Chapter Text
It’s dark in the room, surprisingly dark for how many candles were brought in to bring the illusion of open and airy to the dim space, and it’s cloying with the scent of perfume and bodies. Nobody wants to be there, but they are anyway. Least of all Levi.
Erwin knows this, yet he dragged Levi along, swearing up and down that Levi would not regret it.
And Levi had heeled, reluctantly trusting in Erwin. Unfortunate.
“I have a proposal for you,” Erwin says, and Levi lifts a thin eyebrow.
“Oh, really?” His voice has never been more dry, and Erwin hides his wince with a sip of wine. The tannins are bitter on his tongue— god, he hates red wine— and he takes another sip, maybe as a form of self-flagellation, maybe to remind himself that no matter how bitter it is now, it’ll be far sweeter soon.
Erwin starts to speak again— it’s a delicate situation, really, there’s the potential for Levi to storm out (and would Erwin even blame him?) or to use his famous sharp tongue to offend— but before he can, the nobleman swoops in. Ashburn, was it? Erwin didn’t take too much notice, it’s some common name.
“Captain Levi,” Levi’s hand is so small as the other man presses a kiss to gloved knuckles. Levi had insisted on wearing gloves, not because of any particular inclination towards fashion, but just because he detests these galas and parties, and would rather not touch anything. Who knows what kind of ass-backwards cleaning practices they have there, he had said with a sneer. Shit, even the Underground must be cleaner. God-damn.
“It’s an honor to be in your presence,” he says grandly, and Levi’s eyebrow arches even higher.
“Mmm-hmm.” A noncommittal hum, probably the best expected outcome. Levi hates having his hands touched; Erwin is surprised that he’s not yanking them back right there and then.
“Tales of your beauty have been told far and wide within these walls, but it’s even more stunning in person.”
Luckily the man is too absorbed in fingering Levi’s thin gloves— they’re a nice cotton disguised as satin, Erwin had gotten them for him personally— to see how Levi’s lip curls and how Erwin has to muffle a snort into his wine. It’s not that Levi isn’t beautiful— Erwin certainly considers him to be at least interesting-looking— but he’s rather short, lean and strikingly pale with a cross, disagreeable looking face and features a touch too delicate for this side of the wall. He’s also rather— tight is the best way to describe it, Erwin supposes. Levi is tight in the furrow of his brow, the purse of his lips and the pinch of his eyes, the coil of sinew and muscle over bone, compact and neat down to his very blood. He’s not the kind that people tell stories of his looks— that honor is reserved for his feats— certainly nobody goes around swooning over how blue Levi’s eyes are, or how strong his brow and chin, or how tall he is, or how golden his hair. That’s reserved for Erwin.
And he’s not vain about it, about being the doll of the Capitol— he’s not, but what else can it be other than jealousy and vanity that rankles at the back of his mind when he sees the nobleman grasp Levi’s wrist?
“Captain Levi, with the blessing of your Commander, if I may have the honor, the grace to—”
“Get on with it,” Levi interrupts, fully unpleasant as he cuts his sharp eyes over to Erwin.
Erwin, they seem to warn, what have you concocted?
The man clears his throat, utterly unphased. In fact, he seems more enamoured— en-lusted, Erwin’s mind thinks— rubbing the fabric of Levi’s sleeve between two fingers, like he’s judging the quality of it. Look at these Corpsmen and their shabby suits. Look at them— but me, I’m so generous. It’s a small price to pay, really, and aren’t you a famously practical man? Think of it, just for a moment. It’s really not a trouble.
“I’ve stricken up a deal with your Commander,” god, where are the lies when he needs them? Deal sounds— it sounds so callous, it sounds exactly like what it is, and Erwin would— he was banking on the slippery tongue of the nobility, if he’s being honest. Bargain, negotiation— they would have all sounded so much better, they would have painted him in a better light. A negotiation is Erwin valiantly fighting for his principles before being backed into a corner, whilst a deal is… it’s a deal. A second of thought, then a sly handshake with his fingers crossed behind his back to render it null and void, just to absolve of responsibility. Old habit.
“For the pleasure of your company tonight,” it’s taking everything in Erwin’s being not to cringe— “the Survey Corps would receive quite a bit of funding. Quite a bit, and not even the whole night. Just an hour.” He pauses, trails his hand up the lapel of Levi’s suit, up to gently tuck a wayward lock of hair behind a dainty ear. He moistens his lips, continues, “you are, after all, so gorgeous.”
“I see,” says Levi, completely flat. Not an ounce of emotion as he removes the straying hand from his neck, fixes Erwin with a blank stare. “A moment with my Commander, if you please.” It’s a practiced, vaguely polite tone falling from his lips. Erwin doubts he’s ever heard Levi speak so mildly.
“Why, of course,” Erwin doesn’t miss the way a hand grazes Levi’s lower back— or rather, he doesn’t miss Levi’s jaw tensing ever so slightly as the meaty paw of a well-fed pig rests on his tailbone.
Erwin doesn’t miss that it makes him uncomfortable when Levi is touched by Sina men, although the reason eludes him.
It must be because he is a noble, and he smells, Erwin decides, nodding his head sharply in agreement with himself, with his own simple argument where he doesn’t acknowledge anything that matters. Levi doesn’t like smell, and he smells. If I touched Levi, it would be better, because I do not smell.
So he touches Levi— he places his hand— it’s a large hand, warm and broad, and it’s a hand that’s been used, tan and scarred and full of life, not lily-livered soft. Levi’s told him that he likes his hands, before. Or at least that he doesn’t dislike them, and that’s as good as one can get from Levi sometimes.
It’s very curious, then, why Erwin feels the muscles of Levi’s back twitch when he places his hand flat just above the waistband of his trousers. If he moves his finger just a bit, it’ll rest perfectly in the hollow of a dimple.
Levi’s back is stiff the whole time they walk to a sheltered alcove, upon which Levi turns on Erwin. He’s quite short— Levi’s bones never got the memo that he’s a strong human man, they’re as short and flightey as a bird’s— but Erwin still feels that Levi is looking down his nose at him. “Wanna explain what that’s about?”
It’s a practiced, winning smile that comes on his face, but it dissipates when Levi arches a thin brow, unimpressed. “Levi, please, you have to understand…” Erwin trails off, heaves a sigh, and maybe something in his eyes is honest enough to convince Levi, even without many words.
“I see.”
Levi’s voice isn’t clipped or sharp like Erwin expected, like is typical of him. It’s softer, more understanding.
He was gripping Erwin’s bicep, but now his hand loosens, slowly retreats to hang limp at his side. “You’re whoring me out.”
“It’s just for a night, Levi.”
Levi, good man, doesn’t slap Erwin’s hand when he brushes an imaginary piece of lint off his shoulder. As if Levi would ever let his suit have even a single speck of dust, but they’re not close enough for Erwin to offer the comforting shoulder clap like he wants to do. They’re not close enough, or maybe they’re too close— who knows, honestly. They’ve always had this strange dance around each other, perpetually spinning in each other’s orbit, drawing slightly closer before swaying away. They’ll collide eventually— as things wont to do— but for now, they have a sort of uneasy peace.
Levi’s watching him, and Erwin can’t read his eyes. They’re not angry— Erwin’s well acquainted with what anger looks like from those silvery pupils, thank you very much. He even has a scar on his hand to serve as a reminder. They’re shadowed by the way his brow-bone presses against his skin, and Erwin suddenly wishes he were shorter, or at the very least that he could stoop down and peer into those mysterious eyes, that he could pluck them out and hold them in his palm to read them as opened books. What are you thinking, Levi?
Levi doesn’t seem to be thinking of anything in particular as he walks back to where they left the nobleman waiting. Erwin, for no particular reason (certainly not to watch how Levi’s hips sway), walks behind him, herding Levi towards his client du jour.
Du nuit, Erwin thinks, full of irony and wit as always.. His client of the night. And he’s walking behind Levi as if he’s an executioner behind a hanged man.
“Your thoughts on the offer, Commander Erwin?” His rank, yet his first name, and he’s addressing Erwin, even though the offer in question is of Levi. How telling. “Is it a deal?”
“It’s a deal,” says Erwin, feeling particularly like a well-mannered pimp as he shakes a slightly moist palm. He doesn’t squeeze tightly, even though his— his what? His masculine pride?— wants to squeeze that soft hand until his fingers turn red and pop off like little sausages. “I’ll see about a private room. One with a comfortable bed.”
“Oh, any surface would do!” The man laughs, putting his arm around Levi’s back, hand cupping the tight curve of his ass none-too subtly.
And Levi— Levi doesn’t slap his hand away or flinch, he doesn’t do anything to protest. In fact, there’s a distinctly coy flair to his lip, a slight tilting of his pelvis to better angle into the groping hand. He doesn’t even remark at the approving nod and murmured “firm,” that the nobleman makes to Erwin, just as if he were a horse being inspected for good teeth.
Erwin feels slightly violated on Levi’s behalf.
Not enough to stop his hand from flagging down a passing waiter, not enough to stop his lips from moving in a low mutter, requesting a discreet bedroom for an hour, utmost privacy and peak cleanliness. Not enough to stop him from slipping a few gold crowns into the waiter’s pocket to ensure he knows exactly where the room is.
He makes the mistake of glancing back after he pays, and Levi is— Levi is flirting, a certain seductive air about him that Erwin can’t quite pinpoint. It’s the small little things: the cocked hip, the upturned tilt of his face and the flex of his shoulders. It’s rather like a mating dance, or maybe the coil and sway of a snake hypnotizing a fat rat. Levi’s subtle, Erwin’ll give him that— he doubts that anyone else would catch the slight movements of his lips and his hips, a coax and sway here, a flex there that just draws the eye down, down, the roll of his shoulders that teases at pulling his shirt out where it’s tucked neatly into his pants. It might not even be the intent for Erwin to notice it— it’s just because he’s so well attuned to Levi, to Levi’s movements. It was a skill that was necessary to learn well and learn quickly, if Erwin may be blunt. Levi was, after all, his assassin.
Erwin walks briskly back towards them, and Levi doesn’t drop the charm. If anything, he increases it, glancing at Erwin with sultry come-fuck-me eyes. It’s impressive, Levi should have been an actor. Maybe he was a type of actor, down in the Underground— actually, isn’t everyone a type of actor? Prostitutes, Commanders, nobility; they all seek to deceive and to pretend to be something they’re not. Levi’s pretending not to hate the man currently teasing at pulling away Levi’s neat cravat and kissing at his neck, Erwin’s pretending to be righteous, the nobleman is pretending that he’s not a slimy piece of shit with a face perfectly suited for Erwin’s fist. They’re all faking something.
However, it does soothe Erwin’s frayed nerves to think that Levi has done something like this before. God, Erwin would take a flying leap into a titan’s filthy maw (my, doesn’t he sound like Levi there) if he just sold off Levi’s first time. Just like that, poof and it’s gone. With a pig, of all people. A goddamn Sina pig, as opposed to someone who’s clean and fresh smelling and can hold off orgasm for longer than two seconds. Someone like Erwin, for example.
“I’ve arranged a private room. Very secluded, very quiet,” Erwin announces, and feels the need to add, “very clean. Adjoining bathroom.” Levi doesn’t look impressed. “It’s being cleaned again as we speak.” There, that’s a little better. Levi’s scowl doesn’t lift, but something in him lessens, relieved.
“Good lad,” the man says approvingly, passing Erwin a few gold coins. The action rankles Erwin for a second— what is he, a cheap whore (no, that’s what he’s making Levi)— but he smothers it down, pocketing them and pretending like they don’t leave a metallic taste of disgust on his tongue. He’s not in a position where he can refuse money, even if it’s acquired through less-than pleasant means and clammy from perfumed palm sweat. He just can’t. “You’ll come to collect him after, I assume?”
Erwin nods, a quick action that tries not to be overly hasty. “Promptly. Levi,” a thin brow raises when Erwin turns to him. “I assume you’d like to leave immediately after?”
“Why not stay?” the nobleman laughs, winding a possessive arm around Levi’s trim waist and answering the question for him. Completely ignoring that Levi is his own person and (in theory) has his own autonomy. “Stay a while, enjoy the refreshments, socialize a bit!” Levi doesn’t cringe away from the touch as much as Erwin expected him to, and shouldn’t he be glad for it? He’s playing the part perfectly, playing the nobleman directly into Erwin’s hand. After this, the mission will be funded for months to come, and all it’ll take is twenty (maybe less, Erwin doubts that the man has the stamina to go for more than ten) minutes of Levi’s time and the slight bruise to his ego. Besides, Levi consented of his own free will, it didn’t take any convincing or wheedling or forcing from Erwin. Just a simple fact: it’ll be good for the Corps, and by extension, for humanity (and Erwin). It will serve the greater public, and Levi’s a civil servant with his heart sworn to humankind. It’s his duty.
It doesn’t make Erwin glad. It makes him howl (inside) with rage and reproach and spite— how dare he, how dare Levi do exactly what he’s told— and it makes him say a few words, half in jest and half in not, maybe more snidely than he should.
“Why not? Maybe our little Captain here will find another source of funding for the night!”
It makes the Sina man laugh, but it also— so slightly that Erwin thought he imagined it at first— makes Levi flinch. Just so slightly. It vindicates Erwin, somehow, Levi’s little flinch.
“Shall we go?” asks Levi, winding his arm through the other man’s. This close, Erwin can see the stark difference in the fabric of their suits. It was the best suit that they could buy within their allotted budget, and Levi stayed up all night hemming and tailoring it himself to suit his unique frame like a glove, but it’s quite clearly a few years out of fashion, the fabric a bit dated and close to wearing around the elbows and the knees. It didn’t make sense to buy a whole new suit for this one occasion, but now Erwin regrets it as he stares at the matte ink-black fabric of Levi’s arm versus the shiny, new, fashionably pinstriped arm of the client. Maybe if he bought Levi a new suit, then the man wouldn’t have approached him (he’s The Man in Erwin’s mind, just The Man, he doesn’t deserve his own name), and maybe he wouldn’t be watching his dearest companion leading him away by the hand to a private room where that same dearest companion (maybe even more than a companion) will spread his legs by Erwin’s request.
Levi glances back as he leads the man away, just once to meet Erwin’s eyes across the sea of people, pale blue to dark-ish grey.
The look in them is terribly, horribly hurt.
Erwin stares into those wounded eyes as the door closes behind the pair, then sighs, downing the rest of his almost-forgotten drink.
He wipes his mouth on his wrist, not really caring who sees, and makes the terrible, horrible, not at all wise decision to follow them.
***
It’s pretty easy to find the room, all things considered. Erwin did promise them seclusion, so it is far back— Erwin wouldn’t lie to Levi about that (about other things, maybe, but not about privacy)— so it’s tucked away in some far corner of the mansion, out of sight and out of mind. It doesn’t surprise Erwin, that the master of the house seems to have an entire wing of his manor devoted purely to these sorts of transactions. Bedroom after bedroom with comfortable beds, fresh sheets to be whisked away and disposed of after the deed, refreshments beside the bed stand in a cold ice-box. Lavish. Erwin had even been asked upon booking whether he wanted a room with iron rings and a mirrored ceiling, or one without.
Erwin chose without, of course. Levi tied up is a feral creature— oh, the hatred that had been in his eyes upon their first meeting in the city below, the flex of his wrists against the manacles and the slight bend in the chain links when Erwin got them back— and selfishly, perhaps, Erwin considers it his sight to see. That was Levi’s first time at someone’s mercy like that. Selfishly, unless it’s with him, Erwin wants it to be his last.
But what right does he have, to stake any sort of claim on Levi? What is his right, after he’s traded his modesty and dignity for some extra lining to the Corps’ pockets?
That’s right, he has none. But Erwin is a greedy man, and he’s a selfish one, and above all— he is once again greedy. So he will take that claim, he will take and take and take until there’s nothing left for him to devour and destroy. He’s the fire, he’s the vengeance, he’s everything Levi—
Erwin comes back to himself with a start, and realizes that he’s been digging his nails into the tough palms of his hands.
It’s all Levi, he rationalizes to himself, deep in the privacy of his own thoughts. It’s him, it’s him who arouses— wrong words, but oh, they’re not so wrong— he arouses this wrath. It’s what it is. A wrath, an all-consuming fire.
And fire is risky; Levi’s a flaming match licking at Erwin’s fingers, and he risks being burned. Sending him off to fundraise— oh, is that what Erwin’s calling it now?— is the best way to extinguish it. Secure the promise of a next mission, quench this horrible flame; two birds killed with one stone.
If it doesn’t kill Erwin first, this horrible guilt. Levi deserves so much better than him, and this just proves it. He deserves better than a man who would bargain him off at the drop of a hat.
He says all this out in his mind, steady in his resolve— he’s going to walk away and return to socialization that feels more like pulling teeth, his mind is firm and made up, it cannot be swayed, solid as an unwavering oak—
There’s a thump and a moan beyond the door. Erwin’s a willow.
“Ah,” it’s Levi’s voice. Strained like he’s tipping his head back— is his neck being kissed at? His cravat pulled off? Is it sensitive? “No marks, no marks.”
“I’ll pay extra,” an empty assurance, the price was fixed. A thick sounding moan full of uncoughed mucous and too much indulgence, “you’re mine for the night.”
“Yours,” Levi’s voice has never been that breathy, and Erwin despises it with all his heart, sunk into a crouch outside the door with glass in hand, ear pressed to the wood so he can soak up every sound and word. It should be him that has Levi caged in beneath him, him snarling possessive claims into the petal-soft skin of Levi’s throat. “But only for the next hour.” Somehow he manages to make it sound coy and flirtatious where it would normally be spit and sneering. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, big guy.”
Erwin has to hide an inelegant snort in his shirt-sleeve, not too eager to be loud and get caught. He was wondering what the first insult would be.
There’s some more rustling from behind the door. Panting, the wet smacking of lips, the slight scrape of furniture legs on wood, the telltale grunt that speaks of a palm cupped between shapely legs. Erwin’s mind fills in the blanks.
Levi’s probably pressed against the back or arm of some overstuffed velvet chaise— it’s always velvet— head tipped back, hair mussed and throat bared. He’s being touched, stripped— his prized cravat pulled away from his neck and dropped onto the floor, then probably trampled on. It was the first thing that Levi bought as soon he reached the surface, pulling Erwin and assorted company (Mike, his friends, a few guards) into some sort of Mitras shop while squinting at the sun like it personally scorned him. It’s a very dear possession.
“Have you ever done this before?” the words are low, almost a murmur. If they were from another man, they might have sounded reverent or concerned, but they just sound terribly greedy— what a nasty hypocrite Erwin is. He takes a sip of wine, just to distract from the roiling in his guts and the stiffening of his traitorous cock in his trousers. Fuck, he shouldn’t be getting off on this, he shouldn’t even think of getting off to the sounds of Levi being fucked by another man, he’s not some sort of cuck— not that Levi is his spouse to begin with— but he still feels himself stir at Levi’s soft moan, the breathy sound light and airy and perfectly aroused. Erwin hates that he can’t fully tell if Levi is faking or not. He takes another sip to distract himself
“No,” comes Levi’s voice, still so airy and bright, and Erwin chokes.
He can’t help it— he pitches forward, horribly off balance, nearly braining himself on the hardwood floor— now wouldn’t that be a sight, the Commander of the Survey Corps found unconscious in a puddle of spilled wine while his subordinate fucks in the next room— found probably by some loose-lipped service staff, knowing his luck. He barely avoids spitting out his mouthful of sour, setting his glass down so hard that it clangs discordinantly against the floorboards, a sharp sound that makes Erwin still, heartbeat in his ears and spit drying in his mouth.
There’s the squeak that cushions make when a body bends down over them, a moan, and Erwin thinks he may be sick.
Have you done this before? No.
Have you done this before? No.
Have you done this before? No.
Have you done this before? No.
Erwin is going to be sick.
Either he just sent Levi off to perform a whore’s task with nothing but a pat on the back and some half-baked idea that Levi has the slightest clue how to stay safe, how to behave, how to seduce and sleep and—
Or he just auctioned off Levi’s virginity. His first time gone just like that, taken by some Sina pig over the arm of a couch with his pants around his ankles and his face hidden.
Not the time he needs, not the time that he deserves— Levi deserves sweetness, he deserves compassion, he deserves someone who can at least give him an orgasm, for crying out loud. Someone— well, speaking plainly, he deserves Erwin. Levi’s so caring, so warmhearted and kind even as he hides behind that famously prickly exterior— he needs someone that understands all that, understands him. Someone who he cares for, and someone who cares for him in turn. Erwin holds back his sick.
Is he even worthy of that anymore? After this? Did Erwin just take— did he just take something beautiful, and rare, and precious— and ruin it? Just like that, over a purse full of coins?
Erwin’s ears are traitors— there’s a loud cry (loud enough to be heard through the door) and they snap up to attention, instantly focused.
“Oh,” Levi is panting, and oh— his chest is probably heaving on the whining edge Erwin can hear in his words, his nipples probably pink and standing at attention. “Oh, oh, ungh— oh—” he’s louder than Erwin expected him to be, more vocal in his passion, faux or not. He might just be rolling his head back, whimpering from the feeling of being stuffed full— already? It’s barely been five minutes since Erwin sat down to observe— just to check Levi’s progress, of course. No other reason, just making sure that Levi was doing the job instead of intimidating the man into giving up the money. Although, maybe Erwin would have preferred that. He probably would have preferred anything— death, dismemberment, destruction, anything than to sit crouched outside the door like a goddamn masochist, listening to Levi’s crying moans and feeling the shame that comes from knowing why he’s there, why Erwin’s there, why anyone is there.
It’s because of the titans, his hollow mind tries to justify. He says those words with such conviction, such dedication at times, but they don’t work, no matter how hard he tries to force it. Yes, the titans. The titans roam this earth, trapping us within the walls. Trapping us leads to discontent and skewed wealth. When wealth is skewed, wealth is hoarded. When wealth is hoarded, people get greedy. When people are greedy, they want to keep the status quo. When people want to keep the status quo, they stop funding the Survey Corps. When funding to the Survey Corps is stopped, we don’t go on expeditions. When we don’t go on expeditions, we don’t defeat the titans.
When we don’t get the funding, we must seek it through… alternative sources.
Ergo, the titans are at the fault of everything. The titans are why Levi is doing this. It’s all the titans.
The titans didn’t take Levi’s hand, stare tenderly into his eyes, and break his heart. The titans didn’t tell him to bear his most intimate places to some of the people he despises the most. They couldn’t have.
Titans are far too large to hold Levi’s hand. Besides, they don’t have genitals. They probably don’t even know what sex is.
Titans aren’t to blame, Erwin is. So he sits there and listens to his subordinate fuck and suck and moan in the other room, desperately hating himself all the while.
Levi cries when he comes. See, Erwin wasn’t supposed to know that. Or maybe he was, but maybe he was only supposed to find that out with the smaller man laid out like a treat underneath him, legs hitched up around his waist and nails leaving streaks of red all over Erwin’s shoulders as he sobbed grateful moans into his ear, begging and pleading indistinguishable from each other. Erwin wasn’t supposed to know that Levi’s voice goes high and broken like this, listening through a door and wanting to do nothing more than kick it down and sweep Levi off his feet, gut the noble and leave him choking in a puddle of his own blood as Erwin steals Levi away, far away from the mess that he’s been coerced into by none other than Erwin’s own greed. His own ego.
Perhaps they could go far away, beyond the walls where no laws or obligations could touch them. Just the two of them, the pair against the world.
Erwin groans, shutting his eyes and shaking his head as if he could prevent the onslaught of guilt. Sure, guilt for whoring Levi out— shit, if he heard him right, then it’s guilt for auctioning his virginity away just like one would an antique good— but also guilt for daring to think of abandoning his post. If he abandons it— if he lets these tempting, traitorous, torturous thoughts worm their wicked ways into his skull and make a home there, then what was it all for?
“Shit,” Erwin groans again, wishing futilely that he could sink into the ground and be swallowed whole, sunk straight into hell to pay for his sins right there and then. Hell sounds so tempting right now— tempting may be the wrong word. Hell sounds… It doesn't sound tempting as much as it sounds inevitable, inescapable, slowly creeping closer as Erwin signs away his life with the blood of others, one drop at a time.
And Levi— poor Levi, sworn to follow him everywhere but there.
Perhaps he’ll be able to coax Levi into hell alongside him, just like he would a little cat. Hissing noises and everything.
Behind the door— the door, the door, the blasted door— Erwin hears some faint rustling, the low murmur of voices and the clink of some metal being set onto some wood. Erwin turns what it could possibly be over in his mind (a knife?) until it hits him: it’s coins. He’s leaving Levi a tip for a job well done. It’s sick.
It’s all Erwin can do to scramble up with none of the dignity he pretends is in his possession, turning tail and fleeing back to the gala as a key twists in the lock.
As Erwin hurries off, downing his drink, he thinks.
Or, rather, he tries not to think, but his idle mind is a dangerous creature indeed, and it leads him down treacherous paths.
Erwin is pragmatic, and he’s proper— he’s been this way since he was young, really. His teachers before his father used to tell him that he was an old soul trapped in the body of a young child, and his father used to ruffle his hair and tell him that he was so smart, that he asked the good, smart questions, that he made the good, smart plans. Such praise goes to a child’s head, right to the brain, makes them swollen and bloated with it, all the craggy curves and dips where the knowledge is turned fat and smooth. A big head.
Erwin never really grew out of it, he supposes.
More so than pragmatic and proper, he’s problematic. He’s problematic, and he’s— at times— so damn childish.
Erwin rejoins the main room and flags down a waiter, the smell of perfume suddenly nauseating to his normally hardy nose. He snags a flute of lip-puckeringly dry champagne while he’s at it, the normally refreshing bubbles acrid and burning in the back of his throat as he takes a drink just for something to do.
“A carriage, if you will. Back to the Survey Corps transit inn.”
“Sir,” the man seems to try at protesting— maybe it’s not even his job to fetch carriages and arrange rides, maybe he’s just a bus-boy, but the look in Erwin’s eyes must win him out because he swallows sharply and bobs his head, suddenly nervous. “As you will.”
“As I will,” mutters Erwin as he leaves, resentful. Erwin, despite appearances, despite airs that he puts on— he’s a resentful man. He’s not a petty one, nor is he needlessly stupid (although sometimes Levi would beg to differ), but he does hold grudges. He’s held some his whole life.
Erwin downs the rest of his drink and waits.