Quick, gentle fingers slide pins through fabric, the brothers of said pins trapped between half open lips. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, his jacket thrown over a chair. His young assistant went home hours ago holding the arm of his love like a doll. By all justifications he should be at home as well. Rugged up in bed with hot tea and book, but, alas, tonight is not that night. Instead he buckles down, working with narrowed eyes and nimble fingers on a suit only was born a week before and not near finished. If it is not for the large check in the man's pocket and years worth of loyalty Rivialle would of turned the man down without a seconds thought, but unfortunately he is bound by the bonds of a friendship that stretches for decades. He has little need for money, but it is always a perk he won't deny.
The light is low, given only by a few orange lanterns, hanging limply on the walls. The tailor's face glowing softly in the orange haze. The rain drips sadly outside, but within the warm walls it goes unnoticed by the two men. Every now and then Erwin will feel a tense prick in his lower abdomen, but years of this has given him the knowledge not to complain. This is the latest he had ever called on Rivialle and he isn't about to start complaining when depriving a man of his evening.
"Honestly" his tailor huffs as he begins to sew. Erwin looks at himself in the mirror and sees a man standing there. "I don't know how you manage to have a new suit made every other week. It's a goddamned miracle you haven't yet run out of money" he is used got he foul mouth that is Rivialle Levi. He knows no boundaries in the land of swearing to The Lord that so wronged him, in his opinion at least. Thankfully, despite the occasional curse, he is the best. Never a dress, nor gown, nor suit can beat this man. If fabric was gold this man would be rich.
"Well, I only ever come to you" Erwin chuckles to himself at his own private joke. As far as truthfulness goes, when talking to himself he had it down, but the rest of the world? The rest of the world he intends to keep in the dark. If he was to let loose that the main reason he spent so much on suits was to stand in the warm company of a man who he is sure at least doesn't hate him he would probably break their grudging friendship. He can't ask for more than that, not at this time of night anyway.
"Thanks for the complement" Rivialle is forever dry and cold, but he is human, he has been since the day of his birth and will continue being until his death. Even he, the coldest of the cold, can't keep affection at bay for a man such as this. Most of his customers are demanding, certain and for a reasonable price he will put up with their unimaginative minds, but at least with this customer he was free to design what he wishes, no budget ever enforced. If he is as truthful as Erwin is with himself he would know that he would of made this man his suits if he was paid in juice boxes.
"You deserve it. I'm sorry about calling on you this la-" he feels the jab of a needle in his hip and he quickly stops his sentence mid word. One glance down at Rivialle's features as he knows the tailor had forgotten about the time of night and he had just had an unfortunate reminder. "Nevermind" Erwin mutters, returning his gaze to the mirror. He stands in on a small stool in front of a full length mirror. Surrounding him are rolls of fabric and half clothed mannequins. On yet another, albeit taller, stool sits Rivialle, eyes trained on the bottom of Erwin's yet-to-be waistcoat, threading pins through the soft fabric. Black hair, thin blue eyes, he looks cold, but cold he is not. Foul mouthed, maybe. Rude, definitely. Cold, always a no. It took a while to notice, it had taken Erwin a while to notice, but warmth was there, not hidden, but not necessarily embraced.
Normally, at a normal time, they would not be in the back room of Rivialle's shop, but instead in the showroom, where the fully dressed mannequins took residence. They stood in their top hats and ball gowns, faceless and queer. Unfortunately it was far too cold to be doing the pin work in there. Rivialle had sworn his fingers would freeze while he worked and there was no way Erwin could argue with that.
"Alright, you oaf, I'm finished" Rivialle knocks his fingers together, brushing away dust only he can see. "You can get changed now and don't disrupt the pins" without speaking Erwin nodded and headed to the change rooms, while Rivialle ran his finger through his hair and patted his own waistcoat for his cigarettes. Rivialle is the only one who calls him an oaf, no one else dares. It isn't even the side effect of their years together, it was simply Rivialle's ability to not give a damn about social standing.
Erwin moves quickly through the dim showroom to the curtained change rooms, walking stiffly, trying to avoid the pins. He looks around, having never seen the front of Rivialle's shop after dark. He has seen it abandoned by customers before, but on those occasions there would always be one of the assistants manning the counter, Eren or perhaps the consistently lovely Petra. It is such a haunting place at night, with rain sliding down the windows and the rare strike of lightening. It comforts him to know that Rivialle is just in the other room, probably smoking a cigarette and waiting for his pins to return to him.
He quickly undresses and redresses in his normal clothes. He knows from years of experience that if even one pin is out of place, he won't survive the evening. When he returns to Rivialle's back room as he suspected the tailor is smoking with his shoes up on the table beside his sewing machine. His eyes are cast upwards, dazedly tracking the progress of spider across his celling. Erwin knows that for Rivialle his space must be clean, it must not be like the place where he grew up. He knows that the slight man detests insects invading on his need for hygiene, but Erwin suspects he had always had a soft spot for spiders. He may brush away their webs every week, but he makes sure that they have warning. Never do they not have time to escape to fate of the broom.
"I thank you again for putting up with me, Rivialle" the tailor doesn't jump, despite the silence embedded in Erwin's footsteps, he act as though he knew he was there all along and was just pretending he didn't.
"Tsk" Rivialle's nose crinkles, and his eyes don't move. "It doesn't matter, you may leave. I'll have Eren run the suit to your house in the morning" with a quick dismissive wave of his hand he expects Erwin to leave, walk home to his stupidly large house and drink tea before bed.
"No, I would rather stay. It's unfair for me to get to sleep while you are awake because of my doing" the taller man lays the soft material down next to the sewing machine. For a moment he thinks that Rivialle will fight his company, a fight he would surely not win, but with a quick shake of the head he is granted permission to stay. He knows that Rivialle won't set him tasks, or as for his help. He will work as though he is not there, as aside from the brief conversations they rarely host. Conversation beyond necessity and interesting topics bored them both. The pleasantries of everyday life were uneventful and dull, the same string of words said to every person like a mocking salut. So they kept there conversations short and simple, neither of them stretching themselves to the other's aid. If they were to bathe in silence then bathe in silence they shall.
Erwin took a seat at the desk that Petra did her embroideries at and watched Rivialle begin his work, thin eyes scrapping over his fabrics, no doubt thinking of his bed.
"Say, Erwin?" Erwin looks up at the celling, spotting Rivialle's troublesome spider and becoming captivated by it just as he had.
"Hmm?" He hums in response, a little too tired to be curious about what his tailor might be about to inquire.
"Why do you need a suit at this ungodly hour for anyway? What could possibly be too proper for all the other suits I have made you?" Rivialle began to sew very slowly at first. He hums quietly to himself to keep the rhythm, his thin nimble fingers darting, practiced and uncaring. Erwin sighs, he is not looking forward to the event in the slightest.
"I have a meeting with three idiots and pig tomorrow morning" Rivialle snorts, eyes never straying.
"And because of that you demand that I am sleep deprived?" Never has Rivialle been one for common niceness and tonight is no exception.
"Come now, Rivialle. You know I wouldn't call you out at this hour if I wasn't in dire need of you expertise"
"Tsk" Rivialle shakes his head, focusing back on his work. It is going to be a long night ahead.
The rain comes down in soft lashings, quietly attacking the cobblestone buildings and finding no yield. The two men stand in the doorway of the tailor's shop, staring out at the drizzle. One of the men is scowling, as if demanding to know how the rain dares disturb him. The other, slightly back from the slighter man, simply looks on as if the rain is simply a mischievous child.
"Well, goodbye Erwin, you insufferable bastard, I'll see you at a later date" with a quick wave of his clever hand Rivialle steps onto the street, to begins the long walk home where he would surely become drenched. He would of walked further, but Erwin places his large hand of his shoulder. Rivialle looks back at him with a raised eyebrow and a frown, questioning his movement like it was obvious he would.
"You can come home with me if you like, I'll put you up for thanks" he smiles and he knows the his tailor is tempted. They both know that Erwin's house is closer than Rivialle's little cottage and that Erwin has an umbrella. A blue eye twitches as he thinks about the prospect of not being soaked rain water. He shakes his head with a sigh, as if the rain is his companion's fault.
"Very well, but only for tonight" his voice is grudging and reluctant, but his need not to catch a cold is too strong. He still has to go to work tomorrow. Erwin smiles again at his somewhat charming answer.
"Lovely, shall we go?" Rivialle nods uncomfortably and they begin the short walk, shoulders pressed together under a black umbrella. They don't speak, they simply walk, trying their best not to get too wet. They look so different, the tailor and the gentleman. The gentleman tall and broad shouldered, his hair neat and military. He wears fine clothes and his back is straight and his shoulder square, he walks like solider, but looks like a general. The tailor is of a much smaller build. His hands reside in the pockets of a suit he made himself. His eyes are focused straight and cynical. It one was to look closely they would notice the way he carefully avoids the puddles and the way he holds on to the sleeve of the gentleman.
They come to a large driveway, dwarfing the buildings around it. Stain glass windows greet their owner and eye the new arrival suspiciously as the two men pause, the gravel scrambling under their boots. They look at the town house, in half admiration, in half disgust. They both know that it is for show, they both know that the house was born to greet guests worth impressing and not for children and families.
"I don't know why you insist on walking everywhere when you have a whole stable of fine horses" Rivialle points out huffily, crossing his arms across his chest and glaring daggers at the house. He suddenly wishes to be in his own home, his home is so much more comfortable looking than this. This place probably has terrible tea pretending to be imported to add to the mix of precocious.
"I don't know either, I suppose it makes me feel a little less dependent. Like back when I was in the army" Erwin muses unhelpfully, not noticing, or perhaps choosing to ignore, the sarcasm in Rivialle's voice.
"Tch. Good lord, military sentiment. That's the worst" They begin to walk, the gravel crunching wetly under the soles of their shoes. They force themselves up the steps to the door. It is too early in the morning to be arguing about such trivial things, so they drop it and Rivialle simply decides that he's about to pass out. Erwin opens the door and his tailor walks right in, wanting to be in the cold any longer than necessary. A deep laugh rumbles from Erwin's chest at his eagerness. He follows his tailor into the house, leaving his umbrella by the door to dry. The inside of the house in warm, but dark. The servants have long gone home. Someone is snoring loudly and they were both drawn to the room where the snoring person resides. They both know who she is. They both know her son. She was the one who introduced them, Erwin to the best suits ever made and Rivialle to a freedom to design what he wished. Hange sleeps soundly in an armchair, a book resting on her chest, something about chemistry. Her son, Erwin's young nephew, Armin, sits on the floor in front of a dying fire, awake unlike his mother. He turns as they enter, not batting an eye at the appearance of the tailor. Rivialle knew the boy quite well, he was good friends with his youngest assistant, Eren. He is a studious boy, taking after his mother in that sense, but his blond hair resembles Erwin's. He nods to both the men and they nod in return before he returns to his book on whatever topic he feels like studying tonight. It is no surprise he is still awake, the boy is essentially nocturnal.
Rivialle quietly lays a blanket over his old friend while she sleeps and Erwin takes he book, placing it on the side table. Rivialle allows himself to be lead to a guest bedroom without fuss, it is too late and he had worked too hard to start rejecting kindness. He barely manages to get his shoes and jacket off before collapsing into the oversized bed and falling into a deep late night slumber.
Rivialle comes walking slowly down the stairs of the large house, wondering if there will be a cup of tea waiting for him if he makes his footsteps loud enough. He can hope. He has been to Erwin's manor a few times before. On nights when he would go drinking with Hange he would more often than not drop her off and perhaps come in for coffee and a talk with Erwin. It hadn't changed since he was a boy, stealing into house so that he could eat. He doubts it will change for the next thousand years. It has too many memories to be destroyed. He approaches the dining room and sees Erwin and Armin sitting together, one of the servants pouring tea for Erwin with a china teapot. Two other places are set at the table and he seats himself at one of them, next to Erwin who has his nose buried in a newspaper, probably checking the stock market. He looks at the tailor over the paper, somewhat surprised and somewhat approving of his abrupt appearance. As soon as he is rightfully seated a maid comes along and slides a plate in front of him. Steaming eggs and buttered toast, a sausage and several other foods of a breakfast sort greet him as he looks down upon the china. Another maid arrives soon after with an identical plate which she sets in front of Erwin, who sets down his newspaper beside the plate. Of course, it is just like him not to eat without the guest. Rivialle almost scoffs into his egg. Just a precariously seated piece of egg is about to enter Erwin's mouth Rivialle scowls fiercely and Erwin pauses, looking up.
"You dare eat without a napkin in your lap in the suit I spent all of last night slaving over and I will not hesitate to crucify you" Rivialle's voice is low and threatening. Immediately Erwin lowers his fork and places a soft napkin in his lap, soundlessly doing as he was told. "Better" If either of them was paying attention they would notice pd the stifled giggles coming from the boy across from Rivialle, but neither of them do and all is well.
"Would you be willing to take my poached eggs?" As always Erwin's words are ernest. Rivialle grunts.
"As long you take my tomatoes"
Erwin sighs deeply. Oh, how he wishes this day would end. But it doesn't, it simply drags on at its usual pace. Time isn't biased. He walks with one hand in his pocket, long legs striding confidently over the almost dry cobblestone. The sun is shining like golden strands through solemn grey clouds, but the world still looks dismal. Rivialle's shop is only down the street, even if he didn't know it it would of caught his attention. A small crowd of noble men and women cluster around the door, some of them shouting rudely at the small young woman in the door way. He quickens his stride, becoming concerned with the tears pricking in the girl's eyes.
"You have to let us in! He said it would be alright!" Shouts mingle together, deforming the sentences, making it difficult to find completely statements rather than just angry words and half written demands. The girl, Petra, one of Rivialle's assistants tries again to close the door, but one of the men pulls it out of her hand, forcing the poor girl back. Immediately Erwin looses his temper.
"Enough!" He bellows, his knuckles white against the head of his cane. All eyes snap to him, some wide with fright, others still retaining anger. "I'm sure that for whatever reason you have it is not good enough to be shouting" nobody disagrees with him, only looking and wondering what will happen next. "Now will someone kindly explain to me what is going on?" A firm frown is plastered on his disapproving face and Petra is looking at him in pure thanks. A man steps forward.
"The owner of this store said that it would be alright for us to hold a meeting upstairs from the shop, but suddenly this wench won't let us in" the man points accusingly at Petra who had noticeably began to shake. Erwin sees her flinch at the use of the word wench. Erwin is sure the man wouldn't of been referring to her as a prostitute if he knew the situation Rivialle had saved her from.
"Well, I'm sure that for whatever reason that you aren't allowed to enter it is a good one, now please leave with dignity or I will be forced to get the authorities" Erwin's voice was cold and firm, his grey eyes narrowed in threat. The man and his posse back off almost immediately. They sneer at him as they disperse, but Erwin pays them no mind. Whatever they were planning to do in the attic was none of his business.
"Are you alright, my dear?" Erwin smiles comfortingly and lays his big, calloused hand on her petite shoulder. She smiles shakily.
"Yes, thank you Mister Smith" she bobbed, her orange head shaking slightly. Erwin removes his hand from her white lace dress, placing it back in his pocket.
"I'm here to see Rivialle, is he in?" Petra suddenly smiles at the mention on the tailor. She quietly takes his sleeve, steering him without a word into the shop. He spots Eren and Armin behind the counter peering at Armin's latest book craze or perhaps one of his mother's journals. They wave, but don't speak, everyone seems to be taking caution to be quiet. Peculiar, he thinks.
He is guided gently into the back room, but he freezes at the door and his jaw falls open a little, briefly loosing his composure. Rivialle in the flesh sleeps soundly by his sewing machine, his cheek down on his forearms, eyes closed and breathing slow. He looks so peaceful. Erwin almost giggles girlishly at the sight, but instead merely smiles and drapes a nearby blanket over his thin shoulders, noticing how he looks cynical even in his sleep. He turns to Petra, his hand resting lightly on Rivialle's back, noting to himself that for someone so seemingly cold he actually did have body heat.
"You did well to send them away, my dear. I believe his tiredness in my fault and I do apologise" she smiles back at him, taking his charming words to heart. She looks relieved to have his approval for her actions. "Please make sure he gets home at reasonable time for me, Petra"
"Of course, sir" she nods, clasping his gloved hands together in front of her, golden eyes shining as usual.
"Well, tell him I dropped by. Thank you for letting him sleep"
Author's notes:
so I've been looking at a lot of Erwin and Levi fanart on the Internet and I Decided that I really wanted to write something for them, cause I just think they're cute. I really hoped you liked this, cause I certainly liked writing it.
Much love,
Clementine