#ereriweek2020

Things were quiet when they began. Eren could barely hear the sound of his hair being snipped away over the sound of the rain slamming fat droplets on the sidewalk and windows outside. Somehow, Eren felt like he could remember something like this. The man’s fingers gently combed through his hair, and when his hands would rest on Eren’s shoulders, it felt like part of Eren was waiting for it. Like he’d been waiting to feel that touch for a long time. 

Eren searched his brain, trying to think of when he’d seen this person before. Surely he must have stopped by to get his hair cut once before. Surely he saw the man in passing once, maybe on the way to work or just in the area. Maybe on a lunch break or while he was out running errands...

When he drew a blank in his memories, Eren switched tactics.

“Have you been cutting hair for a long time?” Eren asked.

“Mm,” was the answer Eren got in reply. 

“Uh, okay…” Eren cleared his throat. “Have you been in this area a while?”

“Couple years,” the man replied, continuing to snip away at Eren’s hair. “I was looking for someone. Heard they lived around here.”

“Oh,” Eren replied. “A friend?”

“...Something like that.”

Eren frowned, biting the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t going to get the answer he was looking for this way. He didn’t even know what he wanted the man to say. Eren didn’t know what he should say. “Hey we just met, but you remind me of someone, and I don’t know who?”

“I did more than just a trim,” the man said, and he swiveled Eren’s chair around so that he could get a good look at himself in the mirror.

Eren frowned immediately when he caught sight of himself, reaching around to feel the back of his neck in disbelief. Eren’s previously shoulder-length hair was cut completely short, only his bangs left to stay long. He turned to glare at the hairdresser, but Eren faltered when he caught sight of the man’s expression. 

His arms were crossed over his chest, but he was staring down fondly at Eren, blue-gray eyes narrowed as he took in Eren’s appearance. Slowly, the man reached out, brushing the cut hairs off of Eren’s shoulders. He sighed slightly then, pulling back with a shake of his head.

“You really do look just like you did back then,” he said. 

“Back then?” Eren echoed, turning back to frown at himself in the mirror. 

Eren frowned, rubbing his now short hair with the palm of his hand. He couldn’t remember ever really having hair like this. He’d worn it long since he was a little kid; he wanted to look like his dad when he was younger, and then the style just stuck with him. There was no way the man would have known him back then. 

As Eren closed his eyes, trying to think of the man’s words without lashing out at him for completely going against what Eren asked for, a memory seemed to flash behind his closed eyelids. It was brief, sudden, and he didn’t quite understand. He was standing side by side with someone. They were wearing old fashioned clothes and carrying around swords that looked like massive box cutters. Eren’s hair was cut short, and the man beside him reached up, running his fingers through Eren’s hair. 

When he opened his eyes again, the man was staring down at him, and the tugging feeling in Eren’s chest grew stronger. Before he could comprehend what he was saying, Eren spoke. 

“...Levi.”

The man—Levi, though Eren didn’t know how he knew that—smiled slightly, reaching out to tangle his fingers in Eren’s hair. Despite knowing that this was the first time he’d met Levi, knowing that there was no way his actions should feel natural, Eren leaned into Levi’s hand. Like it was a habit. Like he’s been doing it for years. 

“Took you long enough, brat,” Levi said, and Eren’s heart throbbed painfully in his chest. He placed his hand over Levi’s, and a flood of memories swept through his brain, too fast for him to process, to truly understand, but he clutched Levi's hand tighter and squeezed his eyes shut, letting the images flash behind his eyelids. He saw himself and Levi again, he saw them swinging their swords, and he saw large monsters with human faces towering above them. Eren didn’t understand, but he felt like he would soon. Like this was the moment he’d been waiting for. Like he’d been waiting to have his hair cut by Levi since the first day he grew it out. 

Then why is he here? Drowning his sorrows in too fine a port to be used for this pathetic endeavour? He had thought that in his thirties he wouldn't have to endure this sense of loss and heart-break he's currently feeling. Pathetic, really, losing himself for 'matters of the heart' as Petra had liked to call them years ago. Levi simply calls it pining over an eighteen year-old bird-brain who's chosen the wrong path because of some complex of grandeur.

No. No, that isn't it.

Levi would like to say that was the case but unfortunately he's come to know the brat too well to actually believe that. Not like those wipe-asses from Mitras or the Military Police.

Eren Jaeger has always been strong-willed and stubborn but his resilience comes from his unmovable moral compass and aspiration to freedom. Monster, they've called him more then once, disregarding his unwillingness to be used as a human experiment in his father's quest for freedom. Levi remembers the many midnight talks they've had in front of the fire in his office, when the brat would go on and on about a better world, a better life. If he has to be honest, the Captain has always admired the optimism the brat is capable of despite the misery, heart-break and tragedies he's had to endure in life, on top of finding out the truth about his father and how he's been used by him. In a remote part of his mind, Eren Jaeger reminds Levi of himself. Both monsters. Both strong believers of freedom and justice. The years have shown Levi a more cynical view of the world and of people but Eren seems to still have that pink-veiled naivete of childhood when it comes to ideals and utopias.

Levi knows that's why he rebelled, why he left behind everything he's ever known to keep fighting, only this time in his own terms. The only thing the raven-haired wouldn't have expected is Eren joining arms with his half-brother, especially after everything Zeke has done and deaths he's caused.

What would you say if you could see me now, Eyebrows?

The death of his old friend sits still sore in his chest and knowing that the brat – his brat – is now working with the man responsible for it almost breaks him apart. Almost. Though it feels like he's grieving the loss of Eren now on top of everyone else's, he knows the seventeen year old better than this. He knows him (for a second he wonders if that's true or he's simply trying to convince himself, creating excuses for someone he once held very dear and still might).

He's reminded of something that Kenny once said, an eternity ago, when his life teachings were beating Levi down to the ground every other day. “Life is full of choices, kid. Crossroads. And sometimes whichever path we take, whatever road we end up walking, is a life sentence. So choose well”. Probably one of the only smart, useful things Kenny has ever taught him.

Crossroads. Did Eren have to stand in front of that crossroad, doubtful of himself and who or what he was, alone? From Armin's and Mikasa's reaction they couldn't have known Eren was doubting his place in the world, in the war. Eren took the road he most thought right and walked it. He's still walking it. There's no turning back now and probably that's the road the brat will die on. A life sentence.

The scary thing is that, Levi doesn't think he might be wrong.

A choice with no regrets. Levi looks down into the deep-coloured liquid and watches hypnotized the light from the fire playing with it. He sees Isabel and Furlan. Erwin. Petra. Oluo, Eld and Gunther. And so many others. And he wonders. He doesn't want to see the brat's face in that glass of port, not tonight or ever, but he's afraid that if he doesn't make a choice now those bright eyes will hunt him for the rest of his most probably short life. He's always followed his brain and once a decision was made he's gone through with it every single time. It's not going to be different now.

A choice with no regrets.

When he gulps down the rest of the port and stands up Levi doesn't do it because of his quite concerning feelings for the brat. He doesn't do it to run away from his problems, neither to get into trouble. He does it because right now and probably until his life sentence is concluded this is the right choice to make.

With controlled gesture he places the empty glass down and picks up his civilian jacket and cloak before going for the door. He closes it without looking back. Without looking at his uniform neatly folded on the desk, the wings of freedom bright even in the darkness of the evening; without looking at the familiar neck-tie resting on top of it.

He’d watched Eren hurt all afternoon, push himself to the point of exhaustion, but still pick himself up. He always does, without complaints, without ever drawing a line even when there’s a trace of something else within those eyes that Levi thinks is more than Eren ever voices. The kind that Levi catches glimpses of when Eren thinks Levi is too busy bandaging him up to see, but he does see.

Levi always sees, just as he always does, bandages him up even if it’s silly at times because of the way Eren heals, but it’s really all Levi can do to not intervene and force him to stop. Because he also knows that Eren won’t listen, so these bandages are all that he has.

But Levi worries that there will be a time when it won’t be enough. That Eren will overwork himself to death, where bandages won’t do shit, and he can’t stop the beating inside his chest -- the way his heart pains and his fingers grasp too tightly at the bandages he’s wrapping against Eren’s hands, those soft warm hands that have dug through hell and earth, and Levi feels as though he’s got nothing but these fleeting moments and he’ll force himself to swallow away the fear.

So he’s here. He’s here on the borrowed time that they do have, in a closet that he knows they don’t need to be in, but he hadn’t wanted to wait until they were on the other side of the castle where his quarters were.

“Eren,” he’ll whisper, voice ragged against Eren’s lips as he presses himself up against the other man. He knows that Eren can feel the way he strains against his pants, because he always does--because Eren lights something up inside of him that no one ever does--and Eren will moan back his name in response.

“Levi.”

It’s soft, barely a breath against the crook of his neck, but it sounds loud all the same to Levi. It’s loud, because this--sometimes, this, is all that they’ve got. So Levi will rut up against Eren’s hand that had slipped into his pants, even if he’s never been one to give into hormones, not even in his earlier years, but sometimes he just wants to give in to the way he feels so urgent and desperate, like a man starved for touch and it doesn’t even matter. Nothing else does but the hand on him.

He doesn’t have time for shame. Not when Eren presses his palms harder against him, his other hand sliding underneath Levi’s shirt and nails digging up against Levi’s back. The soft pants of Eren’s breath into his neck as he wedges his thigh up against Eren is all that he cares about as Eren grinds against him just as hard.

Hard, fast. Through the confines of their pants it’s not nearly as intimate as when they’re stripped bare and taking their time back in Levi’s room, but this raw need to get off like this--clothed in a closet--Levi’s thigh pressed up against Eren and Eren palming him--feels amazing.

Amazing and a bit like the bandages he wraps against Eren’s hands. A temporary fix, a moment of touch that eases his heart. Even if sometimes, a voice inside of him wonders--is it enough?

Is this enough? Will this ever be?

But there’s no guarantee for more, or that their lives won’t end tonight, tomorrow, next week. 

And so he knows that it is. It’s Eren, so it will always be more than enough.

Bandages and desperate moments with Eren.

It’s all that he has.