Beautiful and twisted little pieces of flesh, patches of skin. Leading me across limbs, across time, pulling me into memories for which I have not yet unlocked as I stare down at his chest and lightly trace a fingertip along the grooves and scars which spread across his body. As I watch the slight movement of his ribs rising up with air before falling gently back down – he's sleeping. So full of peace, so quiet and stilled – a state which his mind rarely resides in during waking moments. A sentiment for which I am all too familiar with and so I decrease the pressure of my hand in hopes that I will not wake him.

There's a rather long one on his chest. Jutted in the way which tells me it came from a blade, yet faded to a dull white which means that it's from long ago. Each one a greater mystery, another piece to this man's past which I am only beginning to unravel. Another one, stretching down past his belly button as I hold my breath and follow its curved path while wondering who could ever wish such pain to a man so lovely.

At times, I lie here and wonder how his life must have been before all of this. Before afternoons spent lazily stretched out upon our mattress, before daily frustrations of delayed shipments of tea. How his life was in the thick of war, in the middle of chaos and pain and living the life which was given to him yet not the one which was wanted. In the middle of this, of these. Scars, battle wounds, markings of a life. Little bookmarks placed along his body in a way which flag memories – most of which I'm sure he'd care to forget and yet they cling to him with an eternity I wish to rival.

And so I try.

Leaning down to press a soft kiss against one which claims his ribcage, I hear the softness to his breathing suddenly increase. "Sorry," I mumble before leaning up to press another kiss against his chest, "didn't mean to wake you."

"I don't mind being woken by this." He mumbles with that groggy and half-asleep voice which sets my heart on fire. Other places, too, if I'm being honest.

"Is this something you wish not to speak of?" I rest a flushed cheek against his chest while staring up into those foggy eyes, one hand loosely brushing against the one which first caught my eye.

"Something you'll wish not to hear." His arm wraps tightly around my waist as he pulls me in closer.

"I wish to hear everything that comes from these lips." My fingers ghost against his mouth, feeling the way they curl softly into a smile at my cheesiness.

He lets out a chuckle, a single exhale before it turns into a sigh. "Some of them are uninteresting. Some more of a story, I suppose."

"Only if you wish to tell me." I whisper back.

His head falls against the pillow, eyes concentrated upon the ceiling yet I know that's not where his mind resides. Back to the past, back to the memories for which are so rarely called upon. His hand reaches down to gently guide mine up to his neck, fingers grazing against a soft scar which I've noticed before yet only when the sunshine hits his skin just right, just in that certain way. I send a gentle smile up towards him as I settle in to listen, to learn.

Peeling open his life to the first bookmark, the first stop on our destination.

The dagger was a little too large for his hand. The lighting a little too dim for eyes to fully catch each movement of muscle before him and his stomach a little too weak and hungry to stand much of a chance, but that was the best it was ever bound to be down here. Conditions less than ideal, a final scoff at the thought as he spits out a pool of blood from his busted lip – courtesy of Kenny. The bastard.

"Are we dancing or fighting, boy?" Kenny raises an eyebrow filled with amusement. He's laughing. Something which Levi does not like the feel of. To be laughed at, the source of another man's amusement down here. Hell, that's how you find yourself in trouble in a shithole like this. To be looked at as something of a laugh. No, he needs to be feared. He needs to be the thing which inspires silence to fill the air. He needs to hurt.

Barely nine, at best guess, and learning how to protect himself – how to kill.

It was a piece of shit life being handed to him but it was one nonetheless. A life. A chance. The ability to protect himself and worse, remove another's right to life. Was it just? Fair? Of course, not. Life never was. Much like the oversized dagger clasped within his small hand, he was being hurled into a life far too large for him to comprehend, far too cruel and heartless for a mere boy. But it was a chance, a chance at becoming something other than what his mother fell into – and so he took it.

"That's better." Kenny grinned as the knife swiped his way. "Faster."

Again, Levi crouched and threw himself towards the man before him. Eyes latching onto an exposed piece of skin on Kenny's ankle and deciding to make a break for it. Diving past the man's kick, muscles tensed in the way an animal prepares for a strike before successfully landing a slice against his mentor's ankle. Cold grey slits watching as red begins to trickle down to mix within the dirt, shoulder blades relax as a wave of accomplishment begins to pour through his body.

He did it.

Pain. An immense amount of it rushes through his head as fingers suddenly reach out to grab at hair, yanking him until he crashes down upon his back. Before his eyes can comprehend Kenny's movement, another blade with a glistening sharpened edge is pressed tightly against his neck before it swipes against him in a way which leaves him feeling dizzy.

"You don't expect your opponent to be unarmed, do ya?" Kenny's sickening grin fills his vision before a boot is delivered into his side. "Get up." Kenny turns to walk away. "Again."

It's his own fault, Levi figures. Had assumed they were sparring with rules, with trusted guidelines in place. Truly, he should know such a thing is foolish. Down here, there are no rules. Trembling fingers reach up to touch warm wetness which trickles out from his neck and for a brief moment, he wonders if he needs to have it tended to before they continue; but Kenny clearly does not plan on affording him such time.

"You're small now." Kenny nods. "One day, you won't be able to pull that little runt shit. Fight me like a man, come at my chest. Not my ankle, you little brat. Eh, maybe you will now that I think about it. Mother wasn't very tall. Guess it depends on which asshole down here knocked her up."

His jaw clenches and anger fills his lungs. He'll pay for that comment… another lunge forward with the knife lifted, footing placed strategically so that he can dive at the last minute and –

Kenny's boot collides with his face and leaves another trail of blood trickling down from his nose. "Anger makes you stupid, boy." He spits down on him before pulling back. "Get up. Again."

Yes, this is a cruel life. The only way to beat it is to become the darkness which lurks around the corners. To become the feared, not the fearful.

To kill.

"That's awful." The words escape my lips before I can pull them back, brow furrowed as a wave of sickness washes over my limbs. A heaviness settles within my heart as I brush fingertips along the scar on Levi's neck. "He was your uncle?"

"He taught me how to live." Levi mumbles with cold eyes still placed upon the ceiling.

I hum in disagreement, pulling his gaze back down to me as a I whisper up, "He taught you how to survive. Not live."

His features soften, a sad smile slowly shifting to one of warmth as he reaches down to wrap an arm around my waist and pull me up until our foreheads are nearly touching. "You're right." He mumbles into my parted lips before a hand gently cups my cheek and guides me further down for a kiss which pushes back the darkness, pushes back the pain in thinking of such things. "This is living." A teasing nip is given as those eyes switch into something new, something warm, something whole. Barely a moment passes before I'm thrown over onto my back, giggles filling the silence as he presses his nose against my own.

"Come here." I pull him down until my lips ghost over the raised flesh, gifting a carefully placed kiss against the very spot where blade once met skin. A gasp escapes his lips as I slip my tongue against it to deliver a slow lick, one filled with love and heat, filled with want.

What was once a place where memories of learning to survive, disguised as life, is now a place of love. I've claimed it. Reclaimed, pushed away the pain. The past can no longer have him, he's all mine.

"What about this one?" My hand brushes over his chest after several more moments of losing ourselves in slow and delicious kisses. He exhales a soft chuckle with a roll of his eyes. "Wait," I laugh with a raised eyebrow, "does this one have a silly story?"

"Something like that." He mumbles in my neck, hips starting to roll in the way which means he wants to shed some of these layers.

"No, wait!" Palms pressed against his face to bring his vision back up to mine. "Please tell me. You laughed! Which means it's a good one."

The sigh which leaves his lips is one of resignation, I'm far too familiar with them at this point to second-guess. I settle in, a soft smile and warm eyes as I wait to hear what is apparently not an unpleasant memory. Though a sudden look of sadness spills into his eyes as he slowly nods and falls back into his past.

Immediately, I know what caused this one. Or should I say, who. His eyes take on a certain look only when speaking of him.

…Erwin.

Does he give everyone that smile? The one which leaves you initially scowling that there could be a man with such a hopeful grin in a world this hellish, though quickly fades into a timeless moment of magnetism. Lost in the warm crinkles which spill around his eyes, lost in that glimmer of hope which mixes in among crystal blues. What right does he have? What right does one have to be so goddamn foolish? To be so naïve?

To be so sure of himself. And worst of all, to inspire so much trust in those who look upon that fucking grin. Because that's what he's done, vandalized all of those nice tall walls which Levi had so carefully build up around his heart and barged his way through as if never there to begin with. How the hell did he manage such a thing?

How was Levi meant to be around someone like that? Someone like Erwin.

No, just Erwin.

There was no one else like him.

"Something on your mind?" His voice pulls Levi from his thoughts, causing him to blush and curtly shake his head before diving back into the report which rests upon his lap. They're seated in Erwin's office, having been there for the most part of the day. Still shoulders and a piss poor attitude, Levi's had enough of reading through intel briefings and funding requests.

"How do you do that thing with your blades?" Erwin suddenly throws down his own report, lips curling into that pesky little side grin which leaves Levi's heart fluttering a little more than he'd care to admit.

"Kill titans?" He clicks his tongue, words laced in a layer of sarcasm. He knows all too well what the Commander is referencing, yet decides to carry on with his mocking. "You're spending too much time in this chair, Erwin."

Erwin chuckles, humming in thought before pulling himself up suddenly from the desk. "I'll find out for myself, then." He walks past Levi, leaving the door propped open as he walks out into the hall. Knows that Levi will pick himself up and follow, the bastard.

"Determined to prove that you can still wield that thing?" Levi raises an eyebrow as the Commander pulls out his blades, spinning them a few times as if being reunited with an old friend. An old comfort.

"Show me." Erwin nods, waiting for Levi to begin.

"This is foolish." Levi grumbles. Is anyone watching them?

"Humor me." Erwin flashes that goddamn grin and suddenly, Levi has pulled out his blades with a roll of his eyes. Latching up to a nearby tree, he spins around and lands a giant slash against its aged oak, slicing through to the near core before he lands back upon the grass at Erwin's feet.

"You hold your right blade backwards." Erwin nods, eyes focused on the man before him as he switches to mimic Levi's stance.

"Huh?" Levi steps back and raises an eyebrow once more. "Does it look that foolish when I do it?"

Erwin's eyes narrow with a warm warning. "What next?"

Levi rolls his eyes, wondering why they're doing this. "Throw your weight to one side as you latch onto something and use the force to propel your body."

"Like this." Erwin nods before hooking onto the same tree, though his balance and speed are entirely out of kilter and he ends up throwing himself into the dirt. Levi stands there with an expressionless face, though his lips wish to curl into a grin. The clumsy bastard, this isn't going to work. He's too big.

"Not quite as graceful." Erwin chuckles to himself while standing back up.

"Can you even spin on the ground?" Levi frowns, willing himself to appear as if he wishes for this to be over.

"Let's find out." Erwin grins, adjusting his stance before pulling his right hand back to catapult himself around in a circle except for the fact that his hand accidentally fires his grapple and ends up tethering himself to the ground. Watching the events play out as if in slow motion, Levi can see the blade's trajectory and how it angles up towards Erwin's throat. In an instant, he steps forward to grab hold of the Commander's shirt and steady him, yet finds himself caught instead by the blade. Cold metal presses up against his skin, slicing through his shirt as it draws against his chest and leaves a pool of blood seeping through to mix with clean pressed white.

"Levi," Erwin's eyes go wide.

"I'm fine." He swats the Commander's hand away, eyes scrutinizing the cut and realizing that it will likely scar but runs only so deep.

"Well, then." Erwin frowns while putting away his blades. "I shall leave the fancy moves for you and you only. Do you need Hange to take a look at that?"

"No." He grumbles as they begin to head back.

Erwin nudges his arm, a look of worry spilling out into his eyes as he stares down at Levi's ever-growing red stain.

"It's fine." He shrugs his shoulders. "Not the first scar, won't be the last."

Erwin hums, all too familiar with the sentiment. "Suppose I owe you a free shot now." He grins over when they step back into his office.

"I don't need a free shot." Levi deadpans while picking up the report to head back into his own room and change. "If I wished to kick your ass Erwin, I could easily do it."

"Which means you wished not to." Erwin calls out from his desk, causing Levi to frown in confusion. "The day we met," He clarifies with a smile, "I guess you wished not to kick my ass that day – since, apparently, you could have done it easily."

Levi's face flushes, likely nearly red as the stain on his shirt as he glances away. "Don't push your luck, Erwin. I still can." He eventually mumbles before pulling himself away. Eyes focused on the gash upon his chest as he stares into the mirror a few moments later, hissing out in discomfort while cleaning out the wound. Replaying the last part of their conversation in his mind with what almost feels like agony.

Something tells him that nothing about that man will be 'easy'.

The complete opposite, actually. The mere thought of him is difficult to understand.

No, not easy.

"I'm sorry for asking," I whisper up towards Levi's heavy eyes. "It's difficult to talk about him, you don't need to."

"It's fine." Ever the soldier, he clears his throat and pushes away the pain. Not entirely knowing what to say, my fingers brush over the raised skin once more and a helpless giggle breaks free. "I can't believe he sliced you open." I whisper, watching as a smile slips back over Levi's face.

"The bastard didn't even apologize." He shakes his head in amusement.

"He felt it though." I smile in return.

Levi hums in agreement. "Part of the job, I suppose."

"Wait a moment." I tilt my head to one side in shock. "So far, all of these are from people you know, not titans! People who cared for you."

"Debatable." Levi mumbles, likely referencing Kenny.

"Are these all from your comrades?" I laugh while brushing my hand along a few others, teary eyes from laughter while staring up at him. He exhales a chuckle before falling down to lay on top of me, lips ghosting over my neck in a way which leaves me feeling unhinged and on fire. "I was good," he breathes heavily into my ear while fingers knead into skin, "answered all of your questions."

"You did." I nod in agreement, well aware of where this is going. Wishing to play innocent though, so I blink up at him with wide eyes and a curious stare.

"Do I get a reward?" He nips at my ear, legs shuffling to get inside of mine and pushing my thighs open with a knee.

"What kind of reward are you looking for?" I tease.

"Lil," his voice is hot and heavy as he lets out a groan. Too cute, still a little too bashful to say the words so bluntly, yet a little too familiar now to go without; his asks are delivered in other ways. Teeth pulling in a bit of skin as he places a little too much attention on the sensitive part of my neck, perhaps wishing to make a few marks instead of receiving them. A mark from a comrade of my very own; though not just in arms. In all limbs, lazily tangled ones as we lie in this bed on a sunny afternoon.

Fingers trail down the side of my waist as I shiver with anticipation of how attentive he appears to be, how desperate his eyes flow down to stare at the hem of my shirt before flicking back up to ask for permission. To ask for a little comfort while sifting through memory lane, for a little tethering to reality. Away from what was, grounded within what is.

"Yes please." The words barely leave my mouth before he's pulled me free from the useless material. Hands carefully snaking over every inch of skin, every curve, every dip, every peak. "I could get lost in you," he mumbles hazily through parted lips pressed up against warm skin, drinking in everything as if it's the first time. Every freckle of mine committed to memory; a little game he loves, fingertips loosely connecting each one. Suppose I am not alone in my endless fascination of this man's body, he seems to be equally enamoured with what was once hid under skirts and jackets.

What is now his, what is now mine.

We lay on the bed an hour later, heavy breaths and happy hearts as we attempt to return back from our pleasure high. "You know about this one." He holds a hand up into the air, turning it to reference the two fingers which are shorter than the rest. "And this," his head falls over so that I can see the scar which breaks across his eye, starting at the cheekbone and disappearing off into those raven locks.

"You look handsome with it – suits you." My fingers brush against his face, pad tracing the smooth scar while flowing over his eyelid.

He sounds amused, entirely not buying what he believes to be my bullshit. "Wager I looked better without it."

"I'd wager not." I frown, pulling myself up onto an elbow to stare down at him.

"You never met me without it." He raises an eyebrow. "How would you know?"

"Trust me," I lean down to whisper against his lips. "I just do."

He stares at me for a few moments, likely preparing some witty thing to say in return but then that look hits his face. The certain one which leaves me whispering for him to stay with me, for him not to fall back into the past. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. This time, it has not.

The blank stare, the twitch to his fingers. For a few moments, I've lost him.

Sometimes the past is a bitch. Sometimes it wins, which is okay.

Because I'll be here.

Guilt. Grief. Anger. Sorrow. Pain.

So much pain.

Not his pain. Though there was certainly enough to go around of it right now, lying in the ditch with half his face blown off, he's sure. Yet still, not the pain which runs through his mind in this moment. Their pain, the pain of others. His squad…

Tsk, which one?

The thought creeps into his mind in a wave of disgust with himself for losing it all again. Losing another team, another group of soldiers whose lives were placed in his command. Worse, this time – if that's even a thing, for it to be worse. Forced to take them down himself, the fucking sadistic humor of this shitty world is absurd. Force to carve them down to smoke and steam while the one he truly wishes to slice into tiny bits escapes him.

Is that even true anymore?

Does he wish for anything, anymore?

The one he feels obligated to slice into tiny bits and pieces. The one he feels can hold the level of hatred spilling out from Levi's veins. Where else to direct it? A good enough target, all in all.

Fuck.

He's gone. Escaped. Likely alive, for it would be far too fortunate for the bastard to have blown himself to pieces.

Flashes of fingers fallen in the grass, pities the poor asshole who's lost them, then realizing just how very much blood pours down from his own hand.

Oh.

Well, shit.

Hange's voice. Eyes peel open to catch a glimpse of her fumbling with a bandage while speaking to what he swears is a couple of Marley fucks.

Is he hallucinating?

Erwin's face. Right there, so close he could reach out to touch him.

Most certainly hallucinating.

Stupid fucking eyebrows, up there smiling at me. I'll fucking join you soon.

Don't worry.

I'll join you soon – he's sure.

More to do. Pushing forward. More guns. More death. Fighting against his very own this time. Rushing across the sea, rushing across the air for fuck's sake. Just how far will this hellhole drag him across this globe? Just how much more hell can one be forced to go through?

Their faces. Those brats. Where are those goddamn smiles they're all usually frustratingly donning? Those ones that leave him grumbling about foolish young and naivety? Fuck, he could use one of those right now. Could go for actually staring at one right now.

No, none of them are smiling.

Not much to smile about, these days.

Even that little Yeager shit. The last squad mate this world will afford him the misery of losing. The last little brat he fails to keep safe.

Death–

Pain–

Erwin's face–

Blood pouring down his–

Hange's final wave–

Stupid shithead–

A final salute–

Petra's face–

Miche's empty room–

Isabel's eyes–

Syringe in this hand–

Armin–

Erwin–

No regrets–

Shit. How is such a thing possible when–

Colossal Titans–

Zeke. Kill Zeke. Kill Zeke.

Kill–

"Hey," I gently whisper down while stroking his face, watching as those eyes slowly come back into focus. Watching as his face suddenly tenses before beginning to relax, beginning to slip back into the understanding of where we rest. Our bed, the present – not back there. Not back then. "You're safe," I place a soft kiss against his forehead with thumb still swiping against his cheek. "You're here," another kiss yet this one slightly shifted down to place upon his nose, "with me."

His eyes blink a few times, lids fluttering in silence as pupils slink back to a normal size. "Fuck," he whispers after a while, arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me in close until I'm tucked carefully into the crook of his neck with a hand placed gently to his chest, slowly willing his breathing to a regular rate. That mind of his is packed to the brim, filled with so many memories, so many endless loops of pain and heartbreak.

A man whom admits such a thing so rarely and speaks of them far more seldom. A man whose grief eats at him from the inside out, nibbling away furiously at times like these. Whose silence is suffocating, cramming the pain inside – so much I fear that one day he may burst open at the seams and I'll be madly rushing to sew him back together. Perhaps others cannot see the hurt which spreads across his face, the unseen scars – but I see. So easily, I see the way they stretch across his skin. Stretch across his tensed jaw, heavy eyes, curled down lips; and so I start to kiss them all away.

The most painful ones are hidden. I know this all too well, you see.

Soft kiss to his cheek, his eyes flick up to mine with warmth. Another one above the eye, the forehead – all pulling a half-smile to his lips which is where I make my way down towards next. Removed? No. Impossible. Yet the pain is pushed away for another day.

"Shit, I love you." He mumbles with slightly blushed cheeks.

"Yeah, how much?" Eyelashes batting, lip pulled in to rest between my teeth. He softly chuckles before we've flipped and I'm caught underneath. My favorite place to be, not quite trapped when you're willing, pleading.

"This much." He stares while parting my thighs, a finger sliding down to express what his words cannot. Some things are ineffable; some things spoken better through actions.

Mmm, I happily sigh. A lot. He loves me an awful lot.

"Now it's your turn." His head falls off to the side, staring over at me as we lie with heavy breaths and tired limbs.

"My turn for what?" I laugh.

His eyes take on that certain glimmer which leaves me wondering what he's up to as he pulls up to hover over my legs. "I want to know how you got this scar." His finger points down to a spot which clearly lacks all and any markings.

"Levi," I giggle with a raised eyebrow. "I don't have any marks or scars."

His stare intensifies, causing me to squirm with anticipation before he bends down to place a soft kiss against the very spot, quickly catching my attention as it switches to a bite. Oh. A sheepish blush fans my cheeks now as I laugh and resign myself to – yes, I guess there is a mark there.

"And this one." His lips curl into a soft smirk before he moves over to my other thigh. "And this one," his thumb marks the spot on my tummy which will be next.

"You're relentless." I whisper down with foggy eyes. Why does that feel so good?

"And…" his eyes flick down to the spot which feels most sensitive, a warning sign of what's to come.

"Will you kiss them all away, afterwards?" I whisper down to him. Only fair – right?

"Relentlessly." His whispers soothe my ears while falling back onto the pillow, attempting to keep the large grin off my face.

How very lovely, to be claimed by kisses.

Not scars.