He was only a few hundred years old, spending his free time folding origami. He held up the paper figure of a rabbit, proud of his creation. With his bare feet that were plump with youth, he carried it to his parents' room to show his mother.

She was napping in the closet because the bed belonged to his father. Being naive, he never understood what was wrong with that until later on. His father was promiscuous, he came to find out. Was cheating on his wife for at least a century before she caught on. Their only son was never there to witness the arguments. From his perspective, all he knew was that somehow, some way, his mother who did nothing wrong was the one exiled from the bed they once shared.

She gently took the origami rabbit and smiled wider than any of the happier gods that he knew. So brilliant, it blinded him from seeing the darker side of her union with her husband. She ruffled his hair, patted his shoulder, everything to let him know he was doing enough.

The first person to ever walk out of Levi's life would be his father. Unlike everyone who was going to do the same, he had the courtesy to walk back in sometimes. Though a failed husband, he was an alright parent. While Levi maintained his gratitude toward his father for still caring, he swore to himself they will never be alike. He didn't deceive or betray the people in his life, which was why it was a surprise for him to find out about my past.

He sat with me on my hammock and listened with gaping ears about how I cheated on my second partner ever. Each word I spoke felt inappropriate to say to his face. Stars synchronized with his brain in attempts to picture the scenes I was laying out for him. Everything was up to his interpretation, as I let it be.

He was clearly reluctant to paint me a villain. When I described to him each of the times I got away with having a different man in my house, I saw ever so faintly the disbelief in his eyebrows.

"So what happened with your secret lover?" he asked.

"He cut ties with me," I said, "He was just being mature, but I miss him a lot."

"You have remorse?"

I looked into his eyes. He struggled to understand. I felt like I was directly betraying him somehow.

I lowered my tone. "I've never felt more remorse." A despicable part of me lurched to the forefront to say, "But it's hard to regret the best sex I ever had."

Unexpectedly, he laughed. It puzzled me because I was the one being cruel. If I asked him, I'm not sure if he could even tell me what was so funny about that. When he simmered to lukewarm, he said, "Can I just ask why?"

I smirked wryly in defeat, remembering the time I spent trying to justify myself in that situation. "Because I'm a piece of shit."

Levi made it a point not to treat me any different. It was something of the past. Though I never asked him to, I knew that deep down he tried really hard to fit himself in my shoes. It was not precisely the reaction I expected. To me, the only correct way of responding was with disappointment. Eren, you're better than that now, right?

Of course, I was better. That happened years ago when I was young and stupid. I learned a lesson from it, as I should have. That's what Levi probably put together in his head. I saw it in the way he still turned to look at me when I reached him, kept lending me his hand, his off-the-cuff jokes not getting any harsher. I met him halfway and didn't let anything change either.

One night, as I lay on my bed, I experienced the feeling that every gambling addict knew yet seldom faced. The moment of confirmation, the hint of relief, when you realize that you hit jackpot and that the risk you took to win was worth it. That was what Levi's loyalty brought me. Liberty.

"Thank you," I said to him during one of those nights in which we weren't as talkative.

With no immediate context, I'm sure it came out of the blue for Levi. But he was incredibly keen and I didn't have to explain myself, for he knew right away what I meant. He simply said, "You're my friend." That morning, I remember waking up to a blur of tears.

Snow fell, melted, and fell again. I made snowmen for Levi to put faces on. By the time Spring premiered, I had built five snowmen that chronologically grew in size. When I sculpted the last one, he must've thought fuck it or something. I went to sleep that night and discovered that he gave the snowman a penis. It was such simple comedy, I doubled over whilst asking myself why it was funny.

We played like children, barefoot in snow that wasn't cold like it was in real life. Nothing about this world was like real life. Not the snowballs we compressed with our palms, nor the sky that could turn at Levi's will, nor the god of dreams himself. When we finally settled down, it was back to story time with Levi. As he got talkative about the next landmark of his life—Petra, a goddess—I retreated inwards for a second and wished that I could sleep forever.

"Petra rules plant life," Levi said. I saw her gorgeous face in the stars. "She gifted me a place to rest on this tree. It outgrows everything around it because she once stood on it."

In the sky, the goddess sat at the base of the oak tree. She smiled at us as if she'd been listening. I caught myself waving at her foolishly.

I remembered noting that everything about Levi's habitat was made strictly of plant material. Rope, wood, and cotton. My eyes broke away from the sky to look at the structures above us in a new light. Petra was the architect behind it all.

Levi told me of how they were always physically on and off. She came to him very irregularly. The longest time he went without laying with her was close to 4 thousand years. The shortest was a singular night. She found him attractive and he found her incredibly fair. They denied each other as seldom as they verbally interacted. For about as long as they were in each other's presences, they spoke using only their bodies.

You're beautiful. You feel nice. I want to rest on you. Hold me tight.

"And you have no children?" I asked.

He shook his head no. "She is infertile—" I've heard of virgin goddesses, but not infertile ones. "—so she gets few suitors. Only flings that sometimes get emotional. She comes to me to grieve. I'm her trusty oasis because I'm easy."

I flushed. Levi never acted remotely sexual. It didn't appear to be a part of his programming. He had charm that was involuntarily pure. For him to call himself 'easy' like that was off-putting.

"When was the last time?"

"I believe," he trailed off into thought, "fifty eight years ago."

I wondered how long those years felt to him. Was it a distant memory, or did he remember it like yesterday? I couldn't even remember what I did a week ago.

"Eren," he said. I lent him my gaze. He seemed nearly afraid to say it. "If you ever feel close to leaving, I want you to tell me first." The forlorn look in his eyes told me that he meant death.

He wanted me to disappear with a warning, unlike Ymir. Careful not to salt his wound, I assured him, "Why wouldn't I tell you?"

But I knew why. He knew why. If I learned anything about Levi, it was that he was smart but not numb. I think he already considered the chances of me dying unexpectedly, like in an auto-wreck. What am I to do in that scenario? Squeeze in a last nap and bid him farewell? Impossible. He'd never see me again and that would be it.

That was the dark reality that fell pleasantly on no ears. Together, we turned a blissfully blind eye to death, telling it to stay quiet until it was finally time to confront me.

"How would you prefer me to die?" I asked.

Levi shook his head in frantic denial. "I would prefer you never die." My ears rang loudly in the silence. There were no more pictures in the sky to comfortably hang my focus on. "Perhaps I'd rather you to die in my arms."

A completely acceptable answer, though losing a friend in your arms was arguably the most painful way to receive the news.

"I think I'd like that," I smiled at a realization. "because if I somehow leave this earth in my sleep, I'll be the first man to die in heaven."