Levi stands in the middle of the old glass blowing shop and frowns. He really bought a house. He must be mad. Yet he knows he cannot continue living in his old quarters where he feels haunted by the past.
To pack his things only took him about ten minutes. Now his wooden military trunk rests on the battered work table, beside a second box containing his cleaning supplies. The abandoned life of this place makes every breath taste stale. Time to get to work. Dragging in the dusty air, Levi binds one clean cloth around the top of his head and another one around his nose and mouth. That being done, he rolls up his sleeves.
He starts by driving out the gloom. The shop front stretching over the entire wall of the big room is directed westwards. Cleaning the windows is a must if Levi is to see exactly how much cleaning he needs to do downstairs. The dim morning light isn't quite enough to fight against the lingering shadows of darkness. Most of the light available creeps in from the back room, on the left side of the entrance. It is completely shaded, its double set of closed fold-in windows matching the ones of the flat on the upper level.
The wooden storm shutters creak on rusty hinges as Levi pushes them open, the partly rotten wood threatening splinters as they give beneath his fingertips. Levi already assumed he had to replace them. The brittle window frame seems to carry first traces of rust in its metal components. Nothing that a bit of sanding and new varnish can't fix.
The first bees of the season are buzzing, searching a nearby flowerbed for nectar. The sun is shining vividly in the clear March sky, a single cloud adds a smudge of white on blue.
The rays of fresh light that casts into the room make long forgotten dust particles glimmer in the shine. A closer examination of the room suggests that the back room must have been a storage and washroom. There's a sink and lots of shelves that both need to be replaced too. The walls are in good shape. The stone floor is dirty after years of disuse, but dry. No mould as far as Levi can tell. Good.
After giving the downstairs floor a thorough sweep to cast out the worst dust and, most of all, to get rid of all the hazardous glass shards, Levi tackles the windows. Once additional light gets into the rooms, he double checks that the glass shards are indeed gone. Satisfied Levi takes a bucket, rags, and a broom up the staircase to begin with the actual work from the top. The stale air up there is somehow even worse than downstairs. It isn't mildewy at least, and Levi opens the second floor windows to the sunny spring day as well, sneezing as a gust of dust makes it to his nose, despite the mask.
An amused chuckle rings in Levi's head, and he tries to fight off. The amusement lingers nonetheless, supported by the ghost of twinkling green eyes.
"Shut up," Levi mutters into the silence, gripping tighter to his broom. To escape the memories, he throws himself into the shielding comfort of his endless war with dirt.
As he frees the ceiling from cobwebs with a resolute scowl, he welcomes the calming effect of muscle memory kicking in. The familiar movements and sounds fill the eerily strange silence of an otherwise unoccupied place. With determination, Levi rinses away the last past hours, days, and weeks of chaos and change.
The ghost's voice and the eyes follow him, observing him, but retreats as he remains busy. When focussed enough, Eren's reminder can't reach him to the fullest. So Levi keeps on cleaning, sweeping, scrubbing, wiping, polishing, breathing, in and out. In and out, until everything in the past is distant. The only things that remain are his own movements and the sun shining through sparkling clean, opened windows.
As the vendor has promised, the flat is already, or rather still, somewhat furnished. There's an old nightstand and a dresser in the bedroom, no bed. The kitchen supplies a small stove, one big and one smaller cupboard, a narrow shelf, and a table with chairs for three people. The bathroom even has a tub and it's more than enough. Levi doesn't have much to begin with, apart from the armchair Hanji has gifted him for his retirement. Everything else he owns is completely portable and already downstairs in his military trunk. In the end, this place might even be too spacious for a single person. How unhelpful this thought may be.
By nightfall the whole flat is sparkling clean, whereas Levi is sticky with sweat and dirty all over. His fingers are pruned from the constant exposure to hot soapwater. His muscles are heated up from all the scrubbing, his knees protest heavily after all that kneeling in front of the hearth and polishing the floor. Even his shirt and his arms are blackened with soot and ash, and yet, it's a good feeling. All in all, Levi is actually feeling more collected and organized than he's felt since his last battle. The whole upper floor has begun to look like a place that he'd not only call base but home. At least eventually.
Suspecting that a cup of tea might help with that homey feeling, alongside a thorough soaking, Levi fetches the trunk with his belongings from the deserted workshop downstairs. The tea caddies are the first items he unpacks: The Oolong in the oldest can he has, blackened tin with a dent on one side, and faded lettering on its front. The Assam in a similar, yet new and undented one, because, as far as tea goes, Assam is Hanji's favourite. A small shiny cylinder that contains Earl Grey these days. Another old rectangular tin can with the Gunpowder tea. Jasmine tea in narrow wooden cylinder. Sencha and white tea. Darjeeling and herbal infusion. They all get neatly arranged on a small, wooden shelf in his kitchen. With that being done, Levi tends to the dishware, unwrapping a set of three cups, plates, and bowls from old newsprint to store them in the cupboard. The chessboard gets hidden behind the china for now; there's no one left to play with him these days.
While the faucet of the tub spits out rusty sludge before filling the bath with beautifully promising clear, steaming water, Levi tends to his toiletries, laying them out on the window sill next to the sink. His few clothes get a good shake before he neatly refolds them and puts them into the freshly cleaned dresser in the bedroom, aside from one fresh set to change into later. A tiny sack of lavender follows the clothes into the dresser, as does his shiny medal. Soon everything that is left is one final item, a little treasure on the bottom of the box.
With a piercing twist somewhere behind his ribs, Levi reaches for it, carefully frees it from what once was his cravat, and turns it around to look at it. The small, framed coal drawing shows a cloaked figure spinning in the woods, hair wild, eyes big, shoulders broad, posture perfect.
Jean, Levi thinks mildly, has always known. It wasn't really needed, this drawing quietly waiting at his quarter's doorstep the morning the Exploration Team left, for Levi to be aware of this. He didn't really need the attached note, reading 'we'll bring him back to you,' either. It's always been there in Jean's glances whenever he'd seen Eren and Levi together. He'd always made sure to leave a free chair for either of them at the other's side during their communal meals too. Just like Mikasa and Armin. Or Hanji whenever she'd come out of her den.
No one is here to see it, so Levi lets out a small, unsteady smile, and runs his thumb over the frame before he decisively places the picture onto the nightstand, despite his better judgement.
"Laugh again," he orders softly, hoping that wherever Eren is, he is well.
Forbidding himself any lamenting, Levi leaves the bedroom to fill the blaring lack of an answer with a hot, soapy bath, followed by a cup of strong tea. Gunpowder, he thinks as he steps into the shockingly scalding water with an approving hiss. Gunpowder would be good.
Even with the pleasant comfort slowly relaxing his muscles, it doesn't take long for the stillness to press in on him. The echoing drip-drip-drip of the faucet and his own, splashing movements are the only sounds in the room. The single lamp he's brought with him casts too many shadows, and with every second of repose the distance grows and grows. Shutting his eyes with a slowly quickening breath Levi wills everything away, but it is useless.
Memories flood his mind, full of smiles and friendship and closeness. Then comes the mist, loss and hope again, followed by an embrace so warm. The feeling of kind yet unexpectedly greedy hands pulling him near, tearing at his clothes, coupled with kisses, wet and deep and ravenous. There are sighs against his ear and moans and whimpers and all kinds of little noises that Levi had never thought Eren capable of making. Once again Levi can practically feel smooth skin under his hands, arching into his touch and a deliciously speeding pulse when he sucks on Eren's neck. Trust, heat, security, and nails biting eagerly into his back with a litany of "yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" The sensation of release and falling into stunned, green eyes, that look at Levi as if he were the only one who ever mattered. Contentment shared through more kisses, only a few, combined with a strong heartbeat against his chest, and gentle fingers drawing little circles on the small of his back. Levi recalls his wish to pull the blanket over the both of them and simply to go to sleep, sweaty and sticky as they are.
Maybe it would have changed everything if his cleanliness had not driven him from bed. Maybe it would have made everything worse if had Eren woken up with their limbs still entangled. Instead, Levi reluctantly parted from long, warm arms and legs, careful to not interrupt Eren's doze after the day he'd had, and went into the shower. Under the muffling spray it took him a moment to perceive the sharp sound of his door clicking into its lock, and by the time he'd hurried back into his bedroom, naked, cold, and unsettled, all that was left from Eren was his scent everywhere, and a stray sock in the midst of Levi's wildly scattered clothes. The bed was empty. The feeling of loss all-consuming. Even recalling that night has Levi's heart speed up in utter helplessness.
Ever since their night together nothing has been the same. Years of forming a close bond got replaced by months trapped in stoic distance and evading glances. Now there'll be the ever-lasting image of a tall, green-cloaked figure disappearing at the horizon without any explanations. Levi's heart is gone.
This is the third time, Levi thinks whilst reaching for the brush to scrub his skin until it's red, yet just as raw as it was before.
It's forty one hours since Eren has left. Levi feels every aching second of it.
The next day passes for Levi by doing more distractive cleaning.
After leaving his old quarters where he's spent the night, Levi reenters his house and begins with the purge of the downstairs floor. It will need renovating; lots of renovating, but he needs everything tidy and proper first. The old baubles Levi had seen through the window several days ago are all damaged so he throws everything that remained away. The tools and utensils that appear to be in a good shape, he collects into a box for selling. Someone might need them, and be grateful for a second hand price. Even the kiln looks to be operational as Levi removes it from its nook to place it with the rest of the glass blowing equipment.
With all the rubbish gone, and the space being empty of everything small and portable, Levi continues his war with cobwebs, dust and soot. The paned shopfront can't be opened to release stale air, so Levi opens the entrance door as he works.
It's another too beautiful spring day, with the sun shining cheerfully through the sparkling windows. Memories continue ridiculing his efforts to keep his mind occupied. Gritting his teeth, Levi reminds himself he's left with no other option than to stubbornly move on.
Steeling his resolve, Levi scrubs and wipes, concentrating on the well-practised movements. He focusses on the fading dirt marks under his hands, while getting himself accustomed with the new set of four walls around him. Ten steps long, fifteen steps wide, the ceiling not too narrow. The family of nuthatches chirping every now and then. Voices on the street outside that he recognises faintly from the day before; five male, seven female, a couple of children laughing. Neighbours, he assumes, and files each of their voices away.
The reblazing of the glass front demands the biggest part of his attention, needing two thorough washings under the afternoon sun before Levi is satisfied with the final result. The door gets special attention in form of greasing its hinges and an assiduous examination of the lock. Levi does the same to the two doors to his flat, one at each end of the staircase.
When Hanji visits in the evening, the old workshop is prim, even by Levi's perception. She isn't alone. A soldier is helping her deliver the monster of a sheet-protected armchair from HQ. He nods with one last curious glance at the workshop in Levi's back as Hanji shoos him away to unload Levi's chair.
Levi dismisses the curious man with a thankful nod of his own and turns to Hanji. "What do you want, shitty glasses?"
"What does it look like? I'm visiting. This is it, huh?" She asks as the carriage with the soldier chatters into the moonlit night. "It fits you. It's big."
Levi snorts, rolls up his sleeves, and mucks in with the heavy load. "One flight up."
"Splendid."
They're lucky that the armchair even fits through the doors. After maneuvering the load up the narrow staircase, they stand in the hallway of Levi's flat, the big piece of furniture between them.
"Well then," Hanji declares blithely, setting the chair down in unison with Levi. "Let me look at this place first, so we can decide where to put it."
As she swirls through every room before she leaves shortly to thoroughly inspect the ground floor as well, Levi can't help a disapproving frown at the zing of pain shooting up his leg. To heave the chair upstairs after stressing his foot two days in a row has made it cramp up again. Despite Levi being certain he didn't let anything on, it's clear that Hanji has noticed nonetheless.
Stoically masking his expression and ordering his foot to cooperate, he shuffles towards the kitchen to brew them a fresh batch of tea. All three infusions of this afternoon's Gunpowder are long gone. Hanji doesn't like it much anyway, so Assam it is.
He's just about to fish the sieve with the infused leaves out of the tea pot as she appears back upstairs.
"Ah, Levi, this place is perfect for you." She beams, whirling into the living room and plopping down on one of the creaking kitchen chairs.
Levi closes the teapot and joins her at the table, filling first her cup, then his. "It is too spacious," he insists.
Hanji gives a responsive snort. "The room downstairs, perhaps, but up here it's great. Thanks." She takes her cup and takes a generous gulp that Levi deliberately ignores as he takes his own, small and savouring sip.
"It's perfect for two," she adds, grinning.
"And who would that be, shitty glasses. See anyone here except you?"
Green eyes seem to stare back at him, making him clench his jaw and intensify his glare.
She rolls her eyes. "You even got a picture of him in your bedroom, Levi."
"Well, he's not here anymore, is he? He's gone."
"He'll come back."
"Why, because they always do?" His skin burns and itches. Even with only Hanji to watch, he won't show any weakness and scratch. Instead he huffs. "Right. If that's all you want to talk about, fuck off and spare me this shit."
Taking a sip of his tea so he can swallow down the lump in his throat, Levi is grateful that this seems to shut her up for now. She knows him well enough to remain seated right where she is.
"I like the view," she offers after a moment of tea cup rattling and fire crackling quietness. "You can even see my quarters from here. Seems like I forgot to turn off the oil lamp."
Following her glance at the night lit town with his own eyes, he allows himself a small snort. "Someone has to keep an eye on you."
The look she shoots him is equal parts derisive, whimsical, and delighted. "Okay. Where do you want the chair?"
"I don't care. The bedroom."
"No. As nice as that drawing is, we need to find you a proper bed for once in your life. As you mentioned: You're getting old," Hanji retorts with a grin.
"I've been sleeping at my desk for this long, I don't need a fucking bed."
"Oh, Hogwash! You need a second armchair for my visits too. I won't let you sit on one of these old kitchen chair things while you force me into my own present."
Levi blinks, but it's clear that Hanji will win this discussion so he lets it pass. For what it's worth he's glad she's still here with him. He knows she longed to leave with the Exploration Team herself. He still isn't fully convinced she remained at HQ because of organizational reasons. She only has one long term friend left as well and they've been through worse situations than simply staying behind. The least he can do to thank her for her company is to let her help when she offers it.
"At the hearth then," he relents.
"I'd like that." She hops up from the chair to shove the monster into its rightful spot.
Before she can decide to push it over the freshly polished floor, Levi gives up on his seat at the table to assist her in carrying the damn piece. If it wasn't a gift from Hanji, he'd have gotten rid of the pompous thing right away. If he is honest with himself, he has to concede that it is indeed wonderfully comfortable. Sinking into its soft leather cushions that instantly mold to his shape reminds him of protection. It always raises the question of whether this is how it must feel like to be embraced from behind.
"I think here is good," Hanji's voice jerks Levi out of his thoughts. A moment later they lower the chair in a way that it faces towards the kitchen table. She plops down in it to glance at the room and nods contentedly. "Yes, perfect."
"Have you even showered this week?" Levi asks, cringing inwardly at the thought of getting her hair grease all over himself.
As expected, she ignores the question. "You need a coffee table too."
"Out of my chair. And what is this anyway? I don't need babysitting."
Staying put where she is, she grins. "It's called care, Levi. And sure, you do. Seize it."
"Tch."
"Glad we agree. So. Enough with this secretiveness, because I must know. What are your plans for downstairs?" She blinks innocently. "Broom shop? Wait!" Her eyes get big. "Please tell me, you don't plan to open a bath house, because your idea of cleaning people is just gross!"
Levi smirks. He takes his time to answer, letting her simmer for a few passing seconds before giving in.
"There must be something you'd like to do. Something you used to dream of."
Positively excited for the first time in too long, Levi takes a breath. "I'll open a tea shop."
Hanji's enthusiasm is contagious. Upon his revelation, she gapes at him as a broad smile begins to split her face. Her eyes lighten up, and her arms fly in the air as the first flood of question bursts out. They talk long into the night. Since neither of them budges to sit in the leather chair, they stubbornly stay put at the rattly kitchen table as they discuss options for wooden floors, product range, and decorations. Soon the tiny table is covered with notes, rough sketches from the both of them, and lists with ideas.
"You should sell coffee too," she enthuses during her third cup of tea.
"No."
"But,"
"No," he insist before she can start one of her lectures. "No coffee."
The pout she gives him nearly makes him roll his eyes. "Ah, Levi, you're so boring."
"Says the crazy person in my life."
She laughs. "You've got lots of space down there, though. Do you really think you could fill the whole room with tea cans? Seems a bit much, if you ask me."
"I could sell supplies too."
"You mean like cups and pots? Yeah, sounds good." She frowns ponderously, and suddenly lights up. "Oh! You could also have a small corner with tables or a counter. For tastings, you know? So people know what they're buying?"
Considering the suggestion to be a good one, Levi writes it down.
With all their brainstorming, it is long past midnight when Hanji leaves. And after locking both the outside door of the soon-to-be tea shop, then the door to his flat, Levi sinks into the soft leather of his "old man chair" in front of the still glowing fireplace, reaching for his old knife in his pocket.
He knows, he won't get much rest that night. The silence is too unfamiliar. Being used to new rooms to sleep in is not the issue. His new home is simply so quiet that it feels far too loud. No tromping soldier feet accompanied by murmurs and snores that filter through the walls. It also smells too strange and homey. It lacks the scents of weapon oil and gear, plus fellow soldiers and horses. No amount of exhaustion will change that. Nor will the fact that it should feel safe to have all this space for himself, yet does not. Living alone is something so wholly new to Levi that his instincts won't trust it.
So he keeps the reassuring weight of the closed knife in his right hand. Wrapping a worn, patched blanket around his legs, Levi settles into his first, long night at his new home.