[ account. ]
The blade scraped against his skin, and Erwin’s jaw tightened reflexively at the sere sound. Like she sharpness of paper being torn, or something innocuously savage like that. Too late, he noticed a spot of red where he’d nicked himself, just below the angle of his jaw. Blood beaded there, dropped without a sound into the sink muddy with the lather of his shaving cream. Quietly, he uttered an inconceivably objectionable swear— the likes of which were unlikely to ever leave his lips in the company of another —rinsing away the blood and daubing furiously after it with his face cloth.
It didn’t hurt. He knew it didn’t hurt. It was only the sublimation of the anxiety that spiked electric through his veins at the thought of what they were meant to do tonight.
The dress blues went on a little easier than his usual uniform. A few less components to worry about, but he donned them with the same methodical approach: shirt and trousers first, then the harness, attach the garters, button the coat from the bottom up. One last pass of a comb through his pomaded hair, and he was finished.
Outside the bathroom, Levi lingered by the bed, already dressed, the navy blue agreeing a little too well with his complexion. Erwin noted for far too long how it seemed to exacerbate the striking blue of his eyes, and could not help the appreciative sweep of his own down Levi’s perfect form. “Should we do something about your hair, I wonder?” Erwin asked softly, brushing back Levi’s dark, silken hair. It slipped back into place, as defiantly as anything Levi himself would do, and Erwin smiled wryly to himself. “It doesn’t matter. These Sina nobles will be hopelessly enthralled with you, no matter how you choose to wear your hair.”
He immediately regretted his words. Not for the truth of them, but for the shameful guilt of which they reminded him. “Are you ready?” he asked briskly, turning away to avoid his eyes. “Your first contact will be waiting.”
