Levi does not like flying. High heights. Not anymore anyway. Because he used to love flying, loved the thrill of speeding through the air with his 3dm gear, relished the feel of the breeze on his face and the smell of fresh air and grass in his nose. It was freedom. However, he despises those so-called planes. They are more like a flying jail to him. Maybe it's because he's not in control when he's in the air now. Now he's not in charge when they depart the ground. And it leaves him feeling helpless - weirdly unstable. Because if something goes wrong, they will plummet down toward the earth and spread the crust with flesh and blood and steel. And there will be nothing he can do about that.
Hange is different. Well, no surprise there, they are different in a lot of ways, after all. But Hange adores planes, can't stop blabbering about the various innovative techniques and the newest models they have at the university she works with, runs around trying to absorb every little bit of information available. And that's nothing new. It's Hange, after all. Blabbering on for hours about flying titans or flying jails of steel and misery. It does not matter. The enthusiasm is there all the same (and his chatter-induced headaches too). "What if I told you that the newest design aircraft is more amazing than you could ever imagine?" "What if you would just shut up?"
He won't go with her on her short trips through the sky, though. Hange stopped asking after the first time (and last time) he tried. It had been awful and downright embarrassing. They had to turn back shortly that day. Afterward, when they were safe and sound back on the ground again, Hange told him, a hand on his shoulder, that it did not matter, that he should not worry about it. He did worry about it, though. Levi did fret about it while he furiously scrubbed the smell of his vomit away - scrubbing till his skin was red and raw. He remained there for a long time, under the too hot spray of the shower, letting the water pound down his shoulders and hoping that the heated water could help him lose the tremble in his hands.
Levi hates losing control. He despises losing command of his mind and his body. Loathes the way his knee sometimes gives out underneath him, the hurt in his lower back, or the phantom pain caused by his missing fingers that leaves him breathless.
War did that with people. War fucked up minds, bodies, lives. Everything.
He knows that all too well. They both know.
Levi remembers that one night, that night filled with darkness and shards of glass tinted red and stifled sobs. He recalls the feel of Hange shaking apart within his clumsy embrace, fingers desperately grasping at his shirt, searching for some stability within the storm left behind by nightmares and memories. Levi does usually not do hugs. He's not good at them. However, awkward or not, it was all he could do at that moment, his mind racing, attempting to select the best solution, seeking frantically for a way to fix this.
Hot tea and one of his shitty jokes had been a start. Who knew.
000
"Are you going to submit yourself to one of your flying prisons again?" Levi leans one cheek lazily on his hand, his other hand twirling a pencil around, gazing down at the few open spaces left of his crossword puzzle. Hange's noisy arrival into the kitchen had dragged him back into reality and away from his musings.
"Be careful." It slips out, and he curses himself the moment the words leave his mouth. Fuck. He looks up to scowl at her. "Don't you dare to drop from the sky while in that fucking thing, you hear me? I don't want to have to scrape your disgusting and bloody mess off the earth. There are already messes enough here I have to clean up." He adds hastily, still fiddling with the pencil.
Hange smiles at him, tucking one of her large books into her bag. "I will." She says. Then she's out the door, leaving him behind, the kitchen suddenly appearing strangely empty.