Work Text:
Levi watches Erwin sitting at his desk, writing dutifully.
Then he feels something.
It is not a jolt, not a sharp pain; it doesn’t feel like the ringing in his ears when the cannons go off. It feels nothing like the kickback of a smoke signal gun, and it certainly doesn’t sound like crunching bones or broken pleas.
Instead, it is like seeing a nod in the place of words, a glance that replaces a scream, a longing stare without explanation. It is the recognition of something that has always been there, the in-betweens that Levi takes for granted; a pause or a blank space or pulses that shake him very, very slightly when he is completely still. It feels like solid ground, like the way it feels when he lands on two feet, or the understanding that the dawn will always break.
Except now, he notices. He realizes.
Erwin stops writing for a few seconds, rereading his report. Levi watches as he pushes the paper onto a pile. Erwin finally looks up at him.
There is warmth in his gaze.
He knows.
Perhaps he always knew.
Levi could walk the five paces there in less than a second; he could walk out of the office in less. But he waits, straight-backed and unyielding.
Erwin observes him. He sees right through him, like a windowpane.
“Come here.”
Levi takes those five paces with controlled eager; he stops in front of him, not knowing what to say. A warm hand closes over his, firm and worn. Levi waits for him to continue, but Erwin simply looks at him inquisitively for the next few moments. Only then does Levi understand—he is also waiting for him. He also leans on him in the way he does on him; they lean against each other in a balance that could crush one or the other. Levi can see the clouded doubts formed in Erwin’s eyes. Levi gives him the smallest of nods, and the doubts quickly dissipate.
Erwin kisses the underside of his wrist; he pulls him forward for a soft kiss on his lips, and—it feels familiar, like he’d already known this sensation, and now it’s just that his pulse quickens, his face feels hot. There is a layer of heat, a particular thirst that makes him ask for more, and a kiss on his neck that makes him melt.
He can’t think—won’t think—of what he would do if he were gone. He simply holds on and knows that he is here, that the ground he stands on still exists, that the night and day still chase each other, and that, if they were allowed to keep anything at all, they could keep this.
Among all the things they wanted to forget, they could have something they wanted to remember.