Vertigo

by Mysh_mysh

Chapter 9: A noose around his neck

Notes:

Hi, I'm back. So, what happaned since the last time I posted? A lot. I wasn't in a right mindset to write this story. But I decided to sit down and write it until the end. So... Vertigo is finished, it needs to be edited and I will be posting the chapters until the end without too much a delay. I am sorry I left you hanging. But I am making a comeback with an extra long chapter.

Much love to all of you and thank you for your patience.

“I hold this to be the highest task of a bond between two people: that each should stand guard over the solitude of the other.”

Reiner Maria Rilke 

 

 

They decide to visit the market together for the first time. Levi's run out of flour, and the police haven't been fair the last few times, demanding Isabel and Farlan show up in person to collect their meager share. Levi's been avoiding this, fearing that the MPs might dig into his forged papers. But when Erwin comes by, Farlan pulls him to the side, explaining the situation and asking for help. Erwin’s glad Farlan feels comfortable asking for favors now. It’s easier for Erwin to see what they need. Levi, well, he rarely asks for anything. Not that he’s too prideful. It’s the inability to ask for help. Perhaps, because he fears being weak. Or other things – darker ones from his past that make him hesitate before he asks for a favor because he would certainly have to pay it back.

 

Erwin hasn't been to Levi's place for a while. He's been locked in his office, buried in Wallist texts, and negotiating the Wall Maria reclamation expedition. When he does visit, it's usually at night, unannounced, slipping into the small bed they share. Sometimes, he sleeps with his arms around Levi, inhaling the scent of mint in his growing dark hair.

 

But today, he arrives earlier, sneaking out from headquarters to see Levi before a meeting in the capital. He has a meeting in two days, a big one, that might determine the future of mankind. The nobles will discuss the Survey Corps' role in the impending famine, while the Walls overflow with refugees and starving citizens, growing hungrier and more desperate by the minute. If the vote passes, Erwin doesn't know how he'll convince those nobles to act for humanity's sake rather than their own. There's a high likelihood he'll have to lead the civilians on a death march. If the vote passes, Erwin will surely die leading the Scouts and the desperate civilians beyond the Walls. And Levi... what will happen to him then?

 

Levi greets him with a cup of tea and some porridge that he’s made together with Isabel. Each time he sees him, his hair grows a little longer. Loose waves frame his face. He’s not wearing his usual trousers and a tightly fitted shirt, choosing a looser blouse, one of Isabel’s. When Erwin comments on it, Levi waves his hand, explaining he wears her clothes when going out. Erwin doesn’t ask why but tells Levi he looks beautiful, earning a blush as a reward.

 

“I’ve heard about the flour,” Erwin says. “Farlan told me.”

 

Levi mutters something under his breath and meets Erwin’s eyes. “He shouldn’t bother you with trivial matters like this. I got it under control.”

 

“I know, but perhaps I can speak to the police today.”

 

“It would only connect you with me,” Levi cuts him off. “Don’t you think it’s dangerous for you to associate with someone like me?”

 

Erwin frowns at those words. He has considered if he’s spending too much time in Trost with Levi. But from what he's gathered, nobody knows about their connection, and Erwin is always careful when arriving at the house. He doesn’t dress in his Scout uniform or ride on a horse. Some Trostians in the neighborhood think he’s here visiting distant cousins. At least that’s what he put in the legal paperwork on the house. He’s an orphan with no living family to vouch otherwise, and the Smiths have never been an influential family. His father was a teacher, and his grandfather a metalsmith. There's nothing remarkable about his heritage. Would it be so strange if he were related to Church? Surely people talk, but with the migration and refugee crisis, nobody notices new faces anymore. For now, Erwin doesn’t worry about his late night visitations.

 

“We’re going to be careful,” Erwin reassures him. “I am not going to draw more attention to you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

 

“Okay,” Levi says and takes a step forward, gripping Erwin’s coat. “Let’s go then. The food lines might close soon.”

 

He fixes his blouse that hangs loose on him, revealing a sliver of pale skin. Beautiful, is the only word that blooms in Erwin’s mind, but doesn’t say it again. There are things Erwin wants to tell him. It’s been long since he’s last seen him. Too long. The distance burns even more than the last time, words too polite, too cordial. "Would you come to bed," Erwin wants to ask him. "Could I touch you, Levi? Not like a friend or a benefactor, but something more. Take off this blouse for me, Levi. Slowly, oh so slowly, so only I can see." Thoughts like that haunt him, Levi becoming more and more mysterious during the long stretches between the visits. He wants to rediscover him again, the way he smells and the touch of the delicate skin on his stomach, the way his lashes flutter when he’s embarrassed, or how he buries his head in the nook of Erwin’s neck when he seeks comfort.

 

“What?” Levi asks, noticing Erwin’s lingering eyes.

 

“Ah, nothing,” Erwin reassures him and stretches his lips in a smile. “I guess I have a lot on my mind.”

 

Levi nods and pulls on the blouse before disappearing into the bathroom to prepare for the trip to the market. When he emerges back, he’s wearing a dark cape, his hair pulled back. Everything about his appearance was crafted carefully not to attract attention. And yet, Levi’s face appears even more striking against the concealing attire; those sharp eyes piercing straight into the heart.

 

“Let’s go,” Levi says, gathering his basket and saying his goodbyes to Isabel.

 

Erwin follows him, walking slightly ahead, per Levi’s request, not to attract attention. He would prefer if Levi walked ahead to keep an eye on him. Levi can take care of himself, that much Erwin doesn’t doubt, but the situation in Trost keeps deteriorating by the day. Before, a prosperous town now houses orphans and refugees from Shinganshina. Homeless either sleep on the main square or on the steps of the Church. The Wallists on the streets spread the word of the Goddesses, preaching about the approaching judgment day.

 

The food line stretches around the square for a few blocks, masses of people gathering for their daily portions. People appear thin, skin stretched uncomfortably over hollow cheeks. The towns, day by day, resemble the Underground city. A pang of guilt stabs Erwin right where it hurts most. He has brought Levi Above just for him to witness another famine. Levi doesn’t deserve this. He shouldn’t stand in line for food. Instead, he should have an easy life, where he can sleep in silk sheets and eat only fresh fruit instead of bland government rations. Soon, though, Erwin will make sure people in power don’t make decisions that only benefit them. He’ll distribute the goods among the people. Once the pieces fall, one by one, Erwin will rearrange them so that never again will people go hungry.

 

As they stand in line for the rations, this time side by side, a man in front of them recognizes Erwin, despite his efforts to conceal his identity under a heavy cloak. He points at him, laughing at first, then his face darkening. A woman approaches them too, looking at Erwin with distrustful eyes. 

 

"Look it’s the Commander of the Scouts!” A man shouts. “Erwin Smith, isn’t that right?” 

 

Erwin remains silent, observing Levi's subtle twitch beside him. It's a familiar sight to Erwin, the restless unease that accompanies their presence in public. With each expedition, the blame directed at the Scouts grows heavier, their shoulders bearing the weight of lost territories and tragic events. They've become the convenient scapegoats, the visible symbol of defeat. Shinganshina's fall only amplified this sentiment. While the town crumbled, the Scouts were elsewhere, embroiled in another mission to establish Shadis’ base—an endeavor now shrouded in the haze of distant memory.

 

Humanity's failure presses down on the Scouts like a heavy cloak, the weight of it attributed to their supposed poor leadership and lack of preparedness. Amid the accusations and condemnation, Erwin stands stoic, unfazed by the names hurled at him: demon, pig, devil. He could embody all these epithets and more. After all, he chose this path willingly. No one forced him to bear the title of the most reviled figure within the Walls—a title more damning than that of the complacent nobles or the silent, impotent king. The people's animosity toward the Scouts has grown into a fervent hatred.

 

“Useless Scouts. It'd be better if you died outside the Walls than let us, honest folks starve here!"

 

“Good day, Sir,” Erwin responds with practiced calm. “I promise the Scouts will do everything in their power to liberate the lost territories.”

 

“Liar! Why are you here, stealing our food?” the woman yells.

 

“I’m only monitoring the situation. Certainly not here to take what’s not mine,” Erwin replies evenly. “Now, please, let’s not cause a scene.”

 

With each insult, Levi flinches under his dark cloak, sticking close to Erwin like a shadow. He scans the yelling crowd, occasionally checking in on Erwin. The hatred of the people towards the Scouts is foreign to him. To Erwin, it's just another facet of his role.

 

“Don’t engage,” Erwin whispers to Levi, brushing his hand against Levi’s forearm. Levi’s hands are hidden, likely gripping his knife underneath his cloak. Causing trouble and attracting a crowd is the last thing they need to do.

 

The crowd tightens around them, some resorting to throwing rocks. Erwin hasn't witnessed Trost's dire situation in a while, mostly confining himself to the Scout headquarters and visits to Mitras. Yet, Rose has been plagued by unrest, with people growing thinner by the day and children begging for morsels. How much more suffering could the citizens endure before rebelling against the crown? If the current conditions persist, they might storm Wall Sina within months.

 

“Let’s go,” Erwin tells Levi, “We’ll try another time. I misjudged the situation.”

 

Levi looks up and nods. “I’ll go alone tomorrow. We’ll manage.”

 

Erwin surveys the queue for rations snaking its way around Trost square, observing the ragged figures anxiously awaiting their meager portions of wheat, bread, and milk. While rumors of desperation may have been whispered by fearmongering nobles in Mitras and deceitful Wallists, experiencing the harsh reality firsthand is an entirely different ordeal. If Trost finds itself in such dire straits, one can only imagine the plight of those in the outer cities near the Wall, where the majority of Maria's displaced refugees seek refuge. Should Erwin fail to sway the interior and the crown with his alternative proposal, he faces the grim prospect of leading these desperate souls—among them legless men and starving orphans—to their inevitable demise.

 

“Erwin,” Levi murmurs, gently tugging at Erwin’s cape. “Let’s go back.”

 

Yet, amidst the bustling square, a piercing wail ruptures the air, swiftly followed by the clamor of angry voices. The crowd converges, drawn to the altercation unfolding before them. The plaintive cries of a child echo as MPs administer brutal punishment, the muddy ground bearing witness to the injustice. It becomes evident that the child, driven by hunger, had attempted to pilfer an extra loaf of bread, only to incur the wrath of authority in the form of corporal retribution. Levi recoils at the sight, his countenance darkening with indignation.

 

"We cannot stand by and do nothing," Levi asserts, poised to intervene and rescue the child from the clutches of brutality. "He's just a child!"

 

“Do not act rashly. Drawing attention, especially with the constabulary present, could put you in danger,” Erwin cautions, his grip firm on Levi's shoulder. Yet Levi shakes off his grasp.

 

"Erwin!" Levi implores. “They’ll kill him!”

 

Erwin's grip tightens, grappling with the moral dilemma unfolding before him. A child's cries reverberate, pleading for salvation. With a gunshot shattering the tense air, Levi breaks free. 

 

“Fine, I’ll do it,” Levi says, his voice a blade. 

 

"No," Erwin says coldly, pulling Levi back. “Not you. I'll talk to them."

 

Levi narrows his eyes, anger seeping into his irises but he acquiesces, grinding his teeth and cursing under his breath. 

 

“You wait here,” Erwin tells him. “Levi, whatever happens, Don’t interfere. Understood?” 

 

He never uses his Commander voice with Levi. It stops Levi in his tracks, the shift in Erwin’s demeanor taking him by surprise. His eyes dance on the scene, then shift to Erwin, searching for an explanation, but finally, he lowers his gaze and turns away. 

 

“Fine,” he says angrily. 

 

Erwin pushes back his hood, revealing his face to the crowds, as he strides purposefully towards the gathering throng, with Levi subtly blending into the crowd. Assuming an air of authority, he extends his hand and calls out.

 

"Officer, cease this. What happened here?"

 

The policeman kicks the blond-haired boy and spits contemptuously. "Commander Smith, is that truly you? Here in Trost."

 

“Yes,” Erwin responds, his gaze fixed upon the child. “I've been dispatched from Mitras to oversee the situation at the food distribution lines. But it seems there's unrest. Tell me, what did the child do to earn such treatment?"

 

The officer shrugs, seizing the boy by his collar. “This lad attempted to purloin rations for his grandfather. Another Shinganshina orphan, a dime a dozen. By decree, only those deemed physically capable may procure sustenance for themselves. Double-dipping carries penalties, and resources are scarce."

 

“I understand,” Erwin acknowledges, his eyes lingering on the youth. “I'm acquainted with the directives. However, there's no necessity to subject a hungry child to such treatment. Haven't the Shinganshina refugees suffered enough?”

 

“Commander Smith,” the young MP sighs wearily. “Without order, chaos ensues. A firm hand is required. This serves as a lesson to others and a deterrent against pilfering from the Crown.”

 

“Let him go,” Erwin orders. 

 

Reluctantly, the MP releases his grip on the boy. The child crumples to the ground, his innocent countenance accentuated by his tousled, youthful features. A child robbed of the sanctuary of childhood thrust into the crucible of conflict. Erwin squeezes his eyes shut, suppressing any sentimentality. In the aftermath of Maria's fall, there's scant room for such luxuries. 

 

"Punish the adults, if necessary, but spare the children," Erwin asserts. "Consider it an order from your commanding officer."

 

The MP shifts uncomfortably, surveying the crowd, whose collective gaze brims with anticipation. “If the bread is returned, the thief shall be released. Our duty is solely to allocate rations, ensuring each citizen receives their due.”

 

“But my grandfather!” The boy cries. “Please have mercy, he cannot walk well! He’s old.” 

 

“That’s the law,” The MP emphasizes. From the corner of his eye, Erwin sees Levi crouching by him and checking on the child’s injuries. He whispers something to him, which makes the blond boy’s face soften. 

 

Erwin turns to the boy, trying to ignore Levi so nobody sees the familiarity between them. “It’s the law, you should give it back,” he says, turning to the child. Levi looks up but nods at the child, encouraging him.

 

“Listen to him,” Levi whispers to him. “Do as he says or else you’ll get no food at all. Be clever, brat.” 

 

The boy nods and extends his hand, giving back one loaf of bread. The young MP takes it, his expression pained. The MP himself can't be more than a recruit, no older than seventeen. “If you steal, you think we’ll give you food tomorrow. What about the rest of the week?’

 

Erwin nods, and looks at the situation now under control. “I appreciate your good work. What’s your name, soldier?”

 

“It’s Franz Wolf, sir.”

 

“I’ll tell Commander Dok that you’re doing good work in Trost.”

 

He says nothing else. It would raise too much suspicion for him to inquire about the food rations for Levi’s siblings. He’ll use other means to secure more food for them. If need be, he’ll swindle some of the Scouts’ rations and give them over. 

 

Erwin bids his farewell to the MP and retraces his steps, silently hoping that Levi would discern his unspoken cue and accompany him home discreetly. Departing together would only invite suspicion, potentially linking them in the eyes of the authorities—a risk they cannot afford to take. If Levi's suspicions hold true, this clandestine operation may reach the highest echelons of power, requiring the full compliance of the entire system. The collusion between the MPs and the Crown to conceal the enigma of the Titans within the walls suggests a conspiracy of immense proportions. The Garrison, Nile, and Pyxis—all potentially complicit. Is there truly no one they can trust?

 

Observing the boy disappear into the recesses of an alley, where two more children await him, Erwin's heart weighs heavily. The child, fragile and vulnerable, likely lacks the requisite strength to meet the stringent standards of the Training Corps. What fate awaits such a youth? To resort to thievery, toil in the fields, and, if fortune favors, secure a place within the inner ranks. Alternatively, they may find themselves conscripted into the ceaseless struggle against the Titans. A grand scheme indeed.

 

As the crowd disperses and Levi rejoins him, Erwin notices a palpable shift in Levi's demeanor—more withdrawn than usual, his gaze averted. Erwin has seldom witnessed Levi's ire directed towards him. Uncertainty gnaws at him regarding what awaits their return home. Will Levi erupt in anger? Regardless, Erwin is determined to prevent this incident from souring their bond.

 

“Levi,” Erwin begins tentatively, but Levi silences him with a hiss, signaling for discretion.

 

“We're being trailed,” Levi informs him, casting a wary glance over his shoulder.

 

Erwin pivots to confirm Levi's assertion, spying on a handful of men from the square shadowing their path.

 

"Ignore them," Erwin advises, pulling up his hood. “Keep walking and go home. I'll handle this.”

 

Yet, draw nearer, flanking them on either side, encircling them like vultures. It’s a group of four; three young man and an elder, old enough to be their father. 

 

“Well, if it isn’t the esteemed leader of the Scouts, Commander Smith, lending a hand to that young troublemaker who's been filching food from the MPs for weeks,” one of the men sneers, his tone dripping with disdain.

 

Erwin maintains his composure, lowering his hood as the men confront him. There's no use in concealing his identity any longer. Levi stands close by, guarding Erwin's flank.

 

“That lad spells trouble. He and his band of Shinganshina urchins have been pilfering for weeks,” chimes in another, an older man with a toothless grin. “Rumor has it, there ain't no sick grandfather to speak of! You should've let the MPs handle their own affairs. The Scouts ain't good for nothin' anyway,” he adds, spitting disdainfully.

 

Erwin locks eyes with Levi, noting his edginess —lips trembling, eyes darting nervously from one man to the next. Levi appears paler than usual, a telltale sign of his unease. 

 

"Why are you telling me this?" Erwin interjects, his voice authoritative. “I ensured the boy returned the surplus loaf to the MPs. Justice must prevail. We cannot risk any of you going hungry due to depleted rations.”

 

“You lot, Scouts, are the real problem,” a young man sneers, confronting Erwin. “Strutting around, saving a thief from rightful punishment while the interior sends you extra provisions. And what for? Just lounging about?”

 

The third man, who appears to be the youngest cuts in. “Why bother fighting Titans? Shut down your division and distribute food to those who truly need it!” 

 

As the men draw nearer, one of them inches uncomfortably close to Erwin, his fingers clenching the fabric of Erwin's collar. Unfazed, Erwin holds his ground, but he catches a swift motion from the corner of his eye. A glint of steel flashes, and Levi steps forward, positioning himself protectively and brandishing his blade with practiced precision. Reacting swiftly, Levi incapacitates the attackers—one slashed across the face, the other kicked in the stomach, crumpling to the ground.

 

The assailants freeze, one clutching his bleeding cheek while Levi maintains his stance, his gaze steely and menacing.

 

“Back off,” Levi growls, his voice a low, ominous warning.

 

“Who the hell are you? His bodyguard?” the elder man snarls, gesturing towards Levi, who remains poised above the fallen aggressor, his boot pressing firmly into the man's abdomen.

 

"I said, leave him be," Levi hisses, his boot making firm contact with the first attacker's chin. "Walk away now, or you'll answer to me."

 

He punctuates his threat with another forceful kick to the man's midsection, his grip on the knife unwavering.

 

“Understood, you pig?”

 

"Hey," Erwin interjects, his tone measured, careful not to reveal Levi's identity. "Surely this is all just a misunderstanding, gentlemen?" Erwin attempts to diffuse the tension. Involving the Military Police would only complicate matters further. If they apprehend Levi for assault, even Erwin's influence may not be enough to extricate him.

 

Levi's boot remains planted firmly. "Touch him again, and I’ll hunt you down. Now go. And if you say a peep of this to the police, I’ll kill you."

 

The man steadies himself, while the others stagger off, nursing their injuries, disappearing into the labyrinth of streets. Erwin looks as they run, weary they might call for a backup. But Levi remains steadfast. He retrieves a pristine handkerchief from his pocket, methodically wiping clean the bloodied blade until it gleams. With precision, he tucks the knife back into his belt and resumes walking. Not a word passes his lips, yet Erwin senses the urgency in Levi's movements, the heightened awareness in every step.

 

Upon their return home, Levi sheds his cloak and hangs it up without a word, retreating upstairs to Erwin’s quarters. Above, they hear the water running. He must be taking a shower. In the kitchen, Farlan and Isabel exchange glances, their curiosity evident.

 

“What happened? Why is Lee upset?” Isabel queries, her brow furrowed with concern.

 

Erwin removes his own cloak, briefly closing his eyes as he recalls Levi's pallor and the crimson-stained blade.

 

“There was an altercation,” Erwin explains, approaching Levi's siblings.

 

“What kind of altercation?” Farlan inquires, his hand trembling visibly. “The MPs?”

 

“Trost residents, angered by the presence of a Scout Commander in the line for rations. I shouldn’t have come with Levi today. My presence only caused trouble for the three of you.”

 

Isabel rises from her seat, her health showing signs of improvement since Hange's treatments, though her persistent cough lingers. Erwin wouldn't dare subject Levi to the same experimental procedures until Isabel's recovery was complete. “Did they —” she hesitates, meeting Erwin’s eyes, “ — hurt him?”

 

“No, they did not. In fact, he was the one who hurt them.”

 

“Good,” Isabel asserts, her fists clenched. Yet Farlan places a reassuring hand on his sister's shoulder, coaxing her to sit. “I'm sure those pigs got what they deserved!” 

 

She sounds so much like Levi when she speaks. His sister only in name. Isabel really is like Levi’s daughter. He raised her after all.

 

Farlan gazes towards the staircase with a heavy sigh, massaging his leg. “Damn it. I knew Lee shouldn’t be the only one going outside to get food for us. It’s dangerous out there. But you know Lee, he's so stubborn, always insisting on doing everything himself.” He pauses, turning to Erwin. “Tell me. What happened?”

 

“A group of men recognized me as a Scout Commander. They threatened us. Levi attacked them.”

 

Farlan and Isabel share a glance. “I'll go check on him,” Farlan decides. “I am sure you know this too, but Levi’s had it rough. It's likely just a defensive reaction.” A shadow crosses Farlan's face, betraying the fear beneath his facade.

 

“I'll go to him,” Erwin insists. “I would like to talk to him alone. But please, if you require provisions or assistance, contact Hange or Mike. The streets are far from safe.”

 

Erwin can't shake the concern of those men targeting Levi again. Perhaps they’ll seek revenge. Despite Levi's show of strength, he's sick and weak. It's all a facade. If those men were to attack again, Levi wouldn’t be able to fend them off. Oh, if only Erwin could bring him to headquarters, where he'd be safer. Yet, that would require bringing Isabel and Farlan as well. Isabel’s health may be improving, but she's far from combat-ready. And Farlan, he'll never walk without a cane again. They're not soldiers. Their place is somewhere secure, perhaps in the forest or the mountain villages where Mike's family resides. There, they wouldn't have to hide. But Levi would never entertain the idea of leaving. They're a family, and Erwin has no intention of separating them.

 

Erwin turns to Isabel, noticing her pink cheeks. She looks healthier and might have even gained some weight. Levi must have been taking good care of her.

 

“You look better, Isabel. How do you feel?”

 

“Okay! Lee said you will say no, but can you take us riding again? Lee said that, maybe, when I'm strong enough, I can ride by myself.”

 

“Of course,” Erwin says with a faint smile. “We'll go riding when the Spring comes.” 

 

“Promise?” Isabel asks, eager. 

 

“Iz, don’t pester the Commander. He's got more important things to do than entertain your whims for horseback rides!” Farlan interjects, shooting Erwin an apologetic glance.

 

“But Lee promised—” Isabel persists, undeterred.

 

“Iz, this is your first week out of bed. We'll talk about it later. For now, go on, brew some tea for Lee. His favorite blend, alright?”

 

With a begrudging huff, Isabel rises from her seat, shooting a pointed glare at Farlan, who remains unfazed. As Isabel busies herself with the boiling kettle, Erwin leans in to speak quietly with Farlan.

 

“How's she been?” Erwin inquires softly.

 

Farlan nods, a hint of relief in his smile. “Improving. Levi's been glued to her side, and we think the medication's starting to take effect.”

 

Erwin exhales a sigh of relief. Once again, Hange's ingenuity proves invaluable.

 

“And him,” Erwin continues, his voice barely above a whisper. “How is he holding up?”

 

Farlan's gaze flickers, his expression guarded. “You ought to ask him that yourself, Commander,” he responds. “You've been absent for quite some time. He worries.”

 

Guilt swarms over Erwin, stinging him with poisonous thoughts. Indeed, Levi has every reason to worry. Erwin's been consumed by his dealings with the capital—poring over documents, delving into investigations regarding the Wallists and the titan conspiracy. It's a task he must shoulder alone. Levi, entangled too intimately with Mitras's nobility, is too ensnared in their dealings in the Underground. What would Levi say if he knew Erwin was slated to meet with the Duke in a matter of days—to feign congeniality and plead his case for support? Would Levi recoil in disgust? See Erwin as just another cog in the capital’s machinations?

 

“I'll speak with him,” Erwin resolves, more for his own reassurance than Farlan's benefit. “I care deeply for him. He—”

 

But Farlan interrupts with a knowing smile. “I know. Just make sure he knows that too.”

 

Erwin's gaze drifts towards the staircase where Levi waits for him. 

 

“I'm not departing for Mitras until tomorrow. Do you need anything? Levi tends to overlook informing me when supplies are running low.”

 

Isabel returns to the desk, giving Erwin a platter with Levi’s tea. She looks at Farlan conspiratorially. “Lee is out of soap. The nice one he likes – the one that smells like lemons. He told me not to tell you, but I think it would make him happy if you bring it to him. Also, you know he also never says no to tea.”

 

"Ah," Erwin acknowledges with a nod. "Thank you for informing me. I'll be sure to bring some up for him."

 

With that, Erwin excuses himself and begins ascending the stairs where he last saw Levi disappear, carrying a tray adorned with a steaming mug of tea. The soft glow of candlelight spills from the bedroom, accompanied by the gentle sound of running water flowing from the faucet. Levi must have been in the bathroom for over ten minutes now. Erwin knocks on the door and calls out Levi's name, but receives no response.

 

"Levi, everything alright?" he inquires, gently pushing the door ajar.

 

Inside, Levi is hunched over the sink, completely unclothed, his damp hair cascading in waves nearly to his chin, partially obscuring his features. The stark contrast between his obsidian locks and his scar-crossed, pallid skin is striking, reminiscent of piano keys awaiting the touch of a master. Levi continues scrubbing his hands with fervor, seemingly unaware of Erwin's presence. His labored breaths, akin to the whistle of a kettle, betray the fragility and affliction that he harbors within. Though his shoulders tremble imperceptibly, his form remains as sharp as a blade.

 

"Levi?" Erwin tries again, prompting Levi to finally acknowledge his presence.

 

Erwin approaches cautiously, his hand tentatively settling on Levi's shoulder. Levi flinches as if scalded, prompting Erwin to retract his touch. Levi blinks, his gaze shifting downwards as he realizes his state of undress. Erwin has seen Levi nude on rare occasions, as Levi typically shrouds himself in loose garments. He's ethereal, yet painfully thin. He emits a faint scent of lemons, his skin freshly scrubbed. Erwin longs to kneel before him, to trace every scar and caress every inch of his body with his lips. Touch him, of has Erwin ever wanted something more than to touch Levi at this moment? To take him to the bed and bury his face between his legs, let Levi use his mouth for his pleasure. Watch him lose himself in one blissful moment and moan Erwin’s name. And, Erwin wants nothing more than to tell Levi how much he adores him. Because there’s no other word that could capture his feeling for Levi than absolute, overwhelming ardor. 

 

But Levi recoils, his vulnerability palpable in each smallest gesture and twitch. He appears uncertain, perhaps even apprehensive. And Erwin, despite his fervent desires, will not impose himself upon Levi's boundaries. He may yearn for Levi with every fiber of his being, may envision him in his every waking moment and while he takes himself in his own hand at night, but he will not forsake Levi's agency. He refuses to become another predator in Levi's life.

 

Levi finally shuts off the faucet, his breathing steadying.

 

"It was just..." he mumbles, searching for an excuse. "Cleaning my hands again. Dirty. It's so dirty outside—"

 

Levi looks up, seeking reassurance in Erwin's expression, hoping his explanation suffices. "Yes," Erwin says, his voice gentle. "Of course."

 

Erwin washes his hands as well, noticing that Isabel is right; Levi is running low on soap. It’s barely there anymore. Erwin’ll buy the best soap for him in Mitras. It’s the least he can do

 

Levi puts on a shirt, one of Erwin’s that makes him look like he’s wearing nothing but a tunic. Seeing him in his own clothing makes Erwin’s heart flutter. Levi sits on the corner of the bed and runs his fingers through his wet hair. Erwin slowly sheds his military uniform, exchanging it for civilian clothing, attire he only wears when visiting Levi. Here, in the safety of this small room, he can be human again, just an ordinary man, who can get tired and bad-tempered, and weak. Who has fears, doubts, and self-loathing, but who loves too, deeply, desperately? Only with Levi he doesn’t have to be a Commander. 

 

He settles onto the bed beside Levi, their bodies close yet separated by an intangible tension. They must address what occurred in the city; allowing the tension to fester between them would only deepen the wound. Erwin refuses to let his stubborn silence tarnish the only good things in his life. So he speaks, his words measured and deliberate.

 

"Thank you for standing up for me today," he begins.

 

Levi sniffs, but remains silent.

 

"As a Commander, I frequently bear the brunt of public anger. It happens often, especially after returning from expeditions with grim news and more casualties. People question the purpose of our efforts, wondering if there will ever be tangible results to benefit them."

 

Levi turns towards him, his fists clenched. "So you're just going to accept it?" he retorts. "If they threw stones, you'd probably believe you deserved it. Wouldn't you?"

 

“Levi—” Erwin starts, but cannot refute Levi's assertion. Levi knows him better than he knows himself.

 

"Don't," Levi interrupts. "What else was I supposed to do? Stand by and watch as they beat that kid to death? Allow those pigs to harm you?" A fierce determination gleams in his eyes as he edges closer, a fiery intensity burning within him. "Never. I meant it. If they laid a hand on you, I'd make them pay."

 

Erwin smiles, daring to reach out and touch Levi's hand, drawing him nearer. "Those incidents aren't worth risking your safety. If the Military Police scrutinize your records, I won't be able to protect you." He inhales sharply, cupping Levi's cheeks in his palms. "Levi, I couldn't care less about the crowd's opinions of me. I am not threatened by them. My position as Commander shields me. They wouldn't dare harm me because they know the consequences. After all, I am one of the heads of the military. Everyone in these Walls knows my name. But you—" Erwin hesitates, reluctant to highlight their glaring power disparity.

 

"I know," Levi interjects, his gaze falling. "You think I don’t know that? You’re a Commander, and I’m your whore."

 

“Levi,” Erwin stops him, and takes his hands. “Don’t.” 

 

Levi bites his lip and squeezes his hand back. 

 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, inching closer to Erwin, voice softer. “When I saw those men coming after us. I panicked,” he pauses for a moment and continues. “I shouldn't have drawn attention to myself or to you. I know I shouldn’t have, but — sometimes I get so angry, and I can’t control it." He rests his forehead on Erwin’s chest, his hands clutching Erwin’s shirt. “When I think about them hurting you — I see red.” 

 

Erwin tucks Levi’s overgrown bangs behind his ears and finds Levi’s ears. “I would do the same if anyone tried to hurt you. Even if it’s rash, I wouldn’t care.” Erwin feels Levi’s minty breath, his hands now traveling lower resting on Erwin’s thighs. So close — so impossibly close. “But for now, It’s best to lay low. For both of us. Especially with all the tensions brewing on the streets.”

 

 

Levi's grasp tightens, his lips forming a thin line. “But I can't just sit back and do nothing. I feel so useless. Selfish. Just a kept lover living off someone else's expense,” Levi confesses, locking eyes with Erwin. “Those Military Police thugs beat up that kid over a slice of bread, while they feast three times a day. It's not right.”

 

“No,” Erwin concurs, his agreement tinged with a sense of helplessness.

 

And yet, Erwin's own selfish desires come to the fore. He doesn't want Levi risking his safety on the dangerous streets, falling prey to the MPs, the Wallists, or worse, the Duke's cronies.

 

“You can't save them all, Levi,” Erwin states, his voice strained with emotion.

 

“I know,” Levi seethes. “I know that. The Underground is gone. Everyone I knew, everyone except the three of us—buried in that cave. I think about it all the time, all of them dying, and nobody saying a thing.  No protests, nothing. The people Above seem almost relieved as if they're glad to have fewer mouths to feed.”

 

Erwin exhales heavily. Levi understands hunger in a way Erwin never will. Despite the Scout's modest rations, Erwin has never truly experienced starvation. Yes, they subsist mainly on potatoes and grains, enduring years of underfunding, public scrutiny, and the resistance of conservative royalists opposed to expansion. But as a member of the military, Erwin hasn't endured the same daily struggle for survival that Levi has faced in the depths of the Underground.

 

Erwin endeavors to be candid, to elucidate the situation as best he can.

 

“If the vote passes, all these children will be conscripted for a mission to reclaim the lost territories. It will be one of the largest civilian expeditions ever undertaken, led by the Scouts,” Erwin confesses, his words heavy with the weight of truth. But Levi's fingers find their way to his cheeks, resting gently against his temples. “The Crown's actions, however desperate, are not unfounded. The food shortage is dire, and the threat of mutiny looms large. But I cannot condone sacrificing a quarter of humanity. We, as Scouts, were meant to safeguard humanity, not deliver them into the jaws of the Titans.”

 

“Yes. They knew from the start those territories wouldn’t be reclaimed. But it's simpler to rally the masses under the guise of freedom than to execute them outright. One breeds patriotism, the other — rebellion,” Erwin agrees, his words laced with bitterness.

 

“What's your plan?” Levi asks, his voice calm and reassuring.

 

Erwin opens his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I have to address the Council, use my words to sway them away from this path,” he responds. “I know it's a long shot, but I aim to buy us some time until I can find a more lasting solution.”

 

Levi nods, still avoiding Erwin's gaze. "Alright," he murmurs. “How can I help?”

 

What Erwin truly yearns for is to envelop Levi in a warm embrace, to gently kiss away the furrows between his brows and the shadows beneath his eyes. He wishes he could say, "Worry not, my love. I'm here to protect you, my dearest, my only." But such words do not come easily to Erwin. He has never voiced them to another soul. His mother passed away, his father was killed. He enlisted in the military at twelve. After that, he entertained fleeting feelings for a barmaid, but he abandoned all thoughts of starting a family. He chose the Titans, and with them, the politics of power. He engaged in affairs, traded favors for funding, and even sold his body for influence. It was all transactional. Even when he spoke tender words, they lacked true emotion. Not until now. Not until Levi. 

 

“Just get better. Stay safe,” Erwin says, kissing his forehead. “Please, Levi.” 

 

“Okay,” Levi says. “I’ll bring us some dinner,” Levi breaks the silence. “And tomorrow, you can practice the speech for me.” 

 

Erwin smiles and kisses Levi’s knuckles. “Well, you’re a good audience.” 

 

“I can pretend to be one of those Mitras pigs sitting on the Council. I know their ways,” Levi said lightly, but the words left a sour taste in Erwin’s mouth.

 

“No need,” Erwin said. “Just let me rehearse it a few times so I sound convincing.” 

 

“You’re always convincing. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

 

Levi stands up and leaves for the door, but before he exits the room, a voice tugs inside Erwin, urging to call after him. 

 

“Levi –” he says, meeting Levi’s eyes. “Will you stay with me – tonight?” 

 

Levi’s eyebrows raise slightly, but settle in a neutral expression. “Yes, of course,” he says softly, lingering on the door frame. “You know I would do anything you need, right?” He adds and shuts the door. 

 

---

 

Levi's hair isn't the deep black of a moonless night or the darkness of the Underground's chasms, heavy and suffocating in its depth. It's lighter, yet not quite brown. Erwin sifts through associations, searching for a word to capture its hue, but comes up empty. Initially, in the dim glow of burning candles in Viper’s basement, Erwin envisioned Levi as a man of stark contrasts: black hair against alabaster skin, an angelic face concealing a ferocious spirit, a calculated avenger veiled in controlled demeanor. Viper, in his chair, with his high boots and lethal gaze, was the epitome of perfection.

 

But now, bathed in the first rays of the biting early spring dawn, Erwin discerns the subtle imperfections he overlooked before; the slight gap between Levi's front teeth, a mole behind his ears, and ears slightly too large for his delicate face. His shoulders are narrow, his spine slightly protruding, his ribs knotted as if healed incorrectly. Viper is gone. The facade of alluring dominance was stripped away. Yet what lies beneath is more precious than any illusion Erwin may have harbored before.

 

Tracing the slope of Levi's nose, from its narrow bridge to its pointed tip, Erwin relishes the moments when neither of them needs to don their armor and wage war against the world. They can indulge in fleeting moments of tenderness. And Erwin can hold him close and count his eyelashes while Levi slumbers. 

 

In restless dreams, Levi's fingers cling to Erwin's shirt, unwilling to release their hold. By day, Levi may distance himself physically, but as night falls, his body instinctively seeks closeness, finding solace nestled against Erwin's side. Pushing aside Levi's grown-out hair, Erwin reveals the shadows and hollows in his cheeks. He's still unwell, though he manages to conceal it better now, with improved eating and rest.

 

Sensing Erwin's wakefulness, Levi shifts closer, his porcelain face finding its place against Erwin's chest. His leg entwines with Erwin's thigh, rubbing against him. Skin on skin. As Levi's sleep shirt rides up, revealing a hint of the thigh, Erwin's gaze traces his form, capturing every detail with adoration—the bony feet, the impeccably groomed legs, the long, twisted scar disappearing beneath the loose tunic.

 

It's been ages since Erwin felt this close to Levi. The sensation of Levi's skin against his own sends shivers through him, a reminder of the unfamiliarity lingering between them, like uncharted territories on forbidden maps. In the depths of the Underground, when their arrangement began, boundaries were easier to maintain, offering fleeting moments of respite from Erwin's burdens as Commander. But now, uncertainty clouds their relationship; Erwin questions if he's allowed to touch Levi if Levi tolerates him solely for his family's safety. Would Levi even want to share a bed with someone who once purchased his services, or does the thought evoke painful memories? Does Levi think of him as just another client? 

 

A soft exhale escapes Levi's lips as he nuzzles against Erwin's neck, his warm breath stirring delicate sensations across Erwin's bare skin. The intimacy is intoxicating, their bodies entwined in the dim light of dawn. Despite Erwin's recent lack of morning arousal—fatigue and the weight of his duties suppressing any lingering desire—Levi's presence ignites a spark of raw passion within him. Here he lies, painfully hard, pressing against Levi’s thigh. As Levi shifts, he rubs against him, drawing a grunt from Erwin’s lips. He’s so pent up, so impossibly starved for touch, it wouldn’t take much for him to tip over the edge.

 

Withdrawing his hand from Levi's waist, Erwin attempts to distance himself, but Levi stirs, instinctively drawing him closer in a tight embrace. Erwin needs to break them apart or else, he would certainly spill in the tight gaps between them.

 

"I'll come right back," Erwin whispers in his ear, and plants a kiss on his temple—a luxury reserved for these ambiguous moments between sleep and wakefulness.

 

"No… Stay," Levi murmurs, still asleep. “Don’t go.”

 

"I'm not leaving," Erwin reassures, fingers stroking his hair, long and silky. “I only need to wash.”

 

Levi relaxes his vice-like hold, unwinding his leg from Erwin's thigh. Gently, Erwin disentangles them, rolling to the side, mindful not to stir Levi further. He steps into the washroom, closing the door softly. His forehead meets cool tiles, eyelids shut, fingers inching beneath his belt. Relief is at his fingertips; if he doesn’t chase the itch deep in his belly, he'll ache for Levi's touch the whole day. 

 

In the tunnels in his mind, Erwin returns to the Underground basement, a place that he longs for despite his better judgment. There, on a wooden chair, Viper lounges, swathed in leather, finger curling, inviting Erwin to join him. “Strip,” Viper commands, a voice dripping with sticky sweetness, molasses on his tongue. Erwin kneels, naked, lips pressed against Viper’s boot in surrender. “Please, punish me,” Erwin implores, awaiting the whip’s biting kiss. Oh, he longs for this, to fall on the floor and surrender, putting himself to use of the gorgeous, wildly beautiful man. He wants it all, the cleansing pain and hard-earned pleasure. But he wants other things too. To lie on the floor and let Levi use him for a vehicle of his own pleasure. Look at that big cock of yours, Viper would say, “Would you like to fuck me, bury it deep inside me?” 

 

Erwin’s fingers strike his cock, working his head with quick, frantic movement. He imagines Levi straddling him, riding his cock, trembling in pleasure, telling him how good it makes him feel, how full he is. Oh, and his face melts in pure pleasure because of Erwin. It’s he, who’s brought him to the edge of this shivering, toe-curling ecstasy.

 

But amidst his fantasy, intrusive images infiltrate. Levi, bound and caged. Levi is on the floor, crawling, struggling. The Duke’s mirror mask and meek voice whispered into Levi’s ear, “Suck.” 

 

Eyes snap open, arousal waning, replaced by the haunting image of Levi’s vacant eyes and purple lips, as he resuscitated him to life.

 

Damn it. He can’t finish. Not like this. 

 

“Erwin?” Levi's voice, groggy from slumber, drifts from the bedroom, accompanied by a cough, as if bones obstruct his throat. “You okay there? Got stuck taking a shit?” 

 

“Coming, sweetheart,” Erwin replies, steadying the tremor in voice. 

 

He turns on the water, cold splashes against his face, followed by a quick rinse with a sponge. Levi's muffled cough persists from the bedroom. A dread grip tightens around Erwin's core, a titan's hand clutching his insides. 

 

Exiting the bedroom, he spots Levi, sitting on the bed, gaze fixed on the bathroom door. Levi's lips curl into a faint smile as Erwin steps out. 

 

“Hey,” Levi says. “You okay there?”

 

“Rest a while longer,” Erwin suggests, his hand brushing Levi’s cheek. “It’s still quite early. It would do you good.”

 

“It’s okay. I slept enough.” 

 

Erwin keeps his hand on Levi’s cheeks. 

 

“How’s the speech coming along?” Levi asks again, breaking the silence as if reading Erwin’s mind from his expression. 

 

“I still have to work on it before I leave. No guarantee it's gonna sway the King and his Council into believing anything.” 

 

"Alright," Levi presses his lips, but nods. "I'll bring us some tea."

 

"Ah, thank you. But then, please rest some more. You’re still coughing."

 

Levi shakes his head, tucking his bangs behind his ear. "I don’t wanna sleep while you are here. I want to be here, with you."

 

Levi descends the stairs with a graceful, almost silent tread. Erwin stretches his arms, feeling the familiar kink in his shoulder and the persistent clicking in his joint. At thirty years old, his body already rebels against him, mocking him with cracking joints and stiff hips. Settling at his desk, which Levi has meticulously organized, Erwin pulls out a parchment paper. Though he's already memorized his speech, there are nuances that require revisiting.

 

Tomorrow's performance must surpass any previous endeavor, more compelling than his rallying cries to the Scouts. His audience won't consist of idealistic youths or brave misfits, but rather calculating men concerned solely with their own interests. Every phrase and pause demands meticulous calculation to achieve his desired outcome. Quill in hand, Erwin begins transcribing the speech from memory, verifying his grasp of it.

 

By the time he's filled half the parchment, Levi arrives, clad in a crisp white shirt that billows around his waist, presenting a mug and a bowl of boiled lentils. His hair is neatly braided, cascading just past his shoulders. There's a slight flush to his cheeks, though Erwin can't discern if it's from the early morning light or a touch of rouge. Levi exudes a subtly different scent, sweeter than his usual aroma of lemons—hints of cinnamon and vanilla. Erwin can't recall purchasing such a fragrance for him.

 

"Thank you," Erwin says, acknowledging Levi's arrival. "What would I do without you?"

 

Levi clicks his tongue, unsatisfied with Erwin's response. Instead of retreating to bed or occupying the corner, Levi positions himself behind Erwin's back, both hands on his shoulders. His touch is assured, devoid of hesitation in his fingertips. Erwin's back tenses involuntarily. Levi digs in deeper, forcing Erwin to try to relax, which only results in his trapezius muscles growing stiffer.

 

"You're tense," Levi states, simply, fingers working the knots in Erwin's neck, thumbs tracing small circles. Erwin lets out a hissing sound, reminiscent of a clogged faucet being released. Levi hums and presses further, finding the spots that unwind the tension. “Does this help?” He asks, hazy like opium smoke.

 

Erwin nods, a frail “ah” escaping his lips. It’s a permission for Levi to push further. He leans in, working Erwin’s muscles, gliding his fingers along his neck, humming slightly as Erwin makes a low grunt, encouraging him to relax further. 

 

"Good," Levi remarks, leaning in, and whispering into his ear. He brushes his nose against the lobe of Erwin’s ear and then playfully nips at it. "I was thinking…. I would like to help you relax. To make you feel good"

 

Levi's voice seeps in, a sticky sweetness infiltrating his mind with suggestive fantasies. Erwin swallows a thick lump in his throat. His quill halts, ink smudging his prepared words. He grunts and hastily closes his lips. Levi's hand slips beneath his shirt, making contact with growing confidence. He perches on his thigh and kisses his neck, slowly, his body contorting in a willowy shape. 

 

“Don’t you want me, too?” He says softly, kissing Erwin’s lips, and biting his lower lip. He’s a vision from his dream, devastatingly beautiful and oozing with sex. 

 

Erwin kisses his back, hands seeking his waist. 

 

"I'll do whatever you want," Levi murmurs, breathy, between the moans, "Just say the word, and I'm yours."

 

“Levi…” Erwin breathes and Levi grins, wide like a fox, tipping Erwin's chin with his index. His back arches in a graceful curve, pressing against Erwin's thigh. 

 

"That’s it,” he says, encouraging. “Keep going.” 

 

He spreads his legs and leans over the desk, sprawled like a feast, ready and willing. He starts to unbutton his shirt, one by one, teasing, while he hooks one leg around Erwin’s neck, pulling him closer. 

 

“Fuck me,” Levi begs, the shirt now open, presenting his body for the taking. Erwin touches him, brushing his fingers against his pink nipples. Levi moans that ring eager, almost rehearsed. “Please, I wanted you for so long.” 

 

Erwin swallows, and puts both hands on Levi’s waist, ready to kiss him and taste that flesh between his legs. 

 

“I'll make you feel so good, Commander," Levi says, pulling on Erwin’s wrist and guiding it between his legs.

 

Commander. 

 

This is a performance; Levi offers his body, wearing the mask of a seducer. Levi, his awkward but gentle Levi seems to be gone, transformed into the man Erwin met underground. This is Viper, begging Erwin to fuck him, because this is what he thinks Erwin needs. To drown his worries and unleash his stress on a willing body. To regain sanity between Levi’s legs.

 

"Levi," Erwin exhales, taking a step back." No. We shouldn’t."

 

Not like this.

 

Levi winces, the smile slipping from his lips, but he sits up and locks his legs around Erwin, not letting go. 

 

“Come on. I know that you want me, Commander. Don’t be shy. I’m yours to do whatever you want with me.” 

 

Erwin shuts his eyes, and moves Levi’s leg away, leaving him hanging on the desk, draped in the white shirt and selling of seduction. 

 

“I said no,” Erwin says firmly, using his voice of a Commander. 

 

Levi immediately closes his legs, pulling his shirt to cover himself. His cheeks are blotched with red now, those pink patches that appear when he gets frustrated. He looks down, as he buttons his shirt up, unable to meet Erwin’s gaze. "Oh," he mumbles. "While we were in bed… I thought this is what you wanted." He jumps off the table, and tries to leave the room. “Sorry,” he repeats, his voice nearly cracking. But Erwin stands in his way, and reaches for him, gently, taking his hand in his.

 

"I do," Erwin says. “You’re right, I want you.” 

 

Levi relaxes, but his body appears stiff.

 

"Then why not?" Levi looks up, loving his pale eyes with Erwin’s. Probing. 

 

Erwin opens his mouth to speak, but the words die on his lips. A man with a thousand words, yet rendered speechless. Frozen, he's akin to a stone statue under Levi's searching gaze.

 

"Before you never had a problem when I touched you,” Levi says. “I’ve let you fuck my boot and I jerked you off every time you came Underground. After all the stuff we did, and you’re acting like we’re strangers,” Levi says; then his gaze darkens, and he takes a sharp inhale. “It's because you've seen me like that at the Duke’s palace? Because you’ve finally seen me for what I am? What I had to do to survive?"

 

"No," Erwin firmly denies, though his voice splinters. "Of course not," he adds with a softer tone.

 

Levi's expression quivers, reminiscent of a wounded doe, before retreating into stoic detachment.

 

"You don’t treat me the same way after that," Levi says, without malice, just resignation. "It’s like you’re scared to touch me… like you think I’m filthy or something."

 

“Levi,” Erwin starts and wraps his hand around Levi’s waist, pulling him into an embrace. “Sweetheart. It’s not like that. I’m so sorry if I made you feel like that.”

 

Levi leans in, reaching on tiptoes to touch Erwin’s cheek. "Then why?" Levi persists. 

 

“It’s complicated,” Erwin settles on, and immediately curses himself for it. “I don’t know if that’s what you want… If I am overstepping.”

 

But the explanation feels weak. What he ought to say is that Erwin is terrified of hurting him like the others did. Because he isn’t sure if Levi would want them to sleep together of if he would be doing it out of an obligation. Because he is terrified of losing him. 

 

"Oh…" Levi murmurs, a glimmer in his eyes. "I think I get it. You’re not repulsed by me, but yourself."

 

Erwin doesn't respond, but the arrow strikes true, piercing where the pain cuts deepest. Levi pushes his hand aside, cradling Erwin's cheeks, leaning closer.

 

“You think you’re just another pathetic pig,” Levi hisses. “For wanting me, and what I can offer.” 

 

Erwin wants to deny it vehemently, to give an unyielding no. Yet, his mouth tastes of sour vinegar. He nods, his gaze lowered.

 

"I see," Levi muses, his expression softening as he releases Erwin's cheeks. “Erwin, you’re not my client anymore,” he says softly. “I am not here, with you, because you’re paying me. Is that what you think of me? That I’m just repaying the favor?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Erwin confesses. “Sometimes I worry. I don’t want you to think you owe me anything. I only want this, if you do too. 

 

“You’re an idiot,” Levi says. “I thought you’re supposed to be the smartest man in the whole walls, and then look at you.” 

 

“I know,” Erwin says, freezing. His mind races to the Duke’s palace where he found Levi, and all he could do was stand and watch – and to the Wall Maria that got breached and the Scouts were not even there. To the classroom where he raised his hand and then so smugly told his schoolmates the secret his father bestowed on him. And when the man in black coats came to take his father to the prison, all Erwin could do was watch. Complicit. Always complicit. Since he was a boy the only thing he could do was cause harm. 

 

He looks at his hands, and sees them, painted in red, the lines covered in ink from the death notes he’ll have to write. How many more? 

 

“Erwin?” Levi calls him, his voice snapping him out of his frozen state. 

 

“Yes, sweetheart?” Erwin asks, but the words are difficult to muster, his voice nearly cracking. 

 

Levi wipes away the sweat from his brow and holds his face, cupped between his hands.

 

“Erwin you’re breaking apart.” 

 

"I'm fine."

 

"You're not. Don't lie to me." Levi says, softly, his hands gentle.

 

"I must be."

 

"It doesn't work that way," Levi's eyes hold his gaze. 

 

"I know," Erwin says, standing and reaching out for Levi. “But it’s my duty to be their rock.”

 

“People aren't made of stone, Erwin. You bleed red like the rest of us mortals."

 

He’s the Commander. His duty is to lead and ignite the flames of despondent hearts. He must endure it all. For humanity. For himself. For Levi.

 

“Soon it will be over,” Erwin says. He thinks of the nobles, of the Duke, of the Wallists and the King. Of Titans in the Walls… Yes, all of this will soon come to an end. 

 

“What will?” Levi asks him, concerned. 

 

“All of it,” Erwin says, his mind far away. 

 

Levi shakes his head, distraught. “Don’t say that. Erwin, don’t do something stupid!” 

 

Erwin lets out a dry laugh, but Levi shoots him a warning look. “Erwin – what’s going on?” Levi asks again. 

 

But Erwin swallows it all and changes the subject, moving his hands to Levi’s waits, pulling him in an embrace. “Levi, I want you. So much.” He confesses, pulling him in, tighter. “You’re all I think about."

 

"Then touch me," Levi says, tugging Erwin by his bolo tie into a kiss. 

 

Their lips meet, stiff as winter frost. But Levi’s mouth offers a soft invitation, and Erwin groans, seizing the kiss like a man starved. His body trembles, overwhelmed by the sensation. He doesn't deserve this, to feel human again – not a hero, just a simple man. Tears streak his cheeks, turning the kiss from sweet to salt.

 

Erwin’s knees give out, and he collapses to the floor, clutching Levi like the last light in a darkening world. Levi kneels beside him, whispering reassurance, holding him tight.

 

“I’m here,” Levi whispers, hugging him close. “No matter what. I’m always on your side.”

 

Erwin remains silent, afraid that speaking will shatter him. So he keeps his lips pressed together, staring into the void.

 

Levi's arms around him offer some solace, and Erwin fights to control his breathing. Slowly, Levi guides him back to bed, holding him close.

 

“I’m sorry,” Erwin apologizes, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over him.

 

“It’s okay,” Levi murmurs, brushing away Erwin’s hair from his forehead.

 

Levi wipes the rouge from his cheeks, cursing softly as his fingers stain red. He begins to unbraid his hair, and Erwin reaches out to help.

 

“Let me,” Erwin says, running his fingers through Levi’s hair. Slowly, he unbraids the tight strands, holding Levi close from behind.

 

“I like your hair like this,” Erwin says honestly.

 

“I do too,” Levi replies. Erwin buries his nose in Levi’s dark hair, finding comfort in its citrusy scent.

 

They lie together in bed, side by side, exploring each other's bodies with tentative touches. This is how Erwin always imagined them, just enjoying each other’s closeness.

 

“I don’t think those things,” Erwin repeats, kissing Levi’s lips. “Sweetheart, you have to know, I absolutely adore you. All of you.”

 

Levi’s breath catches, but he smiles softly. “I know,” Levi whispers, curling up beside him.

 

Erwin watches Levi as he drifts back to sleep, exhaustion claiming him. He presses a gentle kiss to Levi's forehead before slipping away to the desk. There, he faces the daunting task before him, gritting his teeth against the pressure.

 

He longs for a drink, a brief reprieve from the overwhelming burden. But there's no time for distractions. Doubts assail him as he struggles to find the words, to challenge the entrenched power that surrounds him.

 

Erwin sets down his pen, his hand trembling. He takes a sip of his now-cold tea, swallowing hard. His grip tightens on the pen, the ink bleeding onto the parchment beneath his shaky hand. Make it stop, he pleads silently. Make it all stop.

 

He thinks of the Viper, of the first time they met in that basement. He closes his eyes, pushing the memories away. No. That won’t happen again. Viper is gone, and Erwin is no longer his client.

 

Yet, the taste of whiskey lingers on his tongue, a reminder of their tangled past. Addicted. Yearning for more.

 

---

 

The protesters congregate at the Sina gates, a hungry mass hurling insults at the impervious walls. Some cry out about the Maria refugees pilfering the citizens of Rose’s food provisions. Others beseech the King's assistance to ease their gnawing hunger. The military police loom by the entrance, their dull eyes unyielding. Their mandate is stark: no intruders from other provinces within Sina's precincts.

 

The police stop the coach in which Erwin rides and request the permission slip to enter the gates. The coachman presents the military seal and Erwin’s missive of invitation to the capital. Without this credential, passage would be forbidden.

 

As the gates part, Erwin's gaze remains steadfast upon the colossal Walls, their height stretching fifty meters from base to top, casting a shadow that swallows the road. Under the Wall’s watchful eye, Erwin envisions the slumbering titans within the stone fortress, their immense forms as towering as the creature that breached Maria. If a single titan wields such devastation, how much could an army of titans do? Such power could squash the world. And someone, within the Sina walls, knows about the conspiracy on which their world was built.

 

The carriage keeps moving forward, drawing closer to the palace steps. Erwin's hands clench into fists as he steps onto the gleaming marble of Mitras' streets, a city that stands untarnished even amidst the chaos of war. He disembarks and ascends the grand staircase into the palace, where the Royal Council awaits his arrival. Two guards greet him at the palace gates, guiding him through the corridors to the Courtroom. Trumpet fanfare accompanies his entrance before King Fritz, who sits on his throne with vacant eyes. Around the King, a dozen Council members encircle him—members of aristocratic families and bishops from the Church of the Walls.

 

The first figure to catch Erwin's eye is the Duke of Orvud, perched in a chair draped with a velvet robe embroidered in gold. He watches Erwin closely with a sly glint in his dark eyes and a curl to his thin lips. Next to the Duke sits Albertine, someone Erwin hasn't encountered since the masked ball, when he hastily severed ties in a moment of panic. Despite receiving a slew of letters from the Albertine couple since then, Erwin has yet to reply formally, indicating his disinterest in maintaining their friendship. Among the Council members, there are a few familiar faces. Countess Strauss, an old noble widow, catches his attention. She was among the first who spent a night with Erwin in exchange for the Scout funding. He has given his body to many individuals he holds disdain for. And for what? To lead the Scouts to death – to seek the truth outside the Walls when the answers have always been laid here — in the storm's center. 

 

Levi's words echo with unsettling truth—Erwin's own actions disgust him. He’s absolutely right about it. 

 

Without making eye contact with anyone on the Council, Erwin bows to the King, then shifts his gaze to Darius Zachley and General Pyxis. Alongside them sits Nile Dok, a newly appointed Commander of the military police. He looks at Erwin with the same flustered jealousy he did when they were cadets. There’s an empty chair next to General Pyxis, where Erwin finds his place. Now with all the members in attendance, Zachley clears his throat and fixes his eyeglasses. 

 

"King Fritz, esteemed members of the Council, and fellow Commanders," Darius Zachley's voice resonates through the chamber. "We've convened today to decide humanity’s fate. What we've dreaded is now a reality. The fall of Maria and the dwindling winter supplies have brought us to a harsh crossroads."

 

His words are punctuated by a pompous gravity. "In these trying hours, a stark choice confronts us. Our citizens bear the brunt of hunger. The murmur of unrest has erupted into tangible protests. Sooner or later the masses will be knocking at the gates of the Royal Palace."

 

Zachley looks at every member of the Council. "In response to this crisis," he intones, "the Royal Council has proposed a drastic measure—a civilian-led expedition to reclaim our lost lands. It is a gamble, born of our dire circumstances."

 

A brief pause hangs in the air, heavy with contemplation, as the weight of his words sinks in. "Today, within this very room, the fate of the Walls teeters on the brink. The fulcrum of this moment rests in the hands of the voting members of the Council and the Military Commanders, who will act as a single, unified voting body. Let us commence."

 

With a resolute nod to the Council, Zachley rests his hands on the table. Blum, the Council's appointed speaker and a face Erwin recalls from a Duke's gala, rises first. In Erwin's mind's eye, he still sees Blum, naked and masked, extending him an invitation to indulge in forbidden pleasures. Blum has been one of the most vocal proponents for the civilian mission, using Church pastors to sow panic among the villagers in Rose. 

 

"The Council has deliberated prior to the arrival of the military representatives from our three branches," Blum begins, his voice echoing through the grand chamber. "Due to the dwindling food supplies, we see no alternative but to reclaim our stolen territories with as many people as we can gather. If we enlist all the refugees from Maria and anyone capable of wielding a weapon, the expedition, of such scale, is bound to succeed."

 

Blum's gaze sweeps across the room, seeking acknowledgment. "The Council's proposal is for the Scout Regiment to lead the expedition, with support from the troops of the northern provinces of the Garrison and the Training Corps cadets. The Military Police will remain behind to guard the gates and maintain order. It is time for a formal vote."

 

Erwin's eyes lock onto the old man's splotchy face. As expected, they have all made up their minds to send the Scouts on a mission that promises mass slaughter. He feels a simmering rage bubbling within him, the naivety of thinking that a mere speech could sway their resolute opinions. 

 

Erwin rises from his seat and dons his formal coat. He strides toward the center of the room, taking his place before their mute King. 

 

“A permission to speak, Your Majesty,” Erwin says with a deep bow. 

 

But the King remains quiet, his gaze almost foggy. As if he’s not even there. A puppet of the military, a King only in name. Then who is really in power here? Erwin looks around the room. There must be someone who’s wielding their power instead. Is it an individual or a group of them? The room's attention shifts from the King to Zachley, who adjusts his glasses and grants Erwin a curt nod.

 

"I had spent days preparing my words, contemplating how they might sway your decision, how they might halt this expedition," Erwin declares, his voice resonating through the chamber. "But nothing I have to say today is a mystery. We all know the truth: hunger and desperation haunt our people. Immediate action is imperative. Yet, must mass extermination be our sole remedy? Are these utilitarian solutions the pinnacle of humanity's capabilities?"

 

He halts briefly, the echo of his words reverberating, and then delivers a resolute salute, striking his fist to his heart. "I refuse to believe that. I reject the implications it sends to our titan enemies, making us complicit in genocide, the cruel slaughter of our own kin. Aren’t we supposed to protect our people? Aren’t we, the people in this room, sworn to uphold the Charter of Humanity?"

 

The grand hall falls into an eerie hush, Erwin's gaze piercing, connecting with each Council member. 

 

"Genocide! How cruel, Erwin! How utterly absurd!" interjects Countess Strauss, who gazes at her gloved hands in dismay. "None among us are advocating for genocide! We aren’t barbarians! We merely seek to mobilize our able-bodied citizens to combat the titan menace and reclaim our lands. It’s the just thing to do!"

 

"Very well," Erwin concedes. "That is indeed something the Scouts strive for. However, consider this: my men have spent a full month outside the Walls, searching for survivors and scouting the path to the lost Wall Maria. The roads are impassable, our horse reserves are inadequate, and our people lack the requisite training. My soldiers, quite frankly, are drained. Many have perished, and we need time to replenish our forces."

 

"Time," Blum interjects tersely. "We lack the luxury of time, given the gathering mob outside of Sina, we need to act immediately."

 

Erwin persists, his eyes locking onto the Duke. The nobleman sits there, intently listening, leaning in with a nod, granting Erwin an unspoken permission to continue.

 

"In my opinion," Erwin continues, "if we strategically organize a recovery phase and enlist a workforce to cultivate the land—planting wheat and vegetables—drawing from orphaned children and the able-bodied, we can ensure that everyone secures temporary housing and employment by summer's arrival. There are available lands to the North and expansive forests in the Western Rose. By engaging people in productive work, we can yield food by summer's end. And by providing shelter and sustenance through the Crown, we can reignite hope in the hearts of our people."

 

In the corner, a man clears his throat—Archbishop Alois. Erwin has seldom witnessed the old man speak during Council sessions, but he's there to represent the Wallist and religious perspective. Erwin narrows his eyes, his focus sharpened. Given Levi's recent revelations regarding the Wallists and the Titans, the man's presence on the Council takes on a new significance.

 

"What if another Titan adversary attacks our Walls, starting with Rose and then Sina?" Archbishop Alois queries. "Isn't safeguarding our Walls humanity's most sacred duty? Our goddesses have entrusted them to us. They serve as our only defense against the soulless titan fiends. If soldiers from the Garrison and the Scouts are redirected to work the land, neglecting their duty to protect the people from the titan threat, we will be in grave danger. Judgment day will be upon us."

 

Erwin nods, looking at Pyxis and Nile for support, but both of them don’t offer it. His plan works only if all three branches of the military work in unison, having a collective power of bargaining. If the two other Commanders don’t present a unified front, they won’t be able to postpone this mission. 

 

"If you're determined to send a civilian expedition," Erwin presses on, "who will take charge? Will it be you? The Military Police? The Garrison? No, it will fall upon the Scouts, my unit, because we're the only ones equipped to battle outside the Walls in Titan territory. Someone needs to motivate the civilians, persuade them of the cause, and encourage them to commit their hearts and lives to it. Who will step up? Will it be the Crown, the military, or myself?"

 

The silence in the room grows heavy. Erwin extends his finger, gesturing first to Zachley, and then to each person present. "My soldiers are exhausted. They are not prepared for another mission so soon after the previous one. If you wish to prevent a revolution, you would be wise to heed my counsel."

 

The silence looms over their heads like a guillotine. Then, murmurs erupt, growing in a crescendo. Revolution, Erwin hears the Councilmen murmuring. Could it be? There hasn’t been a revolution in a hundred years! Erwin watches them panic, like fat rats before a disaster. All of them will feel the anger of the people. None of them will be speared. Sooner or later, the revolution is coming, and red will paint the sky. 

 

Erwin ponders, weighing the time required to ensure his other plans' success. "Three months," he asserts. "During that period, my soldiers will be fully prepared, and we can closely monitor both the situation and the sentiments of the people."

 

The Archbishop interlaces his wrinkled fingers and adds, "The church will preach the triumphant tale of humanity's victory over the Titans. We are the shepherds of our people, guiding them in the right direction."

 

Pyxis nods in agreement. "Garrison will collaborate with the Scouts to provide additional support. Three months affords us the time to monitor the situation and reevaluate."

 

With that, Zachley claps his hands, glancing at the King, who stays silent. "Let's vote on the agreed terms. Do we have a majority?" Hands rise. Most nobles hold back their support for immediate action. However, the Archbishop sides with the military commanders in backing Erwin's proposal. Another hand goes up—the Duke of Orvud's. He grins, raising his eyebrows, signaling his support for Erwin. A shiver runs down Erwin's spine. With the Duke's vote, Erwin's proposal narrowly passes.

 

"It appears you've secured your wish, Erwin," Zachley remarks, his eyes stern as he gazes at Erwin. "Three months."

 

The chatter grows larger, some nobles protest, and some appeal the vote, but the meeting concludes, and Erwin finally has time to assess his small victory. He’s done it. For now, he’s got what he asked for. After some discussion with Zachley and the other Commanders, Erwin says his goodbyes and offers thanks, then leaves the palace. However in the corner, by the door, the Duke of Orvud waits for him, glaring at him with those strange eyes. Bile rises in Erwin’s throat, but he keeps his disposition cordial. 

 

“Well, well, that was an impressive feat, Commander Smith, even had my mind changed in favor of your proposal.” 

 

“Duke of Orvud,” Erwin says, looking the man he despises in the eyes. “Haven’t expected your support in my appeal to the Council.” 

 

The Duke starts to walk, gesturing for Erwin to follow. “I always heard you were quite a dreamer, Commander. A stubborn man with ideals. But I’ve also heard you’re ambitions. A young Commander with an impressive record. Humanity’s Hope, they call you. People see the Scouts as the last spear of humanity.” 

 

Erwin nods, keeping his fists closed. 

 

“However,” the Duke continues. “In my humble opinion, your plan won’t work. Sooner or later, the crown will send you, their shiny leader, to inspire confidence in the masses and lead them to the expedition that will surely cost them their lives.” 

 

Erwin grits his teeth and clenches his fists but remains mute, his face pulled in a polite mask. 

 

“What are you implying?” Erwin asks, stopping in his tracks. 

 

“I have a proposal for you,” the Duke says, confidentially. “I think your talents are wasted on the fruitless task of titan fighting. Your brilliant mind and skill could be used better in the interior, not in the titan’s mouth.” 

 

“Ah,” Erwin says. “As forward as always.”

 

“I’m hosting a dinner, a small affair in a few weeks. I’ll send a formal invitation, of course. I would like to pick your brain and discuss this matter privately.” 

 

Erwin nods, concealing his disgust with a smile. “I am a leader of the Scouts, not a politician.” 

 

“Oh, don’t try to fool me, Commander,” the Duke says. “Every leader is a politician first and a hero second.” 

 

He crosses his hands behind his back and looks at Erwin again before heading down the hall alone. 

 

“I expect your reply, Commander Smith. After all, I know what kind of man you are, under that golden mask.” 

 

Levi's gaze fixates on the rain-splattered window, a veil shielding them from the outside world. Beside Isabel's bedside, he aids her in swallowing Hange's prescribed medicine. Hange's impending visit to assess Isabel's recovery kindles a spark of hope in Levi's heart, a rare sensation in recent times.

 

"Hey Lee, what's on your mind?" Isabel's emerald eyes search Levi's face.

 

He brushes a crimson strand of hair from her forehead before settling beside her, enveloping her tiny body in a protective embrace. His little bird, his little sister whom he mothers. "Just watching this miserable weather outside, don't worry," he reassures her, his tone an attempt at levity. Isabel rests her head against his shoulder.

 

"Are you planning to go into town again?" she inquires.

 

Levi shakes his head. "Not today. Hange will bring us the supplies."

 

“Oh, okay,” Isabel responds, her voice trailing off.

 

“Why do you ask?” Levi probes gently, sensing there's more to her question.

 

"Maybe soon, we could go out together?" Isabel's demeanor brightens, anticipation lacing her words. "My birthday is coming up. Perhaps we could have a picnic in a meadow. The flowers will be blooming soon."

 

Levi's expression remains guarded. "We'll have to see how things are outside. Maybe when you're feeling strong enough to walk."

 

"Erwin mentioned taking me riding again," she recalls. "He said I'd be good at it and that I could do it all by myself."

 

Levi nods, his response subdued. "Yes, he did."

 

Isabel clings to Erwin's words, using them as a balm to hasten her recovery. Perhaps that's all humans have in their wretched lives—dreams that propel them through each day. What's wrong with yearning for a day in a green meadow, horses, and the simple pleasure of fresh bread and jam? His sister deserves it after enduring a life trapped in the shadows.

 

A knock raps at the door, a familiar sound accompanied by exuberant greetings—it's Hange. Yet, Levi waits, straining to catch another voice, perhaps the resonant timbre of Erwin's return from the capital. It has been a week since his departure. Each day feels like an eternity spent in suspended animation, a ceaseless cycle of waiting—for Erwin's footsteps to echo through the halls, for his voice to break the silence, for the warmth of his presence to dispel the chill of uncertainty. He always worries, missing him, looking through the window by his sister’s sick bed. 

 

All he can do is wait.

 

"I'll be back, birdie," Levi informs Isabel, rising and tenderly brushing her cheek.

 

Hange strides into the kitchen, arms open for a hug, but Levi instinctively recoils. He's not one for sudden embraces, even from a person he trusts, like Hange. The gesture feels intrusive, and unwelcome, despite the warmth in Hange's smile as Levi steps back. Beside them, Moblit bears the weight of their supplies, two sizable satchels slung over his shoulder. But there's no sign of Erwin. Disappointment sinks like a stone in Levi's chest, fatigue settling heavily into his bones.

 

Levi stands before the stove, locked in a silent battle with the pot of water, willing it to boil with a fervor bordering on desperation. The flames dance beneath the pot, casting flickering shadows that stretch across the kitchen walls like grasping fingers. Levi fixates on the water's surface, each tiny bubble a promise of answers to unspoken questions. 

 

Where is Erwin? Why hasn't he returned from Mitras? The questions echo in Levi's mind, reverberating with an intensity that threatens to consume him. Time stretches on relentlessly, refusing to yield any semblance of resolution.

 

A sudden hiss of steam shatters the quiet, the water boiling over and spilling onto the stove with an angry sizzle. Levi startles, yanked from his thoughts by the unexpected eruption. A gentle hand lands on his shoulder, grounding him in the present. He turns to find Hange at his side, their gaze steady behind their glasses.

 

"What now, four-eyes?" Levi grumbles, his irritation evident as he retrieves the pot from the fire. His movements are brisk and decisive, a shield against the lingering uncertainty that hangs heavy in the air.

 

"Not much," Hange admits. "Just checking in on you. You seem a bit off."

 

Levi clicks his tongue, deflecting the concern. "How's Iz doing?" he asks instead.

 

"Looks like the medicine's doing its job!" Hange exclaims. "She seems stronger, and her appetite's improving! You've probably noticed her cough's been easing up."

 

A small smile tugs at Levi's lips. "Yeah, she's been sleeping better."

 

Hange pats him on the back, and Levi doesn't flinch away. “You’re doing a good job, Levi,” they say. “It’s thanks to you that she’s getting better.” 

 

Levi brews tea without meeting Hange’s gaze. He goes through the motions. 

 

"Did he return from the capital?" Levi's question hangs in the air. He can’t make himself say Erwin’s name. 

 

Hange's smile wanes, a bittersweet tinge to their tone. "Yes, he's back. Hasn't he been here since then?"

 

The question hits the nerve. No. Erwin hasn’t been back. Levi’s been worrying sick, and Erwin hasn’t even written to him. Levi’s ignorance turns to anger, but he swallows it down. Erwin must have his reasons. Levi’s not his only responsibility, so he shouldn’t be jealous and act like a wife waiting for her husband. He has no right to behave that way. Erwin’s a Commander, he has so much to worry about. 

 

"He's got his hands full," Levi brushes it off.

 

"Yes, he does," Hange concurs, a hint of contemplation in their voice. "But did you hear? He managed to postpone the expedition. We've got three more months to find a solution to the food crisis."

 

Three months to find an impossible solution. 

Three more months of watching Erwin work himself to death, of seeing him slowly lose weight, and his eyes grow duller. 

Three months of waiting for him to lead a mission that may cost him his life.

Three months until he has to wave at him from a crowd, knowing very well he won’t return. 

Three months…

 

Time becomes a blunt-edged weapon, piercing Levi's gut until it tears him apart. It's not sickness or violence that torments him, but the relentless fear of an imminent tragedy he cannot prevent. If something were to happen to Erwin, Levi knows he couldn't bear it. He would waste away like a flower in darkness, starved of light. Should Erwin meet his end, Levi would follow, dying a slow death, consumed by grief and heartache.

 

"Is he taking care of himself at least?" Levi asks. The answer he already knows.

 

Hange releases a wry chuckle. "Well, you know Erwin. He’s always occupied with everything else."

 

Yes, Levi knows Erwin, better than anyone. He’s the only one who sees the sickness inside him – the poison that will slowly cost him his life.

 

"I see," Levi clicks his tongue, resigned. "That's what I thought."

 

"He's managing," Hange comforts, their tone soothing. "If anyone can find a solution, it's Erwin. You should have more faith in our Commander. He’s strong, and he’s smart. We all believe in him!"

 

Ah, the unwavering admiration the Scouts harbor for him, treating Erwin as an indomitable deity. Even in the pits of despair, the Scouts cling to Erwin's leadership as a beacon. But who tends to Erwin when he crumbles? Who raises him up when he falters on the floor, kneeling in anguish?

 

No one. Just Levi.

 

And if Levi can’t fix the world and wage wars for him. If he can’t protect him with his body and slice through titan flesh for him, at least he can give him one thing that only he knows how to do. He’ll give him what Erwin wants, what he needs. 

 

"Oi, Four-eyes," Levi speaks, breaking the silence. "I need a favor."

 

---

 

Time slips, an eel through his grasp, as the quill shivers in his hand. Another sleepless night unfurls. How many hours has he been imprisoned by this desk, a captive to his correspondence, plans, and mission to unmask the conspiracy at the heart of Mitras?

 

Three months—that’s all the time he has to move his pieces on the chessboard. Each figure must find its place, orchestrated with precision if he's to succeed. Rest becomes an alien concept, denied luxury, especially now, when he peers into the abyss yawning beneath his feet. 

 

Three months —the time he has before he marches to Maria like a reaper, guiding humanity as a feast for titans. 

 

A knock, a ripple through the air. His eyes gravitate to the wall-mounted clock. It’s late. Too late to be on duty. He turns, waiting for the messenger to announce themselves. But there’s no response. 

 

"Come in," Erwin’s voice booms, his chair swiveling toward the door.

 

The door yields, ushering in a silhouette—a petite figure enveloped in a heavy cloak. His hand stalls, mouth desert-dry, a single name poised on his lips. The figure lets go of the hood, unveiling himself.

 

"Levi?" His voice trembles. 

 

Levi's hair is tightly wound, bound in a bun; his undercut is freshly shaved. A sinuous strand escapes, veiling his kohled eyes like a delicate wisp of smoke. Shedding his cloak like a discarded chrysalis, he steps into view, clad in high leather boots and trousers. His crisp white shirt hangs open provocatively, revealing glimpses of skin, while his arms are encased in well-worn leather gloves. His waist is cinched by a corset belt and his lips are rouged by wine-colored paint. 

 

This is not Levi, but the Viper.

 

"What are you doing here?" The words catch in his throat, though he already knows the answer.

 

Levi offers no response, his movements are measured and deliberate as he traverses the room, the steady click-clack of his boots echoing like a metronome on the wooden floor. There's a fluidity to his motion, a sleekness of fluid silk. Seating himself on the divan in the corner, he claims the space as if it were his throne. With legs crossed and steel-tipped boot pointed toward Erwin, he surveys the room with narrowed eyes, the click of his tongue a subtle punctuation to his silent presence.

 

“I knew your office would be a mess,” he says, lower than usual. 

 

"I've been busy. I didn’t know I would have company," Erwin confesses, retreating into himself. Levi has every reason to be displeased with him. He returned from Mitras a few days ago, but he wasn’t in the right mind to stop by Levi’s house. It’s wrong, he knows, but his mind is a cacophony, a chorus of voices clamoring for attention. 

 

"Tch," Levi clicks his tongue dismissively. "So do you know why I came here tonight?" The Viper's gaze pierces Erwin, sharp as daggers.

 

Erwin nods, a lump lodged in his throat. He remains rigid, a torrent of thoughts and memories flooding his mind. The bolo-tie, his emblem of authority, hangs heavily on his chest, akin to a noose around a prisoner's neck. Levi's presence in his office is a jolt to his system, annihilating the meticulously maintained boundaries he had clung to.

 

"I do." Erwin finally responds.

 

Levi rises and strides across the room, every step like opium smoke, intoxicating. He settles between Erwin's open legs, peering down at him with a hint of Levi’s tenderness. He tilts Erwin's chin upward.

 

"Is that all you're going to say to me?" Levi inquires, studying Erwin's eyes as if attempting to decipher the meaning behind his stunted words.

 

Erwin moistens his lips, his fingertips aching to touch Levi. Yet his hands remain clenched like stone.

 

"I believe there was a misunderstanding," he admits. 

 

"A misunderstanding?" Levi places his boot on the edge of the chair, pressing it against Erwin's growing arousal. He rubs his sole against Erwin's groin, eliciting a low grunt. "From where I'm standing, everything seems crystal clear. Look at your cook, weeping already for me."

 

"Levi... please," Erwin murmurs, attempting to reach for Levi's cheek, but the pressure only intensifies.

 

"No. I’m not Levi, not tonight," he asserts. "And you're not the Commander Smith. You don’t have to solve any crisis or control all the strings.” 

 

“No,” Erwin agrees. 

 

“Then, who’s in charge now?” Levi asks. 

 

“You,” Erwin whispers. 

 

Erwin swallows, relinquishing control, leaning in. How much he yearned for this – how deeply he missed the scent of leather and the demanding pressure of the Viper's boot.

 

“I’m in control. I can make you crawl or lick my boots with your tongue. I can make you clean this office or do anything I please. Is that right?” Levi says, rubbing his foot against Erwin’s cock. He cannot help but groan. This is what he needs – to be put in place, and for once, lose control. 

 

Levi must like the sounds he’s making because he smiles and licks his lips, biting on Erwin’s lower lip until it nearly bleeds. 

 

"That's right. Just like that," Levi murmurs, unbuttoning Erwin's shirt. He pauses at his bolo tie and takes it off Erwin’s head, putting it over his neck—the emerald gleams on his white shirt. Erwin takes a breath in, and for the first time in months, he can breathe again. Levi kisses his lips and caresses his brow. "Tonight, I don't want you to think. I don't want you to ask questions. Let me give you this. Please, Erwin. Let me take care of you."

 

This.

 

Their touch remains familiar, not in tender strokes, but in the scalding embrace of molten wax and the bite of the whip.

 

This.

 

Their bond, unyielding and unseen, forged in the shadows where no other gaze intrudes.

 

This.

 

The violence he yearns for, offered as solace.

 

Yes, perhaps only Levi can bring him sanity. 

 

Yes, he wants this – wants him.

 

"Please," Erwin implores, sensing the tremor in his own voice.

 

Levi raises his boot in assent, embracing the authority given to him. 

 

"Strip," he commands, folding his arms.

 

Erwin obeys, shedding each layer of his uniform, unveiling his nakedness. It's unlike their intimate moments in Trost, where Erwin undresses, and Levi shyly glances at his naked body. Now, Levi scrutinizes him with his keen, glistening eyes, tracking every movement like a falcon poised to swoop down and seize its prey. Erwin pauses when he reaches his underwear, uncertain of how to proceed. He's never been naked in his office, a Commander stripped to his briefs. No, not a Commander anymore. He has relinquished that role. He is simply Erwin, or perhaps even less than that. He is a man waiting for punishment, a man ready to kneel and worship.

 

"Go on," Levi encourages, and Erwin complies, revealing his hardened desire. He meticulously folds the discarded clothes just as Levi has taught him, ensuring neat, precise lines. Turning back to Levi, poised for further instructions.

 

"Good. Now, have a seat."

 

Erwin settles into the chair, the unyielding wood pressing into his tailbone. He looks up, awaiting Levi's next directive. Levi retreats to the sofa, retrieving a thin, well-worn rope from the satchel he brought with him. Erwin recognizes it; it's the same rope used for hanging freshly laundered tablecloths and Erwin's own shirts. Approaching Erwin, the bolo tie on his chest sways gently, like a pendulum.

 

"Do you trust me?" he asks, seeking Erwin's permission.

 

"Yes, of course," Erwin responds without hesitation.

 

"Very well." Levi reaches into his pocket, retrieving the ascot Erwin had purchased for him in the capital. With practiced hands, Levi folds it into a neat strip and proceeds to blindfold Erwin. The cloth lightly presses against his eyelids, enveloping him in a dim, shadowy world. Unable to see Levi, he still senses his overwhelming presence. Erwin relies on his heightened senses, attuned to the sounds and sensations around him – Levi's quiet steps, his measured breath, and the texture of the jute rope in his leather-clad hands. Erwin tilts his head back, anticipating what will come next.

 

Levi moves deliberately around him, using the rope to bind him – first across his chest, moving around his arms and legs, weaving the intricate harness around his body, much like a spider constructs its web. It's a slow process designed not merely to restrain but to give him freedom in the constriction. Levi's patient, his knots firm and neat. The bondage confines Erwin, making him immobile, ensnared within Levi's intricate harness. He can't see, but he's compelled to feel – to truly feel; Levi's fingers, the texture of the rope, the tension in the air, the bind of the blindfold. For the first time in a long while, Erwin dares to embrace the darkness within himself.

 

Levi hums, content with his tight restraint. He inspects the ropes, his fingers sliding through Erwin's hair. Levi sits on Erwin's lap, perched on one of his thighs. He's so light, but his presence intensifies as he draws near. Erwin anticipates the sting of a whip or the tantalizing touch of a blade's tip. They've engaged in this dance before, though never with blindfolds. But instead of the blade, the gentlest of caresses tickles his neck. A feather, Erwin discerns. His own quill, the same one he uses to pen death notes and missives to the capital—a tool of death and deception—now traces his features with sensual tenderness. It's unexpected, making him acutely aware of every inch of his skin.

 

"Don't think, just breathe," Levi murmurs, drawing closer, tracing Erwin's closed eyelids, nose, and lips. Erwin inhales, realizing he has been holding his breath. "Tell me now, what do you need?"

 

Erwin remains mute, unable to voice his desires. He shakes his head. Levi encircles his nipples with his fingers, pinching them, coaxing a low moan from Erwin's lips.

 

"Tell me," Levi insists, unwavering.

 

"I can't ask that of you."

 

"Why not?" Levi presses further.

 

"I simply can't. Not from you."

 

Levi clicks his tongue. "You idiot. I want to do this. So stop thinking and tell me – what do you want, Erwin?"

 

Erwin swallows. Without seeing Levi's expression, it's easier to say it out loud. "I don’t know. I just need it to hurt."

 

Levi remains silent, teasing him with the feather against his Adam's apple. "As you wish," he says, rising to his feet.

 

A shuffle emanates from the other side of the room, followed by footsteps and the whoosh of the riding crop slicing through the air. Erwin is familiar with the pain of the strikes, a sobering and stinging sensation. He envisions Levi with the slender, black instrument in hand, standing before him with his bolo tie gleaming on his chest. He longs to see him, to touch him. But he's bound, incapable of movement.

 

Without warning, Levi lashes his thighs, a harsh blow without a trace of mercy. Erwin jerks against his restraints, gritting his teeth. There it is, the pain that sets him right, that soothes the festering turmoil within. Another strike follows, a sharp, whistling rap along his legs. The tempo quickens, one blow following the other. His skin burns, it stings. The pain leaves him light-headed, floating. His mind goes blank. The thoughts of the expedition slowly fade away, the long-contemplated plans and strategies that had occupied his mind, refusing to let him rest, dissipate. He's empty. The good kind of empty. Purified.

 

Levi inflicts strikes upon Erwin's torso and his bound arms, setting every inch of his skin ablaze. Erwin's flesh takes on a deep shade of crimson from the relentless blows. And just when Erwin's mind dissolves into a tumultuous cacophony, like the chorus of summer crickets or the shimmering starlight hidden behind closed eyelids, the pain ceases. Erwin senses Levi kneeling on the floor below his feet, the crop falling with a weighty thud. Levi's breath comes in ragged gasps, and if Erwin strains his ears, he can almost discern the frenzied rhythm of Levi's heart.

 

"Levi..." Erwin murmurs.

 

Levi responds by caressing Erwin's thighs, right at the center of the searing pain. Erwin winces, groaning, and Levi gasps in return. His lips trace the scorched marks, kissing each one with adoration. His mouth is damp and ravenous, unlike any kiss Levi has ever given him. It's as if he's yearning for air, his every touch an unspoken confession. Levi's lips mend every ache and wound, as he licks and soothes Erwin's burning thighs. Then, without uttering a single word, Levi's fingers find Erwin's arousal, hard and pulsating. Erwin hadn't even realized that he had been erect throughout the entire session. Under the blindfolds, Erwin can only feel the stray locks of Levi’s hair grazing his bare skin, his lips damp and inching ever closer, like a siren's call.

 

"Let me," Levi murmurs, his voice so gentle it borders on a plea. 

 

Erwin swallows hard but relinquishes control. "Please.”

 

Levi wraps his lips around him, taking him in deeply. At first, Erwin's muscles tense, overwhelmed by the heat of Levi's mouth. But Levi hums, tracing his tongue along Erwin's shaft, planting delicate kisses on his length and the tip. He doesn't rush, taking his time to explore with both tongue and fingers. So slowly, almost to the point where Erwin believes he's deserving of this tenderness, this affection. Levi's lips are drunk with devotion, his tongue composing love sonnets upon Erwin's body. Perhaps it's not just pain that Erwin deserves; maybe he can have this as well. 

 

Erwin's eyes glisten with unshed tears. As Levi moves his head and fingers, taking him deeply, Erwin closes his eyes, allowing himself to be carried away, and he spills into Levi's willing mouth. The pleasure swells, surges, twists, and turns, but above all, it blooms within him. His climax is prolonged and steady, leaving him feeling limp and tingling. Levi swallows every drop of his release and keeps him in his mouth for an extended moment, only letting go when Erwin's erection softens. Levi's head rests on Erwin's thigh, his arms coiled around Erwin's waist. Erwin realizes that Levi is weeping too.

 

"Darling?" Erwin whispers, attempting to break free from his bonds.

 

But Levi only shakes his head, his face buried between his legs, in Erwin's damp, golden curls. "Please, just a bit more."

 

"Take my blindfold off," Erwin asks. "Levi – I need to see you."

 

Levi struggles to his feet, his movements unsteady. His fingers tremble as he works on the knots of his harness, and soon the ropes fall to the ground. Erwin rolls his shoulders and removes the blindfold from his eyes, finding Levi on the floor, shivering.

 

Erwin rises and places his hand on Levi's back, checking in with him. He lifts Levi into his arms, cradling him like a wounded bird, and guides them both to a nearby chair. Levi clings to him, unwilling to let go of his vice-like hold. At first, Erwin says nothing, running his fingers against Levi's shaved undercut and holding him close.

 

“Are you okay?” 

 

“Uh huh…” Levi says, distant. 

 

“We don't have to do it again if you don't want to. This is not the reason for my affection, you know that right?”

 

Levi brushes his nose against Erwin’s neck and lands a small kiss. “I wanted to do it — it’s something I've been thinking about for a while now.”

 

"Thank you," Erwin says, kissing the shell of Levi's ear. “I think I needed it.”

 

Levi nods. “I know.” 

 

Erwin rests his head against Levi’s and whispers. “I’ve missed you.”

 

Levi remains quiet until finally speaking so softly Erwin barely hears him. "I miss you too," he manages. "Every day."

 

"I know," Erwin says, his voice quivering. "I know, sweetheart."

 

“Was it – good?” Levi asks, suddenly blushing. 

 

“Oh, my Levi,” Erwin says, kissing Levi’s hair. “You are the one who knows me better than anyone. You know my heart better than I know it.” 

 

“I do,” Levi says, then adds, softer. “I know you, Erwin.” 

 

“I know you too.” The words slip from Erwin’s lips. “From the first time I saw you.”

 

“Oh yeah… I know,” Levi says. 

 

“I’m glad. Because I really do, my Levi.”

 

“Me too,” Levi says burying his face in Erwin’s chest. “I do too, Erwin.”

 

Levi remains in his arms until his breathing slows and he drifts into a fragile slumber.

 

"I will shake the foundations of this world, so you can be safe," Erwin whispers, pressing kisses onto Levi's closed eyelids. "I'll find a way to end all this suffering and create a brighter future for us. I'll start the revolution. The Walls will fall. For you."

 

Notes:

Thank you for reading. This chapter took a lot from me. Please let me know your thoughts, I like to hear them.

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading!!

Find me in twt: @rodio_se_mis