It is dusk and the air is cold. An empty swing creaks in a deserted suburban play park. The streetlamps brighten as the light fades, casting lonely yellow pools of light across the deserted path between the trees. As the sun sets and the growl of car engines and children's cries drift away into the distance, the wind sighs. The park is finally empty and will stay that way until the sun returns.

Yet a child slips out of the darkness and pushes open the gate eagerly with both hands. The empty swing continues to creak in the breaths between wind gusts and the child lingers, listening. And then the child begins to walk to the creaking swing with innocent confidence, shuffling a path through the wood chips . He stares at the air above the seat, clenches and unclenches his hands.

"Who are you?"

The swing abruptly stops squeaking.

There is a man sitting on that swing, obviously, just as solid as the frame of the swing-set. He is dressed like the older children, like the teenagers who the other adults are scared of or always angry at. This face is older and darker, but this man can't be dangerous because they both wear the same trainers.

Although it's slight, the child still catches something akin to pity in the man's expression under the fleeting surprise. The boy scratches his nose. "What's wrong?"

The man narrows his eyes and the child narrows his right back. The boy isn't at all as intimidating as he thinks he looks; his face is still too round, his pout too innocuous. A moment passes, and while the man does not look any less wary, he relaxes a little.

"You can see me?" he asks and the child frowns. He'd hoped the man would be better at games than this.

The boy ignores him instead and takes the other empty swing. He's old enough now, he thinks proudly, that he can reach it without help, although his feet don't touch the ground. He considers actually swinging - that's what he came here to do after all - but since the man beside him isn't doing it, he doesn't want to seem like a baby. He's seen the older kids on the swings. They use them less for actual swinging and more for incoherent teenage discussions. The boy can't see the appeal, but he supposes it wouldn't hurt to try it now.

"Why're you here?" he asks conversationally. He compares his shoes again to the man's beside him. He decides then that these are his new favourite pair.

"Why're you here?" the man says. "It's dark. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to talk to strangers? Or not to go outside by yourself at night?" There's amusement in that voice, and the boy hates it. The man is not as fun as his trainers make him seem, and the boy says so.

The man laughs, but it's the sort he hears when there is no joke he can see. It's hard and abrupt, scathing and humourless. Going out after dark for one last swing isn't as fun as he'd made it out to be in his head. But he remembers his books and how his favourite characters go on all sorts of adventures by following strangers.

"What's your name?" the child asks, and the man looks at him for so long that it seems he won't answer after all.

"Levi," he says, softly, like it's important and the boy should remember it.

"I'm Eren," Eren says, and sticks out his hand like he's seen others do, but Levi doesn't take it.

In the distance, not so far away, a light flares. They both turn to look beyond the path to the park, over the trees and through the gloom. A plume of smoke rises between the houses in the street beyond.

"There's a fire." That's much more exciting than even the park at night, and he turns to Levi to share a grin-

But Levi has disappeared. In his place there is a single black feather floating slowly towards the ground. As sirens grow louder, Eren plucks it out of the air and wonders if he'll be able to see the fire truck when he gets home since the fire is on his street. He is still twisting it between his fingers when a woman finally finds him, still perched on the swing with his feet dangling over the ground.

It's years before Eren returns to that park. He only goes because of the dreams- he hopes that the man who appeared there once will disappear from his memory once he sees no trace of him. There was never any man. There was only the fire and the ashes left behind, only his mother's funeral and distant father. Those, and the charcoal drawings in the sketchpad under his mattress in a house miles from the one he grew up in. In those drawings, there is a man with raven wings, massive and beautiful and terrifying. No one has ever seen those drawings, because Eren doesn't trust anyone else with them, although he's beginning to think that Mikasa has found them anyway.

Of course there is no one at the park who looks like the creature in his sketches, and Eren only realises that he's disappointed when he climbs back into the car and doesn't start it. He grips the steering wheel until he can feel his nails dig into heels of his hands and hates himself for secretly hoping all this time. Whatever that man was - monster, guardian or otherwise- all he had ever been was part of Eren's imagination.

And he lives with the fact for a week, at least until he is walking home from school one day; until he doesn't look because somehow replying to his Connie's text is far more important; until he hears a shout, until he is too late and he is lying, broken, in the middle of the road.

He feels oddly peaceful as he lies there, even though every cell in his body is screaming. It doesn't matter because he is dying; and although the thought of Mikassa and Armin's reactions is more painful than the broken bones, he acknowledges the fact that it's too late, and also that he's an idiot.

He's beginning to let go when the man with the raven wings appears.

If Eren had the energy left to move his lips, he would tell the man that he finally understandswhat he is, why he was there there on the night of the fire, why he's here now- although why Eren could see him when he wasn't in danger himself, he doesn't know. But he's too tired to ask no, to be confused, to feel anything other than resignation.

But panicked fury contorts Levi's face. His eyes are wild, and he mutters something as falls to his knees beside Eren; his are the only words Eren hears over the distant human clamour above him. Levi puts his hands on either side of Eren's head and growls, although he is so obviously afraid that Eren wishes he could put a hand on the man's shoulder and tell him to let go.

"Not today," Levi gasps desperately, "Not today."

When Eren wakes up, he startles. He was never supposed to wake, never meant to be able to feel the throbbing ache deep in his head. Something's wrong.

Mikasa is the first to the his bedside. She calls for Armin- who has the good sense to call for a nurse- and Eren thinks the headache is worth it to see the relief and joy on his friend's faces. To his surprise he is the first to cry; when he tries to apologise- for making them worry, for being stupid, for nearly dying- they refuse to hear it. The nurse, much to his frustration, sides with them.

In all the chaos, no one but Eren notices the man with the raven wings in the corner of the room, who disappears as quickly as he appears.

Being alive is all well and good, but by the time he's allowed to go home, he's so sick of hearing the word 'miracle' that he wishes the word didn't exist. Of course his return from the brink of death with minimal injury is remarkable- he is extremely lucky that he is able to walk at all, able to move his body or even hold a conversation after being in a coma for 5 days- but people keep staring. There is the suspicious glare of the people who think he has somehow cheated and that he can't be human for surviving the way he did. And then there are the awed but wary stares of those who still partially expect him to drop dead. Worse still are the knowing smiles of those who insist that his recovery is the blessing of a deity from some religion he has or has not heard of. He returns home almost wishing that he'd croaked right in the middle of the street that day.

He has to wait a long time before he's well enough that Mikasa won't try to follow him everywhere he goes. He returns to the park eventually, much later when the place is empty and dark. He would have worn the same trainers, but they're far too small now. They're still in a box in his wardrobe at home, as new as they were a decade ago, a little dusty but remembered.

He sits in the same swing and doesn't have to wait long for the seat beside him to be filled.

As glad as he is to still be breathing, he's still angry. No story involving extreme life saving ever ends happily, and he's ready to tell Levi this as soon as he appears. He's had weeks to think of an argument, to explain why Levi's decision was dangerous and unnecessary. Eren still can't understand why Levi ever bothered. They're strangers. The fact that Eren thinks about him so much he dreams their friendship doesn't change anything.

But when Eren turns to face him, he sees a man so pale and thin it doesn't seem possible that he's able to sit up at all. He is feverish with bloodshot eyes, and he clutches the swing chains with trembling fingers. Yet somehow, he manages a twisted smile as a shiver shudders through his body.

"I never asked you to." There is horror in Eren's voice instead of anger now. "You should've walked away and left-"

"So you want me to take you?" Levi's lip trembles but the sick smile remains. "You want me to take your soul? Killing you now will fix everything, won't it?"

Eren realises that his fists are so tight his nails are biting into his skin. "It...won't?"

There is that barked laugh, the same one from years ago. "You can't reverse death or else you'll get punished. Is that what you think? Did you start watching, in case someone died who wasn't supposed to because you lived? Did you think that eventually something would come along to finish you off since you'd cheated once?" The smile slips off Levi's face and curls in on himself, wraping his arms around him stomach and shivering.

"Isn't that what-?"

"No!" Eren jumps. Levi doesn't seem to notice. "No, of course not, how important do you really think you are? Of course we come along and take your souls, but you would've died perfectly well on your own if it wasn't for-" He stops suddenly, gasps and then immediately snaps his mouth shut.

"Levi-"

"They'd never punish you, you moron," he whispers, wheezing over his knees. "It's me."

It takes Eren another second of stunned, horrified silence and then, "You're dying?"

Levi grins somehow. He's bitten right through his lip, and with that manic smile, the blood, it's only then that Eren feels afraid.

"You can't kill something that's already dead."

Mikasa is so stunned that she doesn't even stop him at the door. He pushes her aside and rushes into the living room, and she follows, numbly, as if almost convinced that she's dreaming. Eren has brought home some weird things in the past, but a stranger coughing up blood all over the carpet is new.

"What can I do?" Eren asks again and again, holding Levi's face as his eyes slide in and out of focus. "How can I help you? Levi, please, I have to-"

Levi whispers something, his lips barely moving as he speaks so Eren has to lean in close to catch the words. And then he finds his anger again, yells about how leaving Levi to suffer isn't a damn option while Mikasa watches from the doorway. She slips away after a few seconds but returns with water, a blanket, a damp cloth, and says nothing about the quivering wings spread across their sofa.

Levi lapses in and out of consciousness. Eren desperately tries to rouse him each time, begs him to keep his eyes open for just a second longer, because if he does, things just might be okay after all. He tries to focus on this, rather than on the fact that he's no doctor, that he doesn't know nearly enough for a case this serious, or the fact that the useless father that could help is nowhere to be seen yet again.

Levi's shivers finally lessen, but he has twice vomited blood and is now paler than Eren has ever seen him. The hand that grasps Eren's wrist is feeble with trembling fingers. Eren's thumb brushes across Levi's cheek.

"What's happening to you?" Eren asks. Levi's eyelids flutter but he doesn't have the energy left to open them.

"I told you," he whispers as Eren presses their foreheads together, "They can't kill me. This is just my punishment." Eren waits and slowly, Levi opens his eyes. The light is fading from them. "If I'm lucky, I'll survive...if not, I'll…" He grimaces and closes his eyes again. It could be pain, but it doesn't look like it.

"You'll what?" Eren asks softly, even though his heart is beating so hard it hurts and he's so scared he feels like he's going to throw up.

"I'll stop existing. You won't...you won't even forget me because there'll be nothing to forget. There'll be nothing to remember." He sighs and winces again; when he does, his wings shift but some of the feathers don't follow. Some, Eren realises, are clustered in piles on the floor.

"But that's not the point," he continues, and Eren wishes he would stop because he should be using those breaths to keeping living, "Either way, it means I won't be able to protect you." He grits his teeth but his voice still wavers. "If you die I won't be able to bring you back. If you do something stupid again...like cross the road without looking...or run your mouth like an idiot and get yourself stabbed...I'd have to sit by and watch it happen." He takes a shuddering breath that sounds horrifically like his last. Eren tastes salt on his lips. He ignores it. "But I couldn't let you die back then. I couldn't."

And suddenly his entire body tenses and his eyes are open, wide, unseeing and terrified; he gasps, lashes out and Eren grabs his hands, tries to call him back from whatever nightmare is in his head but Levi is gone; there is an audible snap and then blood on the sofa cushions, another handful of feathers scattered across the floor; and then he screams, lashes out with his fists, so scared that the screaming soon turns into racking sobs and Eren never lets go of his hands.

It is hours, minutes, seconds later that that Levi stops and impossibly, falls asleep, curled against Eren's wet shoulder. Mikasa hovers by Levi's feet, watching Eren wordlessly, waiting for him to explain but knowing that there are more important things they must wait for.

"I don't like it."

Eren sighs for what feels like the hundredth time in ten minutes.

"The only reason why you don't like it is because you dress like an old man," Eren grumbles, prying the ugly tweed jacket out of his fingers.

"I am old," Levi protests, and Eren rolls his eyes. Levi act like a total genius but his fashion sense had stopped somewhere in 19th century France and it was proving a lot harder to get the right clothes than Eren previously thought.

Levi has a point though - he doesn't look quite right light colours. Maybe it's because Eren has never seen him in anything that isn't black or borrowed from him (although there's something about seeing Levi in his oversized sweaters that does something to Eren's heart that he'd rather not talk about). Eren stares at Levi in those gross, practical khakis and the t-shirt that makes him look like a high schooler and says, "Shit. Hold on. Don't move."

He keeps Levi waiting for a lot longer than he ever meant to, but it turns out to be a lot harder for him to find exactly what he's looking for in the size he needs and he's already not a fan of shopping in the first place. But he can navigate a department store, he thinks, at least enough to dress Levi in something that actually feels like him.

Levi is looking at himself in the changing room mirror when Eren returns. His fingertips touch the cold glass where his face is reflected, exactly as Eren sees it but maybe not how Levi himself ever did. Eren hasn't asked a whole lot because he's trying not to be insensitive, but he's still aware of moments like these when Levi catches sight of himself. He spends a long time just staring at his face sometimes, and there was one time when he looked down at his long nails and lifted them up as if he wanted to claw his skin right off. And there are times when he spens forever running over the livid red scars on his back, refuses to change in front of Eren or even walk around in a towel for any extended period of time. It's only been a few weeks, but it still kills Eren that he can't do anything to fix it.

Eren knocks on the stall door and Levi jumsps a little. "I brought you some stuff." He pauses. "Different stuff." Levi looks too tired to protest, and he even takes the pile of clothes without making a big deal about it. He closes the door and locks it. Eren waits.

"I...this is fine," Levi says a few minutes later. He's wearing the black jeans and long-sleeved fleece shirt. He still looks a little lost and far too quiet, but he looks far more comfortable in dark clothes than he ever did in anything else he's worn. So Eren doesn't mind that these clothes cost more.

Eren hesitates at their bedroom door, hand half-raised to knock. He knows that Levi likes to be alone when he gets out of the shower and that he should turn around and go sit in the living room for another hour until Levi appears and asks him to come to bed. But the door is cracked open slightly, Levi is curled up with his face in his hands and he looks so small and frail that Eren forces himself to stop hesitating and walk into the room to sit next to Levi.

He moves slowly, sits very carefully on the bed next to Levi so that he's aware of the dip of the mattress. They're so close that Eren can feel the heat of Levi's body next time, almost like when they sleep curled up next to each other every night. It's one of the only times Levi allows himself to be touched. He doesn't flinch when Eren tucks a stray curl of hair behind his ear, or when Eren's fingers fall down to his bare shoulder. But he stiffens when Eren's hand starts to move towards his back. He stops.

"Is this okay?" Eren asks. He can hear how strained Levi's breathing is. "I can stop."

"Please," Levi says, and Eren moves his hand away and Levi relaxes against his side. After a few seconds, Levi's hand finds Eren's. Levi's hands are cold.

"I"m sorry," Levi apologises again like he always does, and Eren squeezes his fingers and shakes his head because he's tired of saying that it's okay. There's nothing to be sorry for but Levi doesn't know that yet.

"I love you," Eren says, and feels the last breath catch in Levi's throat. He brushes his thumb over the back of Levi's hand. "Remember that."

When Levi looks at him then, he almost seems the same as when they first met; old and tired but so curious. He looks at Eren like he desperately wants to believe that he deserves to be here with him, and Eren suddenly wants to kiss him so badly that his heart aches, so he does.

It's a very gentle kiss, and not their first. Their first was like this, a little awkward and very hesitant and mostly to see if either of them even liked it. They'd stuck to hand holding after that, sleeping together and cuddling after that because it was easier. But this time is a little easier. This time Levi remembers to tilt his head slightly and lean forwards. His mouth is soft and he smells like their lavender bath soap. He parts his lips and Eren tastes spearmint, unclasps their hands and runs his fingers through Levi's hair. Levi slides closer, puts a hand on Eren's hip and sighs. They kiss for a while, slowly, carefully as if they'll both break if they move too fast or don't take the time to memorise their every second together. This kind of love feels dangerous and painful and comforting, and Eren can't imagine letting it go easily. It might not be in the same way as Levi, but he's fallen hard.

Later, when they're both curled up together and Eren's beginning to drift off to sleep, he hears Levi's voice. The words linger and make their way into his dreams later, but the meaning remains.

"You're worth losing my wings for," he whispers. "You're worth everything."