Thanks to all those who left reviews/comments/kudos on here and on . So FINALLY, here's the 2nd part (Reunion) which I meant to finish for Eruri week 2014 (oops)… There will be a Part III because I'm atrocious at planning. Also I'm in the middle of finals, so this is unbeta'ed (and pretty much unedited… sorry.) :\

Wanderlust had set in like a winter chill, starting as a feeble stirring in his bones and radiating outwards, intensity increasing and increasing until he had been aching with it.

Erwin had held it in – had held himself together – for a week before he'd started making plans with Hanji, passing the weighty title of Commander over to her capable hands. He'd had no doubts about her ability to lead expeditions that would help humanity flourish again, and he looked forward to hearing – in due time – of the discoveries and the scientific advancements in which he was certain she would take part.

He had never really let himself consider what they might do after they had won, that the Titans would be eradicated in this lifetime. He had never let himself be so optimistic as to dream up the possibilities, because Erwin Smith was nothing if not a realistic man. When the time really came, certainly he had felt joy. Certainly he had felt joy and triumph and elation like all the other soldiers.

Yet there had been something oddly hollow about it, as if when the Titans had disappeared, they left along with an integral part of him. He had felt cheated almost, conned out of some consummate happiness he'd thought would inevitably ensue. He'd supposed it had just been too long since he'd strived for anything but to drive the titans to extinction; it had become the most fundamental part of him, the very core of what defined him. Along with the emptiness had come the guilt – not that he regretted his decisions that led humanity to victory, rather the realization that so many of his comrades were gone, unable to revel in the freedom, had been crushing. The realization had set in, took up residence in his mind with a numbing sort of feeling.

He had left with nothing but a small pack of necessities, his father's old atlas, and just one tiny, niggling seed of regret.

It was nothing, he had told himself firmly. It was nothing at all.

He's grown a beard, lost the musculature he'd had during his time as Commander. His skin is weathered, a small sunspot developing on the bridge of his nose; his cheeks are lightly dusted with faint little freckles that Levi's never seen before on him, and his lips are slightly chapped. The standard military undercut has grown out into straggly blonde hair. Protruding from the sleeveless shirt he's wearing, the stump of his right arm looks entirely healed, shiny white scar tissue replacing the once-gaping wound.

But what hasn't changed about Erwin is the sharp light in his eyes, the intensity of his cerulean gaze.

Levi feels all of nineteen again, flying through the Underground with stolen gear – the first time he'd seen that gaze. Goosebumps skitter up his arms – he hasn't flown in years, yet there's the same light-headed giddiness, the same squeezing sensation in his chest.

His lips twist into a wry smile at Erwin's roughened voice. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Erwin. Four years since I've last seen you."

Erwin blinks slowly, surprised. "Has it really," he murmurs, eyes finally leaving Levi's, distant as he looks across the ocean that serves as his front yard. The blue of his eyes reflects it.

His gaze refocuses, seeming to take in Levi properly this time, appraising his simple white shirt, his dark tunic and trousers.

"I'm sorry, where are my manners? Please, do come in."

His left arm reaches across his body awkwardly to hold the door open, but it's with much more grace than Levi recalls: he's adapted to the loss of his arm in the years he's been away. Idly, Levi wonders if Erwin's adapted as much to solitude.

He remembers the talk of the townsfolk. The Commander's right hand, he'd been called. His sword, carrying out his bidding; his faithful, feral dog. His lover, they'd said. Yet the two of them had never touched beyond tight shoulder squeezes after expeditions, the ache of grief in their chests. Brief touches, never more, for that was the nature of their profession – brief intersections of lives before real-life monsters snuffed the light out. Never had Levi entertained the thought that both of them would survive.

The strong, solid line of Erwin's back makes Levi's throat close up as he follows to the kitchen. How many times had he stared at Erwin's back, the line of it jilted by a horse's gallop? There's an overwhelming urge to reach out, grab it, make sure that Erwin's really there.

As soon as Levi enters however, he freezes in his tracks. Erwin turns back quizzically.

"Is that … is that mould in your sink?"

##

They end up eating an hour later, after Levi's scrubbed down every inch of the dining table and sink with disgusted rigour. The leaky faucet drips still, but the sink has been scrubbed clean.

"I don't even want to see your cooking utensils," he'd hissed, face contorted into an angry scowl. The expression is so familiar to Erwin that he can't help but smile, albeit with a pang in his chest. He hadn't realized it, but he'd been lonely. He'd missed having company around, and he'd missed having Levi around, the furrow in his brows a permanent fixture. He doesn't know if he can cope with being alone again, not with Levi's visit reminding him of what he's left behind.

They eat in near-silence, the steady drip-drip of the tap the only sound, but it's a companionable atmosphere. Levi hasn't changed much, Erwin thinks to himself. Except –

Except there's the subtle laxness with which he holds himself now, no longer the terseness in his slight shoulders, the rigidity of his spine. He still eats delicately with lips firmly closed between bites, still picks up his cup of tea by the rim with his thumb and index finger, blows on the hot liquid and inhales the scent of the tea before drinking –

"What are you staring at?" Levi asks, not exactly accusatory. His tone is more curious than anything else, his right brow arched.

Erwin's lips quirk in chagrin around his mouthful of chickpeas. Every expression, every nuance – it feels so strangely right that Levi is here with him in this place he calls home. He swallows the bolus of food.

"Just wondering how long you'll be here," he says instead.

Levi's brow raises even more. "I just got here, and you're already asking me to leave? Tch, your manners have certainly deteriorated out here. Could it be that the impeccable Erwin Smith has become uncivilized? Now how will you charm the nobles and secure funding? What a loss for the Survey Corps."

His former Captain's tone is mocking, mildly antagonistic, but Erwin sees past it. There's a slight quaver in his quips, a subtle anxiety underlying his sharp tone. It doesn't escape Erwin's notice that Levi hasn't answered his question.

Erwin waits, a mild smile playing on his lips.

He can tell when Levi's realized he's caught on by the glare that's directed at him. "Your place is a mess – I can't believe you lived here for four years on your own. Did you not clean at all? That's just like you, being so absent-minded you can't clean up after yourself –"

"Levi," he interrupts, and his smile is full-blown now. He can feel his dry lips crack a little bit – he hasn't smiled so widely, not in a long time. "You are welcome to stay as long as you'd like."

Levi regards him warily, parts his lips as if about to retort before snapping them back shut, seeming to think better of it.

Erwin's hand twitches, but he stops himself from reaching across the table to fold his fingers around Levi's hand. Instead, his grip tightens around the fork, the thought of the touch sending tingles all the way up his arm and down to his toes.

"It's good to have you back," he says, instead.

##

Erwin offers to sleep on the couch. Levi waves away the suggestion with a dismissive scowl.

"It's your bed," he says, corner of his mouth twisting (in displeasure? Erwin isn't sure).

They end up sleeping in the same bed, facing away from each other. Despite Levi's nonchalance, his shoulders are stiff as he huddles in his own blankets on his half of the bed (though due to his size, he only takes up a third, really), as if fearing he'll trespass onto Erwin's side, that he'll infringe on some sort of unspoken boundary between the two of them.

It makes Erwin's heart contort in strange ways in the morning when Levi wakes up, sheets all twisted around his legs and waist, eyes opening wide with disbelief – and something akin to delight, he thinks – when he sees Erwin before the curtain comes down again, masking that unguarded happiness.

Erwin wonders what he's hiding from.

::~::

It starts slowly, with a simple question a week later: "Where are your razor blades?"

Erwin doesn't use them often; there's no need for a clean-shaven face when his own reflection in the mornings is the only time he's ever seen, and the nicks and cuts he gets from trying just aren't worth the trouble, though the stubble does irritate him sometimes. He keeps an untouched stash in a small cabinet in the washroom, and he directs Levi there.

Levi nods his thanks.

Then, "You don't shave anymore."

It's not exactly a question, but Erwin answers anyway. "It's difficult," he says with only slight hesitation. He knows he doesn't have to pretend, not with Levi. He raises his left arm. "I usually end up making a mess of myself."

The look on Levi's face isn't pitying.

"Then you should have asked me to do it for you," he says stonily.

Levi doesn't wait for him to respond. He pushes at Erwin's chest with unexpected strength, forcing Erwin to sit down on a nearby stool. Erwin's face is level with Levi's abdomen; he casts his gaze downwards, forcing himself to stare at the tiled floor. Slender fingers grip his chin firmly, twisting his face to the side briefly before letting go. Yet the pressure of those digits lingers.

The slide of the cold blade along his jaw is a practiced, smooth motion. Once, twice, thrice. He can hear the quiet scrape of the metal against the hairs. Scratch-scratch. The blade is lifted, and Levi's fingers brush along the smooth, sensitized area.

Erwin inhales softly, involuntary, and Levi's fingers retract immediately as if burned.

"Sorry," he murmurs, voice husky, and then it's only the coolness of the blade for the rest of the process.

When he's done, Levi uses a towel to dab roughly at Erwin's face, as if careful not to touch him directly. As he puts the towel away, Erwin's hand catches Levi's wrist, fingers circling gently enough that Levi can easily break his hold.

Levi doesn't look at him, simply freezes in place, eyes averted.

It doesn't escape him that this is the first time they've intentionally touched in over four years.

"Thank you, Levi," he breathes, before his former captain pulls away.

##

They fall into a routine without the intention of doing so.

In the mornings Levi wakes first, for Erwin's years of neglecting sleep in favour of doing paperwork have caught up to him; in the mornings sleep clings to the former Commander like honey. The roar of the ocean is disconcerting to Levi the first few mornings, and it makes him leave the room, brewing tea, bags of which line Erwin's cupboards. A small ration of plain home-made bread goes down with the tea for breakfast.

As Erwin wakes and eats breakfast, Levi bathes. Access to water and the freedom to take longer than a combat shower allows him to be meticulous; it's during this time that he feels the most at peace. Erwin takes the washroom after him, and Levi would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy seeing Erwin's hair wet and mussed after the shower, skin rosy pink from his cheeks to his bare chest.

They tend to the garden together before the sun's rays become harsh, opting usually for a late lunch. Erwin is slow but patient, having developed an efficient method of shoveling with his only hand. Weeding is left to Levi: Erwin's discriminatory eye for plants isn't as sharp as his military prowess, and many times he's discarded precious crop.

At the hottest point of the day, they nap. Levi knows the younger soldiers would have found it funny; he can hear Jean and Eren in his mind already, sniggering.

Dinner is a simple affair, and neither of them eats much. In the evenings, they drink tea, sitting quietly on the porch, overlooking the ocean until night falls. They don't say much; sometimes Erwin reads. For people like them, there are simply too many memories to revisit.

At night, the awkward tension doesn't disappear. They're careful not to touch as they settle in to sleep; blankets are carefully tucked on each man's own side. Yet somehow in the mornings, Levi always seems to wake up in Erwin's embrace.

The days begin to blend together, but Levi finds that he doesn't mind.

##

As the weather becomes colder, the days grow shorter. In the afternoons, the skies bleed into red in a beautiful display of colours.

"It doesn't get too cold around here," Erwin says one evening. There's an open book on his lap, but his hand lies serenely, splayed across the neglected pages. "But in other places, in the winters, they say ice falls from the skies."

"Ice?"

"Soft ice," Erwin corrects himself, "called snow. Like tiny little pieces of clouds."

The prospect of snow is ludicrous; Levi snorts before taking another sip of tea. But Erwin's eyes are lit up as he speaks of how soft the flakes of it are, how each snowflake is unique and intricate; the blue of his eyes reflects the hazy glow of the retiring sun.

"We'll go there sometime," he promises as he gazes at Levi.

Levi looks up, surprised at this mention of the future. It seems like he's been here forever, and it seems like nothing will change for the two of them. Besides, he doesn't need it to change.

He's not as enthusiastic about the cold as Erwin seems to be, but the idea of a journey, something with just the two of them, unfurls a strange warmness within him.

Below them, beyond the cliffs, the sounds of ocean aren't so foreign anymore. He's gotten used to them; in fact, it feels strange when they're in the forest, and the sounds are absent. It's become a part of his home, he realizes. Their home.

He sips at his tea again to hide a tight-lipped smile.

"Yeah," he says, not looking at Erwin. "Yeah, that sounds good."

##

That night as they retire to bed, Erwin stops, gaze travelling questioningly over the single blanket neatly folded on the bed. Its twin, the blanket Levi had been using up until then, sits in the closet, where Levi had put it earlier that day.

He doesn't answer Erwin's unspoken question; simply climbs onto the bed, tucking his feet into the blanket and pulling the sheets up to his chest. His feet are cold.

"You better not hog the blankets," he says with a glower, but really, his pulse is racing as Erwin scrutinizes him, looking as if he might ask What's the meaning of this, Levi?

But after a few moments, a fond smile works its way into Erwin's lips, which makes Levi scowl as the other man settles in beside him wordlessly. He's warm – unfairly so, Levi thinks. Promptly he presses his icy-cold toes to Erwin's calf, slight vindictive satisfaction filling him when the other man hisses softly. Yet Erwin doesn't move away, and like every night, Levi falls asleep to the rhythm of his steady breaths.

##

Drip. Drip.

Crimson lips, darkened where the blood has clotted. Red just like Isabel's hair.

Drip. Drip.

Dark, empty eyes staring out from a mop of brown hair. Levi, Farlan calls. But those eyes see through him, lifeless.

Drip, drip, drip.

Erd and Gunther, strung up like meat at the butcher's. Auruo's not far off, body broken, dark blood seeping into soil. Slumped against the tree, broken limbs outflung as if pleading for mercy – Petra.

Levi wakes gasping, clutching at cold sheets. Sometime during the night, Erwin's moved to the other side of the bed, likely out of habit the past few weeks. The steady dripping of the faucet is loud in Levi's ears, no matter how tightly he presses against the pillow. It's the same sound that had kept him up the night Isabel and Farlan died, for the Survey Corps cabins were leaky and old. And the same sound on so many other nights he'd mourned – countless faces, some of them fading into the recesses of time, flash before him in the din.

Don't deserve to be called Humanity's Strongest, the nasty voice in his mind whispers. You let them all die.

His jaw clenches, his hands fist in the sheets. He hates that he still has these nightmares; hates that he still can't control it. His hands are shaking again – it hasn't been this bad, not in a long while.

There's movement behind him. Erwin shifts, the mattress dipping to accommodate his movement.

"Levi?" he murmurs in the dark, and for a moment Levi considers feigning sleep.

"It's nothing," he says instead, but he knows Erwin won't buy it for a second. He knows that Erwin understands immediately. The bed groans again; Erwin's warmth is closer, and for a different reason this time, Levi shivers.

"Will it help to know I'm here?" Erwin asks. His voice is uncharacteristically hesitant.

He's not sure what Erwin means, not until the other man moves closer, drapes a hesitant arm across Levi's form. Levi forgets how to breathe for a moment.

"Is this alright?" comes Erwin's murmur, and Levi forces himself to breathe.

He can feel Erwin along the entire line of his body even through the layers of their clothing, and the warmth, the smell, the feeling of being so close to Erwin – it's intoxicating and it's comforting, and for once it feels like he's safe. He nods, concentrating on the sound of Erwin's steady breaths. Soon the rhythm slows, and Levi succumbs to sleep.

When he wakes in the morning, he finds himself in Erwin's one-armed embrace, and he doesn't fight it, not even a little.

It's a slow seduction, but Levi knows he's falling fast.

::~::

The spring rains bring in an ample crop from the garden, and soon their meals abound with fresh carrots and radishes, morels from the forest.

Levi catches a cold – something he hasn't experienced for decades, he swears – and Erwin goes out, leaving him curled up in a cocoon of blankets and towels (makeshift blankets), sniffling and red-nosed on the couch. He's bored as hell and a little bit lonely (although he'll never admit to it), so he retrieves Erwin's heavy atlas, bringing it to the couch.

The book is leather-bound, the thick musty pages yellowed with age. Yet the colours of the landscapes it shows are vibrant still, the blue-and-white hues of the sky as alive as Levi's seen with his own eyes. Just as Erwin had said, there are pictures of soft ice - snow flakes, countless variations of spokes and needles detailed in black-and-white sketches.

(Levi doesn't believe it – surely such beautiful things can't be so tiny.)

Yet the pictures of the ocean, something that he wouldn't have believed existed scant years ago, is now something he sees every day. It feels surreal.

The sound of Erwin's boots alerts Levi before the door opens. Groggy, he only looks up briefly, about to close his eyes again when he sees it.

He's on his feet in seconds, snatching one of the towels from the cocoon, nearly tackling Erwin as he wraps the white linen around Erwin's bleeding hand. His heart is pumping overtime, epinephrine coursing through his bloodstream.

Red means Titans. Red means pain. Red means death.

But there are no Titans.

"What the fuck, Erwin," Levi says flatly, his mind distant and reeling, but there's a multitude of emotions blooming inside him just like the blood seeping into the fabric. The redness of the blood brings back countless flashes of memories; Levi has to repress a shudder. He speaks again, and this time his voice is brimming with anger. "What happened?"

"It's okay, I'm fine," Erwin says, blue eyes confused. "My hand caught in this when dismantling it, that's all."

He has the gall to laugh, and his hand uncurls gingerly from around a barbed contraption – a rabbit trap. There's a soft thump as he drops a sack on the floor, presumably with the caught rabbit. The blood is bright against the dull metal.

Levi grabs his hand, examines it. Finds that the flesh between Erwin's thumb and index finger is what's wounded. As his own heartbeat begins to subside, it's replaced by a now-familiar coldness – the feeling of being out of place. He doesn't belong in this life, where the most frightening wounds come from foraging accidents.

(Blood means pain. Blood means death. Erwin-)

He fights to ignore the impending shivers, the coldness. He doesn't belong here.

"Levi," comes Erwin's voice, gentle yet stern, and that's how Levi can tell Erwin fucking knows. The sound brings him back, makes him realize his hands are shaking as they clench around Erwin's wrist. He feels numb. With great effort, he unclenches them, wraps the towel around as best he can, tying a knot.

"Thank you," Erwin says calmly, flexing his crudely-bandaged hand.

"Don't mention it," Levi mutters as they head to the kitchen to prepare lunch.

##

The kitchen fills with the delicious smell of rabbit stew. Levi pares some potatoes, freshly-picked cilantro and carrots to the side as Erwin watches over the simmering pot. There's a dull look in Erwin's eyes; he's never enjoyed the admittedly slow process of cooking like Levi, instead seeing it as a necessary waste of time. A means to an end.

They don't speak of the rabbit trap incident.

"It's burning," Levi says sharply, and Erwin hastily lifts the lid. Levi's nose might not be as good as Mike's had been, but the lonely years after humanity's victory had tempered his nose into a fair detector for good cuisine.

He takes the lid from Erwin's awkward grasp, sprinkling cilantro into the stew before adding water and replacing the lid.

Erwin smiles ruefully. "What would I do without you?" he says with a slight chuckle, unbearably fond, and it sends a hot pang through Levi's chest. He walks back to the sink, picking up the paring knife.

"You avoided me for four years," he says, tone forced light as his grip tightens. There's the slightest tremble of his hand; he tries to quash it with violent intent, but it returns, making his vision blur. The newest half-pared potato lies neglected, next to the remaining pieces of carrot, neatly-chopped.

But Levi's never been good at masking emotion, has never really bothered suppressing anger; he knows Erwin sees through the façade immediately. The atmosphere changes, and he hears Erwin flicking off the stove slowly, deliberately.

"Levi…"

Levi keeps his back turned, wishes he could take his words back – wishes he'd kept his mouth shut and this topic under tight lock. Stupid. He fidgets, keeps shifting the pieces of carrot around – they'll have to go into the salad tonight, but Erwin doesn't like them raw –

Erwin's bandaged hand drops lightly onto his shoulder, and the buzzing thoughts dissipate like Titan steam. His hand unclenches from the knife. All he can focus on is that pressure on his shoulder, the faint warmth seeping through scant layers of fabric.

(How many times had he followed that commanding hand into hell?)

"Levi," he says again, voice low.

"Drop it, Erwin." He shrugs Erwin's hand away, chest tight.

"My choice to leave had nothing to do with avoiding you. My role as Commander … my goals and my wishes for humanity were over. There was nothing left for me within the walls, you must understand."

The knife falls with a dull clatter, and Levi moves quickly to the stove, removing the pot. The handles are painfully hot, but he doesn't care – he needs to stay level-headed, needs to put some distance between them.

There's a pause, and a soft exhale. "If anything, leaving you was my only regret, Levi."

"You left without a single goodbye," he snaps, unable to hold back. His logic tells him to stop; his heart refuses. Years of confusion, of longing, even of guilt. "I didn't know for years if you were dead or alive. 'Nothing left' for you? There were your comrades and friends within the walls, Erwin. People who love you."

He'd gone too far, hadn't thought about the implications of his words. He considers this with a numbness he hadn't expected to fee.

Erwin's eyes are wide, staring at Levi. Yet there's a set grimness to them, as if he'd expected this.

Of course, Levi thinks. Surprise isn't something one associates with Erwin Smith.

"I had to leave," he says, but it's less firm this time. His blue gaze turns pleading, like he needs Levi to understand now. "In peacetime, I no longer knew how to function. How could I look into the eyes of the men and women who had laid down their lives for me? How could I their eyes, knowing that they're not alive because of me, but in spite of me? In spite of what I have ordered them to do?"

A flash of a memory: rain pouring down, horse hooves skidding in the mud, and red misting the air. 'Retreat. Leave them.' Screams from three young soldiers, fresh out of training, surrounded by Titans. The orders had come, and Levi had obeyed Erwin. He always had.

How could I look into your eyes, Levi?

The unspoken words hang stagnant between them.

"I don't deserve to be amongst those who had risked their lives under my orders," he finishes softly. "Nor their families. I had chosen something other than that happiness long ago."

The faucet still drips.

"For what it's worth, Levi … I am sorry for what I put you through."

Levi closes the space between them in three swift strides. His toes are nearly touching Erwin's, and he reaches up – for Erwin towers over him – and grasps Erwin's chin, forcing Erwin's face to tilt down.

"Look at me," he says raggedly, and Erwin's eyes are devastatingly pained, gaze fixing reluctantly on him. Before Erwin can spout more bullshit about not deserving happiness, he goes on, tightening his grip. "No, look at me, Erwin. None of us went into the Survey Corps thinking it'd be a fucking walk in Sina. We knew what the death rates were, and we knew that following your orders could be the last decision we ever made." His voice quietens, brows softening their angry lines. "Yet we carried those orders out, because we trusted those decisions – we trusted you to make the right decisions for us. For humanity. And while those very orders killed hundreds," Levi's voice cracks, very slightly, "it liberated hundreds of thousands. You liberated us. We're free, Erwin."

Their faces are scant inches apart. Levi can feel the faint puffs of Erwin's breath on his upper lip, slightly warm: moist, but oddly non-aversive. He sees the quick bob of Erwin's throat as he swallows, and the movement seems strained. Erwin's gaze could cut diamonds, the intensity jarring, and this time it's Levi who lets out a shaky breath.

Levi's chest constricts with some strange feeling: there's fondness and pride, but also something else that feels far, far more foreign.

His hand moves from Erwin's chin to his jaw slowly, then to the halo of golden hair. His fingers curl lightly in those sun-kissed strands – and they're trembling terribly. Yet it's almost like he's watching someone else do it, twining fingers in Erwin's hair. It doesn't feel like himself, and that makes it easier to stop the shaking.

And so it's someone else whose breath hitches as the look in Erwin's eyes changes, changes into something that's intent-filled, intimate. When Erwin moves closer with his eyes fluttering shut, lashes a curtain of burnt gold, it's someone else who closes that distance between them; someone else who presses his lips to Erwin's, hand fisting in tousled blond locks, knuckles digging into the divots of his skull, pulling Erwin closer, closer, and closer yet.

Someone else who parts his lips, beseechingly as his tongue slides along Erwin's, moves to trace the jagged contours of Erwin's teeth. Someone else who arches up on tippy-toes, just so that their bodies can press together more tightly, sucks at Erwin's bottom lip. Someone else whose breaths are unsteady as he drinks in the taste of Erwin's lips on his own, savouring the way that Erwin responds in kind, lips and tongue and teeth just slightly desperate against his.

Light prickles on the backs on his eyelids as Erwin pulls away, gentle. Levi swallows the noise of dissent that lodges in his throat. His hand unclenches from Erwin's hair, drops unceremoniously to his side as he takes a shaky step backwards.

The regretful look in Erwin's eyes makes Levi grit his teeth, his stomach dropping, and he cuts across before Erwin can utter the godforsaken words of apology.

"Don't say you're sorry," he grinds out, stomach knotting like hopelessly tangled 3DMG straps. "Don't fucking take it back."

At least let me have this.

He wipes his hands hastily on his trousers, moist with perspiration, stalks out of the kitchen without looking back. Outside the house, his breaths come too shallowly to take in the fresh air. He doesn't know why, but his eyes are stinging and hot, his chest too tight for comfort. He touches an unsteady finger to his lips, then wipes his mouth angrily with the back of his hand.

He can still taste Erwin on his lips, bittersweet.

::~::

The routine doesn't change. Both of them go on, pretending as though nothing had happened, as if Levi hadn't crossed an unspoken boundary, trespassed into uncharted waters. Even sleeping in the same bed (due to both their obstinacies, Levi thinks), very little changes, for Erwin has had decades of practice hiding emotions. Maybe he's learned how not to feel them anymore.

Yet the same can't be said for Levi. He wonders how Erwin sees him: as a reminder of the past, an unwanted souvenir from the war? There's slightly more caution in the way they move around each other, like magnets refusing the pull of nature.

He wonders how long it'll be until he's no longer welcome.

This can't last, Levi thinks to himself. And yet he hopes.

WHAT THE HELL IS BREVITY

I promise Part III will be the last one and that it will have frick-fracking; I was about 2000 words into it before I realized it was so long. But I really wanted to update this and didn't want to rush the ending. What is my life this was supposed to be 5000 words in total STUPID BRAIN. I'M SO SORRY