The worst thing is that it always happens without warning. Something clenches deep in Levi's stomach, and it takes a half hour of uncomfortable, sweaty tossing before he admits that he really cannot sleep. He can't tell exactly where the bad feeling started, and every time he closes his eyes he sees everything from Eren dying to to his first book failing and when he opens them he feels like the world is spinning. When he opens his mouth he feels a crack open up on his bottom lip and his face feels hot. The blankets are wrapped so tightly around his body that escaping them becomes a struggle, and he panics. His heart pounds as he fights with the sheets and all he can smell is his own fear and sweat. When he finally manage to sit up, he grasps his hair, holds his head until the pounding in his brain lessens, squeezes his eyes shut and tries to will away the sickness in his gut. He wants to sleep so badly but he can't, wants to crawl right out of his skin, wants to exhale and disappear. It's like his brain is trying to pull him in fifty different directions at once and he wishes he had a quick way to stop it, but he can't. He needs a distraction and there's nothing here other than the twisted sheets and his anxiety. If he stays a second longer he's going to lose his mind and he still can't get his breathing under control He clumsily clambers out of bed, passes by his slippers and his jacket on the hook by the door, fumbles his keys into his pyjama pocket. He hopes he locks the door after him, but as soon as he reaches the stairs, he suddenly doesn't care. He's not even out of the building yet but it's below freezing and he can already feel it. He shivers. Maybe he should go back and-
No.
He has to hold onto the banister all the way down because he doesn't have the strength to navigate four flights of stairs without falling down them He concentrates hard on breathing and putting on foot in front of the other instead of the hot, rolling sickness in his stomach, the lingering nightmares and fear, uncertainty, shame, anxiety, grief-
He's walking through the car park before he can stop himself. Even though the wind claws at his face and the pavement is so cold it feels like his heels are burning, he keeps going. His breath clouds in front of him. He folds his arms a little tighter, hunches against the wind and continues, letting his feet take him wherever they want to go, hoping that if he goes far enough his thoughts won't be able to catch up with him. If he stays in one place for too long he might start hurting himself and he doesn't want that. There's a lighter tucked into the back corner of a kitchen drawer that he pretends he doesn't know about, behind the cutting board and the can opener. There's also the tiny blade he snapped out of a disposable razor a few weeks ago, that he meant to throw away but hasn't. It's tucked into a pair of socks he doesn't wear anymore.
His teeth begin to chatter, and snot is dripping onto his lips. He pulls the hem of his shirt up to wipe it away but it starts again a few seconds later so he gives it up. He's by a bench by then. He's not sure how long he's been walking for. A few minutes probably. He knows he's seen the bench before, but can't remember exactly where. It was daytime last time he saw it, he thinks, maybe a few weeks ago when it was warmer. Or maybe he passed it once and it showed up in his dreams. Maybe he's sleeping now. He doesn't know.
He sits down, shivers violently, pulls his feet up and wraps his arms around his knees. It doesn't make him feel much warmer, but he does feel safer somehow. He can hear his heart pounding and the wind howling. He can't hear anything else over it. He closes his eyes and even his eyeballs feel cold. He senses a light somewhere, but only for a few seconds. A car, probably. He doesn't know what time it is. He's so cold now that he's in pain, but when he thinks about it in terms of razor blades or burning skin, he can handle it. As long as he can sense how awful it feels, he's still alive and real and that's almost enough.
He doesn't know how long he stays there before the wind eases and changes. He cracks an eye open and through the darkness he can see something falling.
Snow.
It's very light and probably won't stick, but it's there. And Levi stares at the flakes as they fall, squints and tries to make out their differences but can't. He wants to put his hand out to catch one of them on his fingertips, but his body refuses to give up what little heat it has left. So he watches instead. It helps. He feels calmer after a minute or so, and his thoughts change from sharp spikes to quiet murmurs. He wishes he could get rid of his thoughts altogether and tries to, but it turns out that's asking for too much. He shivers again. His feet still feel like they're on fire but it's nothing compared to how much colder his ears feel. He wiggles his fingers to try and get the blood flowing again but he's shaking too much to make much of a difference. He starts to think that maybe he should've at least paused for a second to grab his jacket but it's too late-
"Levi!"
He stops breathing suddenly. He wants to turn his head to see who's calling him, but he's too cold to move. He wonders then what he would've done if no one had come to find him. Would he have moved himself after an hour? Or would he have sat on that bench until dawn, shivering alone until someone found him unconscious or dead (is it cold enough to kill him yet? He never checked the temperature before he left. it didn't seem important at the time)?
"Levi."
He's breathing again now, but shaking too hard to reply. Part of him wants to hold on to how painfully cold he feels, because it's the most effective distraction he has. But now there's a jumper on his shoulders that's too big and smells different, like someone he knows, and after a few seconds he tastes salt on his lips mixed with mucous. He drops his head on his knees.
"I thought…" The hand in his hair feels too hot. "I thought something happened to you."
He wants to apologise, he does, but the words are too busy spinning around in his head to make their way past his cracked, frozen lips and he feels like a total failure. He's thirty-four and he's sitting on a bench in the dark in the middle of January. Of course he's a failure.
"Levi," Eren says softly, gently pulling Levi's hands away from his knees. "Please. Let's go home."
Eren helps him stand, patiently waits for him for regain his balance, squeezes his hand tight and leads him back to their building. It seems like the sky is a little lighter, but then Levi can't be sure. He's not really sure of anything right then, other than Eren's hand and the sweater around his shoulders, the fading snow under his feet and the deep nighttime silence. Eren doesn't say a thing on their way back home. It's not like Levi can respond anyway.
The front door is slightly open, either through Eren's carelessness or Levi's. Eren shuts the door behind them and kicks off his shoes and Levi thinks about taking off Eren's sweater but slips his arms into it instead. He curls up on the couch because he can't stand the thought of trying to go to sleep on the bed again, and Eren turns on the space heater and pulls it as close to the couch as the cord will allow. He leaves the TV remote within reach and then goes off to the kitchen and starts messing around with the fridge and the microwave. Levi turns on the TV, leaves it on an infomercial and tries not to think for a while. He tries to focus on the sounds Eren's making in the kitchen because trying to watch the screen makes his whole body ache but he can't quite bring himself to close his eyes again. He wipes his nose on the sleeve of Eren's sweater and tries not to feel like a total baby.
"Levi?"
He looks up and then at the TV screen. Maybe he didn't turn it on after all. Maybe just staring at the blank screen was too much. He doesn't know. He feels like he's going to start crying again and he hates it.
Eren carefully hands him a mug of something warm and sits down. Levi sips carefully, winces as it touches his split lip. It's not earthy enough to be coffee, too sweet to be tea. He tastes peppermint and chocolate.
"Have you ever done that before?" Eren asks after a while. His hot chocolate is still clutched tightly in his lap.
Levi has to clear his throat a few times before he can answer, but his voice still comes out in a hoarse, pathetic whisper. "A few times."
Eren nods. Levi doesn't understand how he's so patient. Anyone who ever had to deal with this before usually gave up for their own health after a while and Levi learned to take care of himself. He doesn't expect anyone to be okay with him disappearing in the middle of the night to go sit outside in the freezing cold for hours, or lie down in the grass somewhere to get shit on by birds, or get a call from the police saying that they took him in after they found him sitting on the swings in a kid's playground at dawn.
Eren puts his cup on the coffee table. "I panicked. When I woke up and didn't hear you in the bathroom. Your shoes still by the door. Your phone on the bedside table." He swallows. "You took your keys but left the door open."
Levi's fingertips burn with the sudden urge to claw into his wrists. He's glad he has the cup in his hands then, because then he won't try. He thinks about the pair of ugly socks and the razor, the lighter. His hands shake.
"Why...why didn't you?" Eren asks. "Say something, I mean? Talk to me? Wake me up?"
Levi can't look at him. He wishes he could control himself better so he won't worry anyone (especially Eren, who has enough to be worrying about now without Levi walking around being suicidal for no reason). He wishes he didn't have to be taken care of. He wishes he didn't have stupid issues that make him want to stop existing, even just for an hour, or maybe even permanently-
Eren taps the back of Levi's hand and he freezes. Eren takes that opportunity to pry the cup from Levi's stiff fingers and put it next to the one on the coffee table. And then he settles back, very simply puts an arm around Levi's shoulders, and suddenly Levi feels thousands of times better. He wants to take off the sweater because it's way too big and he's warm enough now without it, but it smells and feels like Eren so he doesn't. He uncurls and puts his head in Eren's lap, and Eren plays with Levi's hair until he falls asleep.
In the morning he wakes up sweaty and aching and regrets everything he did the night before. But even though lying in Eren's lap is uncomfortable, he's still asleep and his hand is on Levi's chest, so he stays. He finds that the murmuring in his head is gone, and that he can think clearly again. He can't remember if he dreamt anything. His mouth is dry and his lips are still cracked. One of his nostrils is blocked.
But he looks up at Eren's sleeping face, with his head thrown back and lips slightly parted and feels his heart swell with gratitude. He's amazed again that someone loves him enough to go looking for him and not get angry at what they find. He wonders if he even deserves it, and then thinks it's probably insulting to Eren if he thinks he's not worthy or something.
He slips out from under Eren's hand, reluctantly takes off the sweater, and makes pancakes. They turn out kind of lumpy. When Eren wakes up, he points this out and Levi flicks batter at him. Eren decides to put his entire hand in the bowl and lovingly caress Levi's face.
And later, when they're washing pancake batter out of each other's hair, they realise the burning smell isn't actually coming from next door like they thought.