Erwin a bone.
“Fine,” he declares, puts the beer can down on the table and throws one leg over the other. “You can ask me… five questions.”
“Five?”
“I’m feeling generous.”
“Fine,” Erwin echoes, and pauses for a moment to think. He glances at the can Levi’s set aside. “Why don’t you drink?”
“My uncle’s a recovering alcoholic,” Levi says at once and watches Erwin’s eyes widen, alternating between Levi’s face and the beer. He seems to process this, clears his throat.
“And you’re drinking now?”
“Is that what you want to waste your next question on?”
“No, no, wait.” Erwin takes a breath and leans back in his seat. It’s surprisingly fun, watching the gears turning in his head as he’s thinking of questions, deciding which are more important for him to know. “Okay, where did you grow up?”
Levi exhales quietly; maybe it’s not as fun a game as he thought. He thinks of Izzy’s red hair and Farlan’s gappy teeth. “Foster care.” He doesn't elaborate, and he can’t look at Erwin for this, so he fiddles with his fingers before remembering Erwin’s remark about him picking at his nails. He scowls, not knowing what to do with his hands now. “My uncle took me in eventually. When I was-- thirteen.”
It’s not… uncomfortable, he realises. Maybe it’s the buzz in his head and the way his tongue has loosened, but despite whatever it is that makes him question everyone’s motives, he does trust Erwin with this. They haven’t even known each other that long, but there’s still-- something about the other man that almost makes him want to open up.
“What about your parents?” Erwin’s tone is quiet, gentle.
Levi scoffs then, crosses his arms. “My-- he was a nobody. A-- a random scum. My mom fell ill and passed away. She was--” His jaw clicks shut. He’s not saying that. “We were shit poor,” he says instead, as a way of explanation, and hopes Erwin doesn’t press it.
Erwin doesn’t. There’s a silence between them, Levi again wringing his hands and Erwin thinking. He moves then, and Levi raises his eyes to watch him lean across the table, touch his knee, just lightly; just a brief press of his fingers before he withdraws, but it still burns him through his jeans, makes him want to fidget and brush his hand where Erwin just touched him.
“I’m sorry,” Erwin says softly. “My dad passed away when I was ten.” Levi’s head snaps up from where he’d been staring at his leg. “So I-- I know how that is.”
It’s Levi’s turn to be quiet for a while. “I didn’t know that.”
“No, you couldn’t.” He leans back against the backrest and regards Levi, with that gentle affectionate way he has that Levi’s still not used to, that still makes his stomach flip and cheeks heat up. Erwin hums a bit and then continues, “When did you start writing?”
“Hm.” Levi uncrosses and crosses his legs again. “When did I not? I always…” He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. It feels too hot in the room. “I’ve always done it. Ever since I can remember.” It was his safe place, getting lost in music, pouring his soul out in the one non-destructive way he knew how to do. But he’s not saying that out loud to Erwin, not now.
“Why did you stop?”
It’s an expected follow-up question, but, fuck , it still makes Levi shift in his seat uncomfortably, bleary eyes trying to focus on a stain on the table instead of Erwin’s open face. Why is this suddenly harder to talk about? How is he supposed to explain? How he doesn’t feel like his life has much that matters anymore and it’s stripped him of any creativity, any spark he may have one day had about this. How he doesn’t have, has never had, people in his life who believe in him in this way; aside from Farlan and Izzy, but they’re-- and aside from Hange, but Hange’s that way about everyone , so what would make him special?
Levi’s taking too long to answer because Erwin’s leaning forward again, eyes intense and purposeful. “Will you play something for me again?” he asks, way too quiet to be casual, a flush on his cheeks that Levi’s not sure is because of the alcohol.
He shifts, just slightly, swallows, stares at Erwin’s face for just a second before he can’t take it anymore and flicks his eyes towards the guitar still on the wall. There’s no one here, not Hange, or anyone, he could just-- it could just be for Erwin’s ears. He could go over and pick it up again like he did those weeks ago, when he did something so out of character for him and only because it was Erwin Smith asking. And then if it came to it, he could just laugh it off. They’re both a bit more than tipsy. He could--
But he won’t. He can’t. Instead he coughs out a laugh, or what he hopes sounds like a laugh, brushes his hand down his face and fixes his eyes on the carpet. “I believe that’s six questions.”
Erwin huffs through his nose. Out of the corner of his eye Levi can see him rubbing at his neck. “Yeah, I guess it was.”
There’s a silence and Levi feels like he’s ruined something, like there was something there and he fucked it up. But-- he can’t. It would be too real, too private, too intimate, and he’s not ready to address the weird way his heart’s pounding or the way his hands are sweating against his thighs.
“It’s late,” he says then, forcing his feet to move and standing up, briefly looking in Erwin’s direction as he’s raised his head and has… something in his expression that Levi doesn’t want to go searching for. “We should head back.”
“Yeah.” Erwin nods once, smiling a little, and stands up. “Let’s go then.”