#ackergay

omg who are you

it’s the one where they’re playing a game together online and levi curses in french and eren gets off on it, and then levi reads off the label of a cleaning product while eren finds it enormously attractive

IRL CENSORSHIP LMAO

omg but actually as i was going to bed, i saw ur ask and i started thinking about a possible kurotsuki fic like. it’ll start out with them reuniting after having broken up from their 2-year relationship. and basically the entire fic tells of their relationship before + how they are now. hmmMMmm

relationships are like meteors. they burn bright, they burn right, they burn fast — and then they crash. they leave an indent, an impression that shakes heads and turn faces. some regard this as a disaster; some, a gift.

for most people, “let’s break up” signifies an end. an end to a relationship, an end to faith. a disastrous crash, to say at the very least. but for others — the beaten, the brave — “let’s break up” is a beginning. there’s something brilliant here, something beautiful; and it starts with “hey, i haven’t seen you in a while.”

It’s a few years later when Levi realizes that he doesn’t need to berate Eren anymore for failing to clean properly. In fact, it’s not even Eren that really cleans anymore; now it’s the new recruits holding brooms and mops and rags, clumsily going about their way in the hallways and pausing to salute as he passes them by.

They’re fresh faces, most of them sharing the newcomer look in their eyes (mixed terror, pride, admiration, uncertainty, few others) that Levi knows well; ones yet to be quite broken in, teeter-tottering between being fresh out of the training and the beginnings of the quiet, albeit hesitant sort of grim confidence that grows only with time. For now, the newbies leave much to be desired, but that’s alright. Every one of the soldiers he now keeps close has once been at their place; while he may not say it out loud, he has faith. After all, it may have been a few years since their first recruitment, but he’s still catching the baby look in his own squad from time to time.

And so as he walks down the hallway, Levi gives quiet hums and nods in response, allowing his usually brisk gait to slow just a hint and meeting the eyes of those who will, if briefly. This particular hallway is in fact one he likes better than all the others; it’s one of the only walkways of their current base featuring a row of windows at one side, allowing light to filter through in the afternoons. He knows very well it’s one of the most pain in the ass areas to clean, especially when those very windows require wiping down from the outside by one of senior recruits in gear. Considering the new recruits scattered about to sweep and the window at the end of the hallway left open, their supervisor must be outside to clean—

Speak of the devil; just as he passes the third to last window, a pair of boots, soon followed by a body, swing through the opening, accompanied by the sound of the 3DMG gear retracting. It’s a smooth landing, Levi has to admit, but his expression barely twitches as he pauses to let said senior recruit through. He doesn’t expect any less.

“I hope your cleaning is on par with this level of showing-off,” he begins.

The supervisor, who’s been bending slightly to dust himself off, straightens. Levi has to lift his chin a couple centimeters to meet his gaze, though being what he is he manages to make the movement subtle, watching as Eren finally notices him and breaks into a grin. He salutes.

“Corporal.”

(Compared to the new recruits in the background, it’s more than obvious Eren is older. Not by much, in terms of age, but by his height (not too important), his shoulders, broader than the other boys’ in the room, the way he’s working to fill his uniform, the man-brat’s stance, the look in his eyes—yes, the baby look lingers there but it’s not the same. The man-boy isn’t an eyesore.)

“You won’t be disappointed,” Eren continues. (Voice too, words enunciated deeper and smoother than the chirped Corporals from the younger recruits.) “They report to me when they’re finished—then I check over their work before letting them go. You’ve taught me well if anything, sir.”

The twinkle in the grown brat’s eyes makes something in Levi stutter, so he snorts. The light doesn’t fade at his reaction, seems only to grow brighter. Impudent boy.

“I’d expect you to have learned something over the last few years. I’ll come around again to check. Try not to embarrass yourself in front of them and be prepared, brat.” With that Levi crosses the couple meters left between them, sets a brief hand on Eren’s forearm as he passes by, and that’s that.

(If there are any lingering thoughts of the afternoon light catching dark hair, tied back in a thin ponytail, or the way green eyes, among others, follow his back until he turns, or even the flicker of the knowledge that Eren is mostly admired among the cadets, they’re filed away as mere details.)

***

(What none of them tell him, however, is how strict the still-grinning Eren is known for being among said cadets over cleaning in particular. What Eren doesn’t know either is of all the jokes going around calling him the clean freak…and so the newbies will remain newbies for a just little while longer.)

***

Levi returns half an hour or so later to a sparkling clean hallway, lights shining through almost unfiltered, and Eren gathering his cleaning supplies to put away.

It meets his standards, as it has over the past few years. The brat knows it. And that look of pride rather than smugness, masterfully hidden under yes sirs and Corporals and brighter eyes still has the potential to grow cocky if he doesn’t stamp out unnecessary arrogance, so.

So he doesn’t. Doesn’t beat him in or berate him, only gives a nod and orders to check over the rest of the floor. Because it’s alright do so now; alright to trust this brat to have grown into his limits and boundaries. Knows Eren relishes in the bits of trust given to him—no, he doesn’t need to know it to give it to him. Eren has grown older and so has Levi; if the years yield more between them it’s only fair.

***

Come years between them or months, the tradition of Eren bringing tea to Levi’s room in the evenings hasn’t changed. A tray of steaming tea balanced carefully in hand, Eren knocks at the door. When there’s no response, he doesn’t call again for an answer as he might have done a few years earlier; he only turns the doorknob (it follows and the door gives, as he expects) and quietly makes his way inside. It’s not often that he comes across the corporal like this, and he doesn’t waste his accidental gift.

The corporal is leaned back in his desk chair, arms loosely crossed, head tilted to one side, tired eyes closed in sleep. Unplanned for, most likely, but that’s fine; Eren does his best to bring tea at consistent times, and it means Levi was expecting him.

Careful not to make a lot of noise, Eren sets the tray on the desk and retrieves a blanket from the corner of the office. Its appearance is rather recent; he’s only seen it being used a couple of times, covering the man’s legs to help keep warm during the nights when work runs late.

Does he get cold easily? He wonders, quietening his steps as he approaches the sleeping figure. Unfolding the blanket, he holds his breath as he gently sets it over the man’s front, tucking the edges behind his shoulders. Levi shifts, slim brows furrowing for a moment—just when Eren thinks he’s woken him he settles again with a soft hum.

Eren doesn’t think he wants to let go, but looming over him at this distance will surely wake a seasoned soldier. It doesn’t mean he won’t make the most of this allowance, won’t memorize the way dim lights flicker against the man’s sharp features, won’t commit to memory of his presence.

Forward, forward, forward; look back when necessary, but do not regret.

Eyelashes, just as dark as his cropped hair, longer and more fragile than one would have assumed without attention to detail; the darkest of dark browns, not quite black, glistening under the first rays of freedom when they advance beyond the walls; do not fall two horses’ lengths behind me. Eren is not one for detail; raging forward, passion, heat and soul, that’s just who he is and born in a world where constant death does not leave time for longing, he does not remember details. He carves the few he cannot bring himself to lose into his heart and hopes; waits; look forward.

Still how is it that looking forward always yields the corporal’s back, Eren wonders, fingertips barely brushing the forehead of the strongest; he looks years younger when he sleeps. Cheeks flushed with life and just slightly furrowed brows and he’s lost in this peace, how strange; he and his kind, his comrades, die for peace, for peace to them is violence, and he’s basking in the same warmth without spilling a drop of blood.

Perhaps it’s just the corporal’s presence—Levi, small and slim and sure despite the constant uncertainty ahead—or perhaps it’s just him, but the sleeping man’s presence has shifted in meaning since their first encounter. And Eren wishes—he wants to linger, like this; Levi’s back means more than a superior in rank, but presented with his sleeping face, his human vulnerability, he doesn’t want to leave.

***

Levi does not regret—at least, he tries. Since the day of his assassination attempt, since the day of Isabel and Farlan’s death and the day of his rescue, he does not regret. Not regretting is a delicate balance of the past and the future, his philosophy, and the days when he thinks he’s got it down are always the times that he loses his balance. Regret and looking back are two different monsters. He’s allowed to look back, perhaps relive the past, briefly—but he does not dwell. Should not.

Then why, he wonders, have I placed him behind me?

Do not fall two horses’ lengths behind me. His own words echo in the back of his mind. Eren is still his subordinate. He is still his guardian, still entrusted with the fate of this life, still both guardian and executioner. To reach him Levi has no choice but to look back, to command him to follow; surely, on the day he must fulfill his promise he will look back. And in the days after he will look back again and find nothing in the monster’s place.

But Eren is not a monster; he only tests the scale, takes Levi’s balance in young, broad hands and holds his breath, smiling at him in that stray puppy, baby look he likes to fall into, mellowed out into an expression a little less lost only by the years. Eren makes him not only look back but linger; more often than not, leaves him to wonder where to draw the line between regret and humanity in face of bright emerald eyes that never lost their fire. How far is he allowed to look back? How deep before he slips into regret?

Levi doesn’t think he can answer these questions. Doesn’t know how. If he knows one thing—it’s only that he won’t regret. Not Eren.

 And so when he wakes to feel fingers brushing his forehead, shuffling against the roots of his hair, he doesn’t pull away; only opens his eyes.

***

Steel eyes catch Eren off-guard and he stutters on his next breath but he keeps frozen in his place. He—should move. Needs to move. Off.

“Levi—” he begins unthinkingly, and the man in question quirks an eyebrow. By name? Isn’t that new.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, uh, sir, I didn’t—” Eren tries again and watching him fluster strikes him of memories, when they first met, after the court trials, the way he flinched and blushed to the tips of his ears. Years later it’s pretty much the same, the same flush brightening the tips of his ears peeking past longer hair.

“I didn’t say to move, did I?” Levi says calmly. The reaction he receives shouldn’t be so ridiculously endearing for someone of Eren’s age, or his age, but watching the half-grown brat freeze on the spot, bright eyes widening, the flush threatening to creep down his cheeks—oh it’s worth it.

“S-Sir?”

“Say it again.”

“Say what again—”

“My name, brat.”

Eren looks torn between nonplussed and just plain confused. He starts to draw his hand back. “Sir—”

Levi grabs the hand, warm, keeping it there. His grip is firm, but not tight. “You’re not deaf. My name.”

“Levi?”

Dark eyes seem to soften and Eren lets out a relieved breath, unintentional and enough to make him flush again.

“Aren’t you going to ask for an explanation?” Eren tries. He can’t quite pinpoint the expression on the corporal’s face for a moment, but then he realizes Levi is only looking curiously back at him. Neither is he letting go.

“Should I?”

“I mean, aren’t you angry, sir?”

“Levi.”

“…Levi.”

Another pause.

“Uh. Should I go?”

Levi doesn’t miss a beat. “Are you an idiot?” Eren is saved from having to respond by the man himself. This is moving so quickly, for even him, he has no idea how to answer. “Eren,” he says again, drawing fiery green eyes to his own, and while something instinctual inside him relishes in the small victory, he loosens his grip. “Would you regret this?”

Soft—the look in eyes that were never apathetic, or cold; they’re soft. Eren doesn’t know what to make of this realization, only knows that he can’t escape from it. Not in this sweetness in midst of turmoil, the miniscule opening to his yearning; subtle but palpable, once found. How had they even gotten here?

“No, never,” Eren says honestly. “I just don’t understand why you’d—”

“Why did you?”

Why had he? How could he explain the pull? Admiration and loyalty turned to trust, the continuous desires to get close, to step closer to the impossible, to reach and touch, draw the beauty before him back, selfish, undeserved, but the longing, he. To think that the corporal himself had been the same, waiting—

“Eren,” his name is a breath and Eren lifts his gaze, catches dark eyes. He’d never been allowed to get so close. “Stay.”

It’s not an order, it’s a request. A choice. A gamble; a balance. Levi doesn’t know if it gets through to him.

“If I stayed, would you be happy?”

The question takes Levi off guard. He takes a breath, opens his mouth to reply, then—

“Oh my god.”

Two pairs of eyes dart immediately to the source of the voice—the door that had been neglected to be shut properly when Eren had first entered the office—and the owner clamps a hand over his mouth, paling rapidly.

Eren takes a step back, voice tight. A tiny part of him can’t help but feel relief. “I’ll kill him.”

“Eren!”

Green eyes, blazing with fire, meet unsettled grey and they soften, minutely.

“I’ll be back, I promise. Levi—please, let me do this again, properly.”

A part of him can’t help but wonder if this is an excuse, if the door had been left open on purpose, if Eren was reacting like this just because it’s convenient. Homicidal feelings would come later for certain, but.

Then Eren reaches down, tilts his head and takes him off guard once more, pressing a chaste kiss on his lips. Pulls back and smiles, the bastard. Levi could order him, could force him to stay, but that would ruin the whole point.

“I’ll come to you, Corporal,” Eren says apologetically. “Your tea is getting cold; let’s pick up in a bit.”

***

A bit ends up being the week (and a punch) after, but that’s okay.

Eren tips his head, angular face fitting the harsh crook between Levi’s shoulder and neck, perhaps not a perfect fit, angles too sharp and awkward between the two of them, still an old broken puzzle; green eyes watch sinewy muscles flex and stretch to give him room and he closes his eyes, lips barely brushing against taut skin.

Stay with me.

He hears one of the softest sighs; a sound he wouldn’t have caught should he not have been concentrating wholly on the beauty laid out before him; humanity’s strongest is vast, not undamaged, heavy despite a slim form (unlikely, an unknown, a mystery) and strangely softer than calloused.

Let me meet you in the middle; look back but far not enough to regret, rush forward but not enough to pass.