Chapter 110
Safe Haven
Eren floated in darkness, weightless and serene. He could not see anything, but he felt tender hands cradling him, their touch soft yet protective. Those hands caressed him, gliding over his skin with a gentleness that made him melt.
Somewhere far away, the distant boom of artillery shells echoed, but it felt unreal, muffled, like a storm behind thick walls. He felt the heat of fire, heard faint screams of agony, but the hands turned the flames into a warm cocoon and pulled him away from the chaos. In this dark bubble, he was safe, shielded.
Those hands touched him in wonderful ways, igniting a strange, buzzing energy in him. A tingle coursed through his body, electric and thrilling. He felt lips now, soft and warm, brushing against his neck, his collarbone, his jaw.
They were dangerous lips, and he craved them.
A moan bubbled up in his throat, but he clamped his lips shut. A deep instinct warned him: Do not make a sound. If he uttered a single noise, that would give away his position, and then the monsters would find him.
He was aroused yet terrified, relaxed yet aware that death lurked beyond the darkness. Here, his pleasure teetered on a knife's edge, laced with fear. If he gave in to this overwhelming sensation, something terrible would happen.
But the lips persisted, scorching him like flames, fingers pulling him deeper into a treacherous bliss. They made him want to explode like the artillery shells. His mouth fell open, but he could not give in to the desire. He could not make a sound.
The darkness seemed to pulse around him, alive and watching, waiting for him to break. Yet he felt that pulsing through his veins, heart racing, body arching, craving more. More!
His body blazed, arched, and writhed. The pulsing grew more frantic, throbbing full through him. Then something tight and warm slid down his cock.
The moan tore from his lips.
The darkness shattered like a grenade.
Suddenly, the world was ablaze. The comforting heat turned to searing fire, blistering his flesh. The screams that had been distant were now deafening, surrounding him on all sides.
He saw them now. All the bodies.
Thomas and Franz: two charred, blackened corpses staggering toward him, their hollow eyes fixed on him.
"Herr Oberleutnant," they groaned.
Eren stumbled backward, shaking his head, but there was no escape. He turned, and Kitz Woermann appeared, his face twisted in a sadistic sneer. The Webley pistol in his hand fired, hitting his shoulder. Then again and again, bullets riddling his body.
Eren tried to turn again, but the hands that had been comforting him a moment ago now held him in place. He could not run away.
Then Theo Magath emerged from the flames, calm and cruel, his Gestapo uniform blacker than the darkness, his smirk sharp as a blade.
"He wanted to see you," he said, his voice cold as death.
Eren looked down, and the hands groping him felt wet. The right hand was mangled, missing two fingers, smearing blood all over his naked body. Levi looked up at him, and a gaping black hole was where his eye had been, blood pouring down his face.
Eren recoiled from the gruesome sight, only to realize his own hands were soaked in sticky, dripping redness.
Blood!
But it wasn't his blood.
It was theirs.
The blood of everyone he couldn't save.
More figures stepped beyond the flames: Floch, Moblit, Nack, Lauda, Luke, Ivan, Jurgen, Milieus, Gunther, Marlo, Grützmacher, Caven, Sasha, Abel, Nicolo, Yelena, dozens more, those he lost in Anzio, those he lost in Metz, the Jews he failed to rescue, the Resistance he didn't try to help, the faces of men he had ruthlessly killed.
Then even his mother ambled forward, her hand reaching out to him, calling his name, half her head blasted away by the bullet that had killed her.
Panic clawed at his chest, but there was nowhere to run. They surrounded him, getting closer. The heat was suffocating, the air thick with smoke, burning his lungs. He turned, desperate to escape, but suddenly, the entire space filled with a massive, grotesque eye.
Levi's eye.
It was gouged out, oozing blood, and it dominated the chaos, looming over the destruction. The flames reflected in its empty, accusing gaze. The eye stared directly at Eren, unblinking and monstrous.
Though it made no sound, its look was deafening.
"It's your fault!"
The words reverberated through Eren's entire being. A delirious scream ripped from his throat, wild and unhinged, as his mind fractured into madness.
The world shattered around him.
The corpses staggered closer.
The flames roared higher.
There was no escape.
"It's your fault!"
# # #
Eren bolted up, still screaming. His whole body was drenched in sweat, the blanket tangled around his legs like a snare, and his heart pounded so hard he thought it might burst. His breath came in sharp, shallow gasps, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to him.
His hands trembled as he looked down at them, half expecting to see blood, but they were normal. Slowly, the room came into focus. A bed. A bathroom. The scent of clean linen mixed with faint traces of soap.
He was not in Metz anymore.
Libramont.
Belgium.
A hotel.
The dream faded, his heart calmed down, but that left him with a new fear.
Where was Levi?
Eren twisted around, searching the dimly lit room. The spot beside him was empty, the sheets cool. Levi had been sick, his wounds worsening, and now…
Eren's breath hitched. Levi's clothes were gone. His shoes were missing.
He was gone!
What if something had happened? What if…
His first thought was that Levi had been captured, arrested while Eren slept. But no, if that were the case, Eren would have been dragged off too. The second possibility was sickening: maybe Levi's body had finally given out. Maybe he had collapsed somewhere in the streets, alone, in pain, with no one to help him.
Or worse… maybe he had chosen to leave.
Maybe Levi had decided this relationship was too dangerous, too much, and he had slipped away in the night, choosing freedom over all else. It was basically what Eren had planned to do, after all: find a big city, slip away, hide somewhere so he was no longer a threat to Levi.
Live no matter the price, right?
Even if that price was being separated.
He had thought that was safest.
But now?
Eren whispered, quivering and hoarse with terror, "No…"
After that nightmare, he could not bear it.
He hugged himself, fingers digging into his arms, trying to squeeze the fear out of his body.
Inspect your surroundings, soldier!
The command sliced through the fog like a blade, sharp and familiar. Something inside him obeyed before he even realized it, instinct overriding terror. His eyes snapped open.
Scan the room.
His gaze darted across the small space, taking in every detail. The pack was still there. Levi's bag, their few supplies, all untouched. That meant Levi would not have gone far. He would never leave without the bag containing his mother's Tanakh.
That at least was comforting.
Levi must still be in town. He simply stepped out.
Right?
Eren swallowed hard, his throat raw from the screams. His gaze locked onto the clock on the wall, focusing on it, grounding himself with the thin hand counting away the seconds.
Tick, tick, tick.
Nearly nine o'clock. He had slept too long, almost twelve hours. His body must have shut down from sheer exhaustion.
Maybe Levi had gone to get breakfast. Maybe he was simply downstairs. Maybe—
His fingers twitched at his sides, restless and uneasy. The panic still lingered, lurking beneath his skin, waiting for another opening.
Out of bed, soldier!
With gritted teeth, he forced himself upright, his body sluggish from sleep but still remembering the motions. Pain flared through his shoulder. The wound was always stiff in the mornings. He reached across his chest, rubbing at the exit wound scar, rotating the joint as best he could. He winced. Torn muscles, severed nerves, numbness—it would never be the same. But it moved. He could still use it.
It could have been worse. He could have died from such a wound.
The thought did not comfort him as much as it should.
He dragged himself to the bathroom and splashed cold water onto his face, gasping as the chill shocked through him. He met his own reflection, eyes hollow, skin pale, mouth pressed in a firm line. He looked like someone else. Someone haunted.
He braced himself against the sink.
Steady, soldier. You've got this.
He turned the sink to hot and washed his face. Then he lathered up some shaving cream and brushed it over his cheeks. He managed to hold the razor steady, tested the weight, and began to shave, forcing his breathing to match each slow, careful stroke, the blade smoothly running down his cheeks. He finally washed the lather off and felt along his face. He could barely even connect the touches to his own face, feeling separate from that man in the mirror.
Still, Levi preferred him clean shaven, and he wanted to look good for his boyfriend.
When he was done, he combed his hair and tied it back, muscle memory guiding his fingers. He stepped out and found his trousers. He sighed, like just this much had exhausted him.
One leg at a time.
One step at a time.
He was still adjusting the trousers when the door handle jiggled and the lock turned. Eren spun around right as the door swung open. His hand immediately went to where his holster would have been, only to find nothing there.
Levi stepped inside with a large cloth bundle tucked under his arm. He kicked the door shut behind him. "Oh, good. About time, sleepyhead."
"Where were you?" Eren snapped, quickly finishing with his trousers before they fell down.
Levi paused and arched an eyebrow at the angry tone. "Getting the laundry." He dropped the bundle with their clothes onto the bed. "They couldn't get all the bloodstains out—pretty much set in now—but at least it smells better. Maybe we can keep them as undergarments for when it's cold, a bottom layer. A shame to waste anything at this point."
Eren barely heard him. His pulse had not settled. "I was worried when I woke up and you weren't here."
Levi turned toward a tiny dresser and began to fold the clothes better to put them away. "You slept in, so I went to eat. You were still asleep, so I went out to get the laundry."
Eren pouted as Levi continued to put away clothes, ignoring him. "You should have woken me up."
"You were too adorable."
Eren opened his mouth to argue, but his lips clamped shut as a traitorous smile threatened to surface. Damn him. How could he stay mad when Levi said things like that? He grabbed a newly cleaned shirt and tried to put it on, struggling to get it around his cast.
Levi smirked knowingly, well aware that a comment like that always made Eren bashful, and it would banish his foul mood. "Besides, you need the sleep. We both do. While we have a bed, we should use it to get as much rest as possible."
Eren grumbled under his breath, "I'd rather use it for other things."
Levi closed the dresser drawer and turned around in surprise. If Eren had said that slightly differently, it might have come across as seductive. Instead, he sounded frustrated. Levi understood. Eren was not the same as before. Surely, he wanted to go back to being the reckless, passionate young man he had been in Metz, not the traumatized Gestapo victim he was now.
War had carved away at that innocent version of him, leaving behind someone more hesitant and haunted.
Levi's voice softened. "I also let you sleep in because it sounded like you were having a good dream."
Eren's stomach twisted. The dream. The warmth. The hands. The kisses. The love.
And then the shells. The screams. The blood. The horror.
"It was a good dream…" Eren admitted, voice quieter. "Until it wasn't." He hesitated, then met Levi's gaze. "Maybe you should have woken me before it turned bad."
Levi stepped closer and pressed a hand to Eren's bare chest. The touch was grounding, instantly calming his heart. "Maybe I should give you more reasons to have only good dreams."
Eren's lips parted slightly. Levi's touch was warm, familiar, safe. The scars on Levi's face were still raw, but his smirk—his teasing, infuriating, beloved smirk—was the same.
Levi must have seen the turmoil in his eyes because, without another word, he spun around, grabbed Eren's good arm, and forcefully wrapped it around himself, curling into Eren's embrace. Then he tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck.
"Show me some of your good dream."
Eren let out a breath of disbelief before a chuckle bubbled up. Levi was ridiculous, trying so hard to ease his pain in the only way he knew how. It was adorable. Eren tightened his arm and also wrapped the arm in a cast around him. He buried his face against Levi's neck, inhaled deeply, and sniffed in that aroma. Levi always smelled so clean. Just that much got Levi to shiver and make a pleased little grunt. Eren kissed along the edge of Levi's neck, working his way up toward his ear, slowly and reverently.
"I dreamed you were touching me," Eren murmured against his skin. "Kissing me…" His breath was hot as he whispered into Levi's ear, "Making love to me."
Levi's whole body stiffened as a moan clenched back. "Where were we?"
Eren hesitated. He did not want to admit that in his dream, they were wrapped around each other in the middle of a battlefield, while shells rained down and men screamed.
Instead, he whispered, "It was dark. All I could feel were your hands… and your mouth."
Levi let out a soft, shuddering breath.
"You were protecting me from the darkness," Eren continued. He gave the edge of Levi's neck a soft bite, making him gasp and hiss. "As you always do."
Levi turned just enough to catch Eren's expression. That smile—small, raw, honest—stirred something deep inside him. Without thinking, his fingers drifted to the gold ring on Eren's hand, a symbol he still wore, a promise still kept, despite everything.
The love was still there, but so was the pain. It lingered in the way Eren would not quite meet his eyes and the way his grip tightened, like he was afraid Levi might slip away again.
Levi exhaled and rested his head against Eren's chest. "You're an idiot," he muttered.
Eren huffed a laugh. "And you love me for it."
Levi's lips twitched. Indeed he did!
He looked up, searching Eren's face, but Eren kept averting his eyes. Always looking away, always keeping that last bit of distance between them. Levi sighed. He reached up, brushing his fingers along Eren's jaw, coaxing him to look down, but Eren turned more forcefully, until Levi stopped trying to force it. His fingers slowly pulled back.
"May I at least kiss you?" he asked softly.
Eren startled, his breath hitching for a fraction of a second before letting out a small, surprised chuckle. He knew those words well. Before, he had always been the one asking Levi if he could have a kiss. Now Levi was the one treating him like something fragile.
It was sweet. It was frustrating. It was unbearably tender.
Just like how Levi had said it so many times before, Eren quietly replied, "You may."
Levi tiptoed up to give Eren a soft kiss. They paused, only a moment, then both leaned in to kiss again. Levi's fingers played around Eren's ear, and Eren's hand pulled Levi in closer, lifting him almost off his feet.
Their kisses grew firmer, more passionate, until Eren suddenly pulled back. "We can't! We are not making love in a hotel with soldiers down the hall." He saw Levi start to get a sly smile. "I'm serious. It's too dangerous."
Levi leaned into Eren's good ear. "I know. I just think it's cute that I merely kissed you, and your mind immediately began to think about making love." He playfully poked his chest. "Naughty boy!"
Eren scoffed and pulled away to continue buttoning his shirt. "Of course I would think that! I know you too well, pervert."
"You're one to talk. I bet if there weren't Americans, you'd let me."
"Only if you wanted to."
Levi's playful banter froze. "What?"
Eren huffed and looked away.
Levi pulled back with a scowl and grumbled, "Don't tempt me, brat."
Eren kept his back to Levi, fiddling with his shirt while not actually buttoning it. In a breathy whisper, he asked the question that was sizzling between them. "Would you want to?"
Levi took a step closer and stroked Eren's tense back. Even just that touch made Eren's shoulders bristle. He was right there, yet it felt like there was a defensive barrier separating them, Eren's very own Westwall.
"If it was me making love to you," Levi whispered, "my heart says I want it."
"But me to you—"
"No," Levi cut in. "My colon is still healing. The damage…" He cut off, scowling as he had to face the truth. "It was bad. Real bad. The surgeon had no idea how I was still alive. He warned that I would need more surgeries, probably many more throughout the years. An injury like that … I don't know how long it will take to fully recover, and that's just physically. Mentally?"
Levi scoffed and shook his head. Maybe he would never make a full recovery from the trauma. The best some people could hope for was for the pain to hurt less often.
Eren nodded solemnly. He figured as much. He had seen the agony Levi suffered, even though he tried to hide it. "But, to me? Would you really… you know?"
Levi wrapped his arms around Eren and rested his cheek on his back. In a low whisper, he asked, "Do you want to?"
Eren looked at the door, scared to say anything. His face drew up in mental torture. In a trembling, airy whisper, he admitted, "I'm not ready."
Levi squeezed Eren tightly, wishing he could shelter him as he felt Eren straining to not cry. "It's okay, takhshet. It takes time."
Eren knew it did. He had waited months for Levi to be at this place of acceptance, and that was after he had years to grieve for his wife. Now, he was the one struggling to feel safe.
Levi promised, "I'll be here when you're ready."
Eren slammed his eyes shut.
If we don't make love, we can honestly say we're not lovers, and I can tell Nazis that I have never once made love to a man.
Those were the sorts of things that went through his mind now.
Stay away from Levi. Protect him.
Don't give anyone an excuse to hurt him.
Never again!
Follow orders, soldier, and Victory follows you.
What was even Victory anymore?
He pulled out of Levi's embrace and shoved down his emotions. "We should get ready for work." He stepped away, leaving Levi with a saddened expression on his face.
Levi had already eaten, but he still went with Eren to the hotel's café to help him order, since Eren was still playing the part of a deaf and mute man. Levi sat across the way, nibbling some bread and watching the way Eren ate, digging into the food, like he was still partially starved.
Eren finally felt the stare and glanced up, only to see Levi with his gray eye focused intensely on him. Still, Eren struggled to look at Levi's face for too long without sickening guilt surging up. He looked back down to his food again.
While they sat there, Dennis Aiblinger stepped in and walked up to their table.
"I thought we had a deal," the hotel owner said, looking at Levi while Eren pretended to not hear anything. Not like he could understand their French words anyway. "I gave you some leeway since you were sick last night, but he should have started work right after breakfast. Do you know what time it is?"
"He was up all night caring for me," Levi lied. "The poor man barely got any sleep trying to keep me alive."
Dennis looked Levi over. "And you? At least you don't look like you're dying anymore."
"I have medication now. It should help me to recover."
"Try not to die in my hotel," Dennis said, sounding blasé to cover over the worry in his face. "What happened to you, anyway?"
Levi's gaze narrowed. "Nazis. The same ones who gave me this." He motioned to his eye patch and scar.
Eren looked up at that word, then looked back and forth between Levi and the hotel owner. He tugged on Levi's sleeve, gesturing to mutely question what was going on. Levi held his hand up to show him he had this handled.
"Is that what happened to him?" Dennis asked, tipping his head over to Eren. "Is it why he can't speak?"
"None of your business," Levi snapped.
Dennis backed off. "Fine. Make sure he knows, I want those dishes cleaned before lunch. Work faster. As for you, if you can't clean, I have no other choice but to charge you for the room."
"I can work," Levi said coldly.
"Good. Six rooms. Hitch will show you which ones."
"Understood," Levi said, and he turned away, showing that the conversation was over.
Dennis shook his head. "Take it easy. If you need to rest, don't be stubborn. And seriously, don't die in my hotel. I don't have time for ghosts." With that, he walked away.
When the coast was clear Levi explained to Eren that he needed to work. Eren already knew that, and he figured the hotel owner had scolded Levi for starting so late in the day. That was his fault. Knowing Levi, he was probably up at sunrise.
With nothing more than a silent look to each other, they split apart. Eren headed to the kitchen, where yet more dishes awaited him, and Levi learned from Hitch which rooms needed to be cleaned.
The other maids gathered around the kitchen to watch Eren scrubbing dishes. They whispered amongst themselves, admiring his muscles as he lifted a large soup cauldron one-handed, and when he looked their way, the girls squealed and ran off, fanning themselves as they declared how dreamy he was.
They also followed Levi, although they learned to be more cautious around him. Eren tolerated their admiration with amusement; Levi snapped at them to get back to work. Besides, with his scarred face and pallid complexion, they had to admit that he was more of an oddity and not a fantasy dream-boy like Eren.
Levi's obsession with cleanliness made him naturally perfect for the job, and the other maids had never seen someone make a bed so flawlessly or get the bathtubs to glisten the way Levi could.
A few of the braver ones asked him for tips, and he did not mind training them. These were mostly young women who had to work because their fathers and brothers were off at war—or had already been killed when the Nazis invaded Belgium—and it was now up to these women to help feed their families. If he could teach them to work more efficiently, this would give them more free time to simply be young and carefree. Levi privately liked the idea of helping them however he could.
Dennis smoked and watched in amusement as Levi demonstrated for a small group of women how to get the blankets so smooth. He looked over to Hitch.
"He's going to make this hotel famous."
She said dryly, "Then you should pay him more."
"I just might. We'll see."
Hitch made sure Levi took breaks to sit. Although he preferred working to keep his mind off things, and sitting hurt his buttocks, he liked that the staff took care of their own. Dennis could come across as lazy one minute, scolding the next, but he genuinely cared.
Maybe, like Levi, he wanted the best for these young women forced to work to feed their families. Those left behind in the war had to rely on one another.
Finally, Levi went to fetch Eren from the kitchen. Although he had more dishes to go, he pulled the young man away. He was flushed, sweating, and his good hand was chapped. Levi first brought Eren to a back office where Hitch had shown him some general medication the hotel kept on site. This included Nivea Creme.
Levi brought Eren to a corner or the office, took his hand, and began to rub cream on it.
"You're working so hard," he whispered as he spread the cream around the reddened skin.
"I can only use one hand," he said, wiggling the fingers in his broken arm to show that the cast caused problems. Eren looked at the cream contained. "Nivea. I got that as a wedding present."
Levi jolted up. "Wedding?" Then he recalled. "Oh, right. Louise."
"Leutnant Gunther Schultz gave it to me. A month later, he was dead. Turned to mist right in front of me. There, then… gone. If I had been one step closer to him…"
"Don't think about that," Levi cut in, although he knew this must give Eren nightmares. How could it not?
"It's hard not to."
"I know," he whispered. Levi had never seen a man actually turned to mist from a direct artillery strike, but he could imagine how gruesome it was. He focused down on Eren's hands and rubbed over the gold ring. If it had been Eren…
"Standing there, washing dishes," Eren muttered, "I go over everything in my head. Everything! My mother dying, my friends getting beaten in Napola, whipping you, watching as they forced you and Moses, killing Grützmacher, killing Abel, and Metz, everything in Metz: Gunther and Thomas and Franz and Floch and—"
"Try to think of the good things," Levi cut in as Eren's voice threatened to rise loud enough for someone outside of the room to hear. He squeezed Eren's hand. "Try! Think of your mother's cooking, or the fun you had at school, or laughing with your comrades… or me," he added with a small smile. "Do you remember our first kiss?"
Eren laughed, a burst of emotions cutting through the grief. "I remember. I was so scared. I hardly knew what I was doing."
"What about our first French kiss?"
Eren bit his lips, climbing out of the darkness a tiny bit more.
"And the first time you got to touch me?"
"Do you mean in the bathtub, that time we got interrupted?"
"I mean you on your knees, begging me until I pulled my dick out, how you touched it like a holy relic, and how you kept giving it kisses while looking like a little boy tasting a dessert for the first time."
"Because I was." Eren leaned into Levi's ear and whispered. "Your cock is always sweet."
Levi scoffed and shook his head. "Perhaps that's what I need to do. Ask permission, get down on my knees…" He now leaned into Eren's ear. "Kiss you slowly until you're ready for more."
"I'm ready now," Eren said, his voice hissing. "The problem is convincing my brain."
"Then I'll ease you back into it," Levi said decisively. "Slowly."
Eren sighed in frustration. "I never liked going slow."
"Oh, I know!" Levi chuckled. "I wanted you to take your time exploring each new experience; you wanted to blitzkrieg into my pants. Pervert."
"I wanted more time with you," Eren said, his voice quivering as the happiness of that past clashed with his frustrating hesitancy now. "I wanted more time loving you before I got sent off to fight. I didn't want to die not knowing—"
"Shh. Don't talk about dying. It'll bring misfortune." Levi stroked his hand through Eren's hair. "We have time now. Which means," he added, smirking playfully, "I can finally have it my way. Slowly let you enjoy everything. Slowly build up to more." He leaned into Eren's ear and whispered, "I like having you my way."
Eren looked like he was struggling between smiling that Levi still wanted him, and crying as he felt so weak and broken inside.
"Come on. We'll get dinner."
The hotel restaurant hummed with conversation, the air thick with the scent of roasted meat, beer, and cigarettes. At nearly every table, American soldiers sat in small groups, their uniforms wrinkled from long days, their boots scuffed. Some laughed loudly. Some spoke in low murmurs. Some simply drank, their eyes shadowed with exhaustion.
Levi and Eren sat at a small table for two, trying to eat and not draw attention to themselves. The hum of English conversations drifted around them, each voice adding to a chaotic symphony of personal lives and battlefield grimness.
At the nearest table, four young officers leaned close together, their voices low but urgent. "They say Antwerp's getting shelled every day now. The Krauts don't want to let go of it."
"No shit," another muttered, sipping his beer. "They ran at first, but now they're gonna fight for every inch of land. Something big is coming. You feel it? Like death is in the air."
Another officer scoffed. "Christ, don't say that. Bad luck." He knocked on wood.
A loud groan rose from another table, followed by a deep sigh from a sergeant reading a letter. "My cousin says Quebec's threatening to secede."
"Again?" the soldier sitting across from him muttered. "Jesus, what's this, the third time?"
"I don't blame 'em. Canada's war effort's a mess. My cousin's in the Royal 22nd. Says they still argue over conscription."
"If they'd volunteer like real men, they wouldn't even need conscription."
"Hey, they don't have as many people as us," the sergeant said defensively. "The entire population of Canada is smaller than New York? They got all the brave men already. Now it's conscripting the cowards and family men, like my cousin.
"Coward?"
"Fuck you. He's got five kids. I don't blame him for not wanting to be shipped to the front lines."
At another table, a lively discussion about football broke through the war talk. "You hear about Les Horvath? Won the Heisman."
A red-haired soldier grinned. "Hell, yeah! Ohio State's lucky to have him. Think he'll go pro?"
"Maybe. If he don't get drafted first."
"Fuck, by the time this war's over, half the fuckin' football league will have served."
"Can you imagine when all our football boys get back to the States? There's gonna be blood on the field."
"Fuck yeah," the redhead chuckled, and he gulped some more beer. "Can't fuckin' wait to see it."
"I think you're fuckin' drunk, O'Brien."
Further down, another pair of tired-looking officers were sitting casually as they enjoyed their drinks. "Heard on the radio, Hal Newhouser took MVP," one said, swirling whiskey in his glass.
"Why ain't someone like him out here with the rest of us?" his companion complained.
"Heard he volunteered. Heart murmur kept him out."
"That's bullshit! If a man wants to shoot down some Japs or kill some Krauts, they should let him."
"Hey, I agree with you. Still, if a man with a heart murmur can be named MVP, can you imagine the talent we're missing out on because of this war?"
"Yeah, all because the Brits and Frenchies couldn't hold Germany back. Fuck."
"Hey, they tried. Someone's gotta be the hero of this war."
At another table, three men dug into their food, speaking between bites of bread and sips of beer.
"You ever had real New Orleans gumbo?" one asked.
Another soldier shook his head. "No, but I had chowder once in Boston. Is it the same?"
"Ain't even close, idiot!"
A third laughed. "Ah, fuck both you fuckers. My ma makes the best fuckin' brisket in all of fuckin' Brooklyn."
"Sure, sure, Fuckman."
"It's Faktermann, and fuck you."
For a moment, Eren almost smiled, reminded of the easy camaraderie he had once known among his own platoon. Conversations just like these had drifted through cold nights and long marches, where talk of home mixed with war reports, discussing the Battle of Normandy right alongside teasing Franz about his wife and Jean boasting about whoever he slept with last.
Yet now, it felt different.
He wasn't among his own people anymore.
Eren's shoulders were stiff, his nerves on edge, his hand twitching slightly whenever a soldier's gaze lingered on him too long. Logically, he knew he was safe—just another wounded European in plain clothes—but his mind could not shake the feeling that, at any moment, one of them might recognize something in him, point him out, and say, "Hey, that guy looks German."
A lifetime of discipline was telling him to sit up straighter, keep his chin raised, his eyes forward. But the rules of the Wehrmacht no longer applied here. He was sitting among the enemy, surrounded by Americans drinking beer and laughing about home, talking about battles, fierce fighting in the Pacific, baseball, and family.
Across from him, Levi ate seemingly without a care in the world. He did not look the least bit bothered by the sea of Allied uniforms around them, his expression as unreadable as ever. But Eren knew better.
Levi had noticed his nerves. He always did.
Still chewing, Levi's gaze flicked up, studying Eren's clenched jaw, the way his fingers gripped the fork a little too tightly. Then, casually, he leaned back in his chair, swirling a glass of wine in his hand. "Relax," he murmured, low enough that only Eren could hear.
"I am relaxed," he whispered, though it came out stiffly.
Levi's lips twitched. "Sure you are. That's why you're sitting like you're trying to hold back a fart."
Eren forced his muscles to release, but the tension refused to leave him. His fingers drummed twice against the table before he snatched his hand back, flexing it as if shaking off an invisible weight.
Levi took a slow sip of wine, his gaze steady. "They're just men," he said simply. "Look at them. They're homesick, tired, they miss their families. They're not much different from you."
Eren's lips pressed into a thin line. He had spent years seeing them as enemies. It was hard to unlearn that.
Levi exhaled and leaned forward, his voice dropping lower. "If it helps, just remember—they're all scared of the battles to come. They may not make it, and they know that. Yet they fight. Same as you."
Eren let out a slow breath and picked at his food, still not entirely at ease, but slowly, bit by bit, settling into the foreign comfort of a world he still was not sure he belonged in.
As soon as Eren swallowed his last bite, he leaned forward, his knee bouncing restlessly under the table. "Can we go?"
Levi studied him. Eren's fingers twitched against the table's edge, his gaze flicking to the exit, to the soldiers laughing over their beers, and to the thick curls of cigarette smoke drifting through the air from the other tables. He was fraying, his self-control stretched thin.
Levi finished his wine, paid for the meal, and they left together.
The moment they stepped into the foyer, Eren pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and stuck it between his lips. His other hand fumbled for the matchbox, but he hesitated, his fingers rubbing over the coarse cardboard. Slowly, he lowered the cigarette.
"You hate the smell," he muttered, but his fingers began to fidget with the cigarette.
"I hate seeing you like this more," Levi replied. "I can put up with the smell."
Eren's lips parted slightly, the cigarette hovering just shy of his mouth. Levi was giving him permission, but Eren wanted to prove he was strong. He debated about putting the cigarette back away. Still, the craving gnawed at his nerves, a raw, insatiable need curling in his gut. He could almost feel the sharp burn in his lungs, the rush of nicotine smoothing out the jagged edges of his thoughts.
But Levi's presence, his quiet tolerance, made Eren hesitate.
Levi's brow furrowed. He exhaled through his nose and crossed his arms. "Smoke it," he grumbled. "Just not in our room. We'll work on your addiction later."
Eren sighed, feeling guilt coil around his ribs like barbed wire.
Addiction.
Sucht.
He hated that word.
He hated that it was true.
He told himself he could stop at any time, that it was just stress, just the war, just the ghosts in his head. But each time the cravings came back, digging their claws into his skin, he knew he was lying to himself.
Maybe, if he cut back one cigarette a week…
Maybe, if he held out an hour longer each day…
Maybe, if he wasn't always on the edge of breaking apart, he could stop.
But not now.
Not after everything.
It had been a long, tiring, emotional week. The whole month!
Losing friends, nearly losing Levi, betraying his country, being tortured by the Gestapo, being locked in silence with the worst parts of his own mind, putting a gun to his head and idealizing how easy it would be to pull the trigger…
And now, here he was, in a hotel with the enemy all around him…
And they all smoked. The whole place smelled of American cigarettes, so why not join them, fit in, perhaps minimize the danger by getting the Americans to see him as being just like them…
There were so many reasons that he listed in his head for why he shouldn't stop smoking.
All just excuses.
Eren happened to see Dennis exit his office, so he kept his lips shut again. Instead, he tugged on Levi's sleeve and nodded to the hotel doors. Levi picked up the silent hint, buttoned up his coat, and without a word, they stepped out into the cold night.
The moment the doors shut behind them, Eren placed the cigarette between his lips, struck a match with shaking fingers, and shielded the tiny flame from the wind as he lit the cigarette. He inhaled deeply and let the smoke fill his lungs. A flood of relief washed over him, like finally scratching an itch buried too deep under the skin. His shoulders slackened, the tremor in his hands steadied, and the fog of unease in his mind thinned just enough to think clearly.
Levi stood beside him, hands tucked into his coat pockets, his expression neutral. The slight wrinkle in his nose gave him away.
Eren huffed out a quiet laugh, smoke curling from his lips. "You really do hate it."
Levi did not bother denying it. "If it helps you, I'll put up with it." His eyes flicked up to Eren's face. "For now. Just not in our room. This place reeks enough as it is."
It was not raining anymore, so they walked down the street. The night was bitterly cold with a wind that carried the threat of more rain. The streets were slick from earlier downpours, reflecting the dim glow of street lamps. Car headlights cut through the dark, their beams flickering across the wet streets like the eyes of a predator lurking in the shadows. Army trucks rumbled past, the low growl of their engines vibrating through the bones of the city, reminding them that the war was not too far away.
Levi should have felt safer here, in territory slowly being reclaimed by the Allies. Yet he was not so optimistic and naive. The presence of Americans posed a threat for Eren's safety. If anyone realized he was German, they would not care that he had deserted the Wehrmacht. To them, he would always be an enemy who deserved no mercy.
Levi glanced up at Eren, his posture rigid, his steps precise, almost a march. The glow of his cigarette burned against the night, a tiny fire of defiance. He looked calm, but Levi knew better. That calmness was brittle, a mask that could shatter at any moment.
No place was safe anymore.
All they could do was keep moving forward, one step at a time, until they found a way out of this damned war that had already taken so much from them.
And so they walked—silent, tense, lost in their own thoughts—toward whatever fate had waiting for them.
# # #
# #
#
"The best some people could hope for was for the pain to hurt less often" — I actually reworded this line, inspired by the song Dreamscape by Mortius. I've been following Mortius since the beginning of his YouTube career. In his EP Rediscovery, he opens up about his journey of healing from sexual abuse. It's a dark subject, but Mortius handles it well. The line in Dreamscape "It doesn't hurt less but it hurts less often" really hit home with me and my own journey, both my old trauma of SA, and my more recent grief from suddenly losing my mother.
Les Horvath — an American football player for Ohio State University. In 1944, he won the Heisman Trophy, an award given to the best college football player in the United States.
Hal Newhouser — a left-handed baseball pitcher for the Detroit Tigers. On November 28, 1944 (two days before this chapter) Hal was named MVP of the American League. The following year, he would help the Tigers to win the World Series and again be named MVP, as well as earning the "Triple Crown" (leading the league in 3 categories in the same season). There would not be another Triple Crown winner until 1963. He is the only pitcher ever to win consecutive MVP awards. And he did all that with a heart murmur.
"A Canadian mutiny" — The Terrace Mutiny of November 24-29, 1944, was part of the greater Conscription Crisis of 1944. Canadian conscripts stationed in Terrence, British Columbia, had been led to believe that conscripts would remain on the home front, so when they heard they were going to be deployed, they grabbed weapons and mutinied against their commanders. At the time, this was covered up by the government, but it's possible American soldiers heard about it from relatives who were Canadian soldiers.
"Quebec threatening to secede (Again)" — On November 29, 1944, French Canadian nationalist and member of the Legislative Assembly of Quebec René Chaloult voiced his opposition to conscription and said Quebec should secede from Canada if the province was not allowed to decide its own policies. This was also part of the greater Conscription Crisis of 1944, and other politicians had pushed for secession. Such pushes for French-speaking Quebec to separate from the rest of English-speaking Canada have been around since at least the 1837-38 Rebellions and continue to this day.
Population of Canada — In 1944, Canada's population was approximately 11.8 million people. New York was 13.5 million.
New Orleans gumbo — Gumbo is a rich stew cooked with Cajun seasoning (paprika, cayenne pepper, black pepper, onion and garlic powder, oregano, and thyme). It reflects the blend of cultural influences in Louisiana: a little Native American, a little African, a little Caribbean, a little French. I love making shrimp and chicken gumbo with carrots, onions, celery, and okra. I'll make a "normal" pot for my husband with sweet paprika … and sprinkle on SPICY paprika for myself. It's a "labor of love" that can take hours, but a big pot can be divvied out into freezer-safe containers and frozen for 2-3 months.
Boston chowder — As much as I love gumbo, clam chowder comes in at a close second. Put it in a sourdough bread bowl, and I'd place it on the top of my list for best soups. When I went to Boston, I simply had to have their famous "chowda."
Brooklyn brisket — Brisket is not unique to Brooklyn; it's simply a cut of meat from the breast or lower chest of beef or veal. However, Brooklyn has a rich cultural tapestry, including Jewish, Caribbean, and Italian influences, which affects seasoning and cooking styles. Many Brooklyn Jews like to eat brisket as part of traditional dishes like pastrami or a brisket dinner. My husband will order brisket every time we go to a new barbecue place. If they don't have good brisket, they aren't good at barbecuing.
"fierce fighting in the Pacific" — The Battle of Peleliu had just begun on November 27th (it is currently December 1st in this chapter) which would lead to the famous artwork by Thomas Lea depicting the "thousand-yard stare."
I don't really get into the Pacific Theater in this story, despite that being a primary focus in American history classes. Ask the average American to name some battles in the European Front, and they will probably only know two: Normandy and the Battle of the Bulge. Yet ask them about the Pacific Front, and they will list off Midway, Guadalcanal, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, Battle of Japan, etc.
Many Americans, especially on the West Coast, didn't feel that Germany was a true threat, whereas Japan had actually attacked American territories and was openly hostile against us. This is why the full might of the U.S. Marines, 1.5 million Navy sailors, half of our Air Force, and 30% of our Army were sent into the Pacific, while only 70% of our Army, half of the Air Force, and 25% of our Navy was sent to Europe. (Some Marines too, but the Army really didn't want them there besides special missions.)
I always wondered just how much focus, if any, European history classes give to the Pacific Theater in their lessons on World War II. After all, they weren't really under threat from Japan, and most European countries didn't fight a single battle there. The same as Americans knowing next to nothing about the Eastern Front: we didn't fight there, so why focus there?
So I wonder, do European history classes mention anything about the fighting in the Pacific, or is it completely glossed over? Do people in Eastern Europe also study battles in Western Europe, and vice versa?
I've also heard that in some countries outside of Europe, WWII is barely even discussed. Is it more like "oh yeah, and then there was that time that Europeans were all trying to kill each other. Moving on!"
I really am fascinated by how education differs depending on geography.
Let me know in the comments!