Chapter Text
Levi did not look at him in the corridor.
That was the first mistake his body wanted to correct.
Eren was half a step behind him, close enough that Levi could hear the uneven drag of his boots over the polished floor, close enough that the heat of him followed through the colder air of Central like a hand between Levi’s shoulder blades. Not stumbling. Not drunk. Nothing so useful. His steps were steady enough, his balance good enough, his breathing too light for the evening they had just left behind.
That almost made it worse.
If Eren had been truly drunk, Levi could have reduced it to a problem. Weight. Balance. Water. Sleep. A body to manage until morning.
Instead the brat was awake enough to enjoy himself.
“Are you going to walk like that the whole way?” Eren asked behind him.
Levi kept his eyes forward.
The corridor outside the dining room was empty except for two lamps and too much polish. Central liked its floors the same way it liked its officers: clean enough to reflect whatever stood above them and stupid enough to pretend that meant purity.
“Like what?” Levi asked, not slowing, not giving Eren the courtesy of looking back.
Behind him, Eren’s steps scraped a little unevenly over the polished floor.
“Like you’re marching someone to execution.”
Levi’s jaw worked once.
“If you keep talking, I might.”
Eren gave a soft laugh, too warm for the corridor, too pleased with himself, too fucking alive after that.
It hit Levi in the spine.
Just a small, half-contained sound, still loosened at the edges by whatever Hitch had kept putting into his glass and whatever attention she had wrapped around it.
Levi’s hand twitched at his side.
He closed it.
The movement was small. Controlled. Nothing for any stray guard or servant or polished bastard hiding around a corner to read. His face stayed still. His pace did not change.
Inside, something filthy and territorial dragged its nails through him.
He could still see it.
Hitch leaning close with that lazy smile. Hitch’s fingers near Eren’s sleeve. Hitch pouring again like it was harmless, like she had not watched the first glass do its work and decided she liked the result. Eren blinking at her, flustered and open, too pleased to be spoken to like a person instead of a problem. Eren laughing.
Levi’s jaw tightened until pain sparked near his ear.
He wanted to turn around.
He wanted to turn around, put a hand at the back of Eren’s neck, and wipe every trace of that dinner off him with his mouth. Wanted to shove him against the nearest door hard enough to make him stop sounding pleased about any part of it. Wanted to get him into their room, lock it, put him under him, and make the brat remember exactly whose voice he answered first.
The thought came cleanly.
Levi hated it before it finished taking shape.
Because that was the fucking problem, wasn’t it.
Zackly wanted proof. Floch wanted material. Hitch wanted reaction. Nile wanted control. Erwin wanted Eren visible and stable enough to survive the next morning.
And Levi -
Levi wanted.
The word lodged in his mouth like a curse.
“Captain?”
He stopped walking.
Eren nearly ran into him.
Not fully. His reflexes were still good, damn him. He caught himself just short of Levi’s back, one boot sliding a little over the polished floor, one hand lifting as if he had been about to grab Levi’s coat and then remembering, too late, that this was not a place where hands could simply do what they wanted.
Levi turned his head just enough to look at him.
Eren’s cheeks still held a faint flush, just enough color to make his eyes look greener in the lamplight. His mouth looked softer than it had any right to, his hair fallen forward again, too clean for the tired anger still sitting in him, too young for the room they had left.
He looked alive.
That was what made Levi want to break something.
“What?” Levi asked.
Eren studied him for half a second too long.
Then his mouth pulled, not quite a smile, not quite brave enough to be one.
“You’re really angry,” he said.
Levi looked at him properly then.
The pleased edge in Eren’s face was still there, but thinner now, uncertain around the mouth. He knew he had stepped somewhere dangerous. He just did not know yet whether to retreat or push harder.
“Sharp observation.”
Eren’s eyes flicked over his face, searching for the part Levi had not meant to show.
“At me?” he asked, quieter now.
Levi looked at him properly then.
Eren held his gaze with the stubborn, unsteady courage of someone who knew he had done something wrong and had not yet decided whether he cared. There was still laughter under his skin. Still defiance. Still that small, warm spark of satisfaction because he had been looked at and wanted and maybe, finally, had made Levi show something in front of other people, even if Levi had done it by ordering him to drink water like an idiot child.
Levi wanted to take the spark between his fingers and crush it.
Levi wanted to cup both hands around it.
“Yes,” he said.
The smile thinned.
That landed.
It needed to.
Eren swallowed, the movement dragging Levi’s attention to his throat before he could stop it.
“I didn’t do anything.”
Levi’s eyes moved once down the corridor.
Empty.
That meant nothing.
In Central, empty was only another word for not caught yet.
“Not here,” Levi said.
Eren blinked.
The words stripped some of the pleased warmth from his face, but not all of it. The rest stayed there, stubborn and irritating, tucked into the corner of his mouth like he thought Levi delaying the answer meant something softer than it did.
Maybe it did.
That made Levi’s mood worse.
He turned and walked again.
After a moment, Eren followed.
For several paces, neither of them spoke.
The silence only left room for the memory of Hitch’s voice sliding too easily around Eren’s name, for Floch’s careful little pauses, for Zackly’s eyes lifting whenever Eren forgot himself.
He had also watched Eren enjoy pieces of it.
That was the ugly part. Not because the brat had done anything unforgivable. Because he had been given something he was starved for and had reached for it before he saw the hook.
Attention without chains.
Interest without fear.
A woman laughing with him as if he were handsome and difficult and worth the trouble, not a military asset, not someone who needed to be managed.
Levi knew exactly why it had worked.
That made his anger settle colder, not quieter.
They reached the door without another word.
Levi took the key from inside his coat. His fingers were steady. That annoyed him. His body could still perform discipline perfectly while everything beneath it went to hell.
Eren stood beside him, close but not touching, his shoulder nearly level with Levi’s, his breath quiet now. The hurt had not left him. Neither had the brightness. Both sat there together, impossible and infuriating, in the narrow strip of space between them.
The key slid into the lock.
Levi paused.
Not long.
Long enough to hear Eren breathe in.
Long enough to know the brat expected the scolding to continue the second the door shut.
Long enough to know Levi wanted something else first.
He unlocked the door anyway.
The room opened dark and waiting, the beds made too neatly, the washroom door half-visible beyond the screen, the air still carrying the faint sterile scent of Central’s expensive soap.
Levi stepped inside.
Eren followed.
Levi slid the key into the lock and turned it.
The click sounded too loud in the quiet corridor.
He opened the door.
The room waited on the other side, dark and polished and too clean, the beds made too neatly, the bathing-room door half-visible beyond the screen.
Levi stepped inside first.
Behind him, Eren moved into the room with that loose, irritating ease still clinging to him, the kind that made Levi’s skin feel too tight. Not stumbling. Not swaying. Just softened at the edges, warm from the inside out, like the dinner had left him better instead of touched.
The couch creaked.
Levi turned.
Eren had dropped onto it, folding himself cross-legged with the careless flexibility of someone who had no idea what kind of room he was sitting in.
His jacket hung open, one side caught under his hip, his hands resting loosely on his ankles. He looked tired now, but not properly. There was still something smug and softened in him, some leftover warmth from the table downstairs, and Levi wanted to drag it out of him by the collar.
Eren looked up at him.
“What?”
Levi shut the door, turned the key in the lock, and kept his hand there for one second longer than necessary.
“You have any fucking clue what happened at that table tonight?”
Eren blinked.
It was the wrong reaction.
No shame. No understanding. Not even enough alarm to prove his brain had caught up. Just confusion, then irritation, because the brat could miss the whole point and still find room to be offended.
“We had dinner,” Eren said.
Levi stared at him.
For a second, that was all he could do.
Eren sat there on the couch, cross-legged and flushed, looking up at him like he had decided confusion was Levi’s fault too.
Then Eren’s brows pulled together.
“You were right,” he added. “The topics were lighter.”
Levi felt something in his jaw tighten.
Lighter.
The word was so stupid it almost made him quiet.
Roads had been lighter. Horses had been lighter. Weather, supplies, the rooms, whatever polished bullshit Zackly had let drift across the table while everyone watched Eren breathe.
None of it had been harmless.
And Eren sat there as if he had passed some test because he had not bitten anyone.
Levi moved away from the door.
Eren’s eyes followed him at once, warier now.
Good.
At least that part of him still worked.
“You really are an idiot,” Levi said.
Eren’s face tightened.
“I did what you told me.”
Levi said nothing.
Eren shifted on the couch, one knee pressing deeper into the cushion, his hands tightening around his ankles as if he could hold his irritation there and keep it from spilling into his voice.
It spilled anyway.
“That was the point, wasn’t it?” he said. “You told me to be boring. I was boring.”
Levi looked at him.
Eren took the silence badly.
“I answered their questions. I didn’t argue. I didn’t start anything. I sat there and talked about roads and horses and weather like you said.”
Levi looked at him.
The worst part was that Eren believed it. Worse, some part of it was true. He had done the shape of what Levi had asked for and missed everything underneath it.
That was what made Levi’s voice come out colder.
“You sat there glowing because someone discovered you react when spoken to nicely.”
Eren stared at him.
That one got through, but not in the right way. His confusion sharpened into something defensive, his mouth tightening as he searched Levi’s face for the accusation inside the words.
“She was just talking,” Eren said.
Levi gave a short, humorless breath.
There it was.
Not Zackly. Not Floch. Not the room. Her.
Of course that was the piece Eren reached for first.
Levi took another step toward him, stopping before the distance became its own problem.
“She poured you wine, Eren,” Levi snapped. “Fucking wine. And you sat there drinking it like a thirsty idiot because she smiled while she did it.”
The room changed.
Eren did not go pale. He did not snap back with some clever answer, either.
He just went still, which was worse in its own way.
His eyes moved off Levi’s face, unfocused for half a second, and Levi could almost see the slow, painful crawl of sense trying to catch up.
There. Finally.
Eren’s mouth opened, then closed again.
The flush stayed high on his cheeks, but it was no longer only anger.
“It tasted like juice,” he said.
“That was the fucking point.”
Eren looked back up, anger arriving late because shame had gotten there first.
“I’m not drunk.”
“No. You’re not.” Levi’s voice came out flat. “You’re just loose enough to be stupid and stubborn enough to think that makes a difference.”
Eren unfolded one leg, then stopped before standing. Maybe because Levi was still between him and the rest of the room. Maybe because some part of him knew better. He stayed on the couch, jaw set, hands tightening around his own ankle.
“I didn’t know.”
“I noticed.”
“That doesn’t mean I did something wrong.”
Levi laughed once, sharp and dry.
Eren flinched, then looked angry that he had.
“I answered questions. I didn’t argue. I didn’t start anything. I sat there and behaved exactly how you wanted me to, and now you’re pissed because I didn’t magically know Central puts wine in fruit juice?”
Levi’s hand closed at his side.
That was the problem.
The brat was not entirely wrong.
He had not slipped. He had not shouted. He had not exposed any information. He had answered questions.
Nothing had happened.
Not enough for a report that could say more than tone and impression and response.
Not enough for Levi’s anger to have this much weight unless the weight came from somewhere else.
Levi knew that.
It did not help.
His answer came too fast.
“You sat there smiling at every scrap she handed you like a starving idiot, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it without giving them more.”
Eren caught it.
He missed the wine in the glass, missed the soft little trap Hitch had built around the refills, missed half the table turning him into material, but he caught that. One wrong note in Levi’s voice, and the brat’s eyes sharpened like he had been handed a blade.
His mouth tightened, but the flush on his face made the anger look softer than it was.
“So that’s it?” he asked.
Levi’s eyes narrowed.
Eren gave a small, disbelieving laugh, but it came out wrong. Too hurt to be light. Too warm to be cleanly angry.
“You’re pissed because I was nice to someone?”
Levi said nothing.
“Because I smiled?” Eren pushed, voice rising a little, not loud enough for the door but too sharp for the room. “That’s what I did wrong now?”
He shifted on the couch, one hand pressing into the cushion like he wanted to stand and had not decided if his body would help him make the point.
“You told me to talk. You told me to be boring. I talked. I smiled. I didn’t bite anyone. I didn’t say anything stupid.”
Levi’s stare cut into him.
Eren’s jaw worked once.
“Fine. Not anything that stupid.”
The correction should not have made it worse.
It did.
“She was nice to me,” Eren said, quieter now, but stubborn with it. “And I was nice back. I didn’t know that was another thing I was supposed to ask permission for.”
For a moment neither of them spoke.
The room settled around them, too expensive and too clean. The couch made Eren look like he had no business being there. Cross-legged, flushed, stubborn, with his hair falling into his eyes and his jacket half-open.
Levi could still see him downstairs. Hitch leaning toward him. Eren listening because she had made listening easy. Eren’s laugh coming out before he remembered the room.
Levi’s eyes cut to him.
“No,” he said.
Eren blinked, thrown off by how fast it came.
“No, what?”
“No, you don’t need my permission to be nice to people.” Levi’s mouth tightened around the words. “Don’t be stupid.”
Eren stared at him.
The flush was still high in his face, but the anger had found something steadier to stand on now. His shoulders shifted against the couch, one hand pressing harder into the cushion.
“Then what?” he asked.
Levi said nothing.
Eren leaned forward a little, not enough to stand, just enough to make the question feel closer.
“What is it, then?”
Levi looked at him.
That was the mistake.
Eren was still too bright in the eyes, hurt and stubborn and warmed through by the wine he had not known he was drinking. He looked ridiculous. He looked careless. He looked like trouble made human and left unattended in an expensive room.
And Levi knew the answer.
That was the part he wanted least to look at.
It was not permission.
It was the table. The room. The fact that Hitch had been able to lean in with a smile and pull reactions out of Eren Levi could not touch in public without turning them into evidence. She had been allowed to be harmless. Allowed to be easy. Allowed to laugh with him, pour for him, make him feel wanted without looking like a chain.
Levi would never have that.
Not in a room like that.
Maybe not anywhere clean.
If Eren smiled at him wrong, people watched. If Eren said his name, people wrote. If Eren touched him, doors opened, orders changed, basements waited.
Levi’s voice came out colder than the thought deserved.
“It’s that you don’t know when someone is using you.”
Eren’s expression shifted.
Not enough.
But enough to show the words had landed somewhere.
Levi took the rest and buried it. Deep. Hard. Where it belonged.
“You hear someone laugh and your brain falls out of your skull,” he continued. “You get one soft voice in this polished shithole and suddenly you forget every bastard in that room has a reason to see what makes you move.”
Eren’s jaw tightened.
“She wasn’t - ”
“She was,” Levi cut in. “Maybe not all of it. Maybe not the way Floch was. Maybe not the way Zackly was. Doesn’t matter.”
Eren looked away first.
The victory felt ugly.
Levi kept going anyway, because stopping now would leave too much of the real answer in the room.
“She found a way in because you wanted one.”
Eren’s eyes snapped back to him.
That one hurt.
Good.
No.
Not good.
Levi’s hand flexed once at his side.
“You wanted someone in that room to look at you and not see a report,” he said, lower now. “So when she did, you took it.”
Eren did not answer at once.
That was the first useful thing he had done in several minutes.
He sat there with one hand still pressed into the couch, the other curled loosely around his ankle, looking up at Levi as the words settled.
Eren’s mouth tightened. “You make everything sound like a trap.”
Levi’s teeth pressed together.
Eren noticed.
His head tilted slightly, not much, just enough that his hair shifted near one eye. The anger in him had not disappeared. Neither had the shame. But underneath both, something else had started to wake up. A stupid, dangerous curiosity, brightened by wine and by the fact that they were alone now, finally alone, and Levi was standing in front of him with too much anger for the size of Eren’s actual crime.
“She liked when I talked,” Eren said, slower.
Levi’s voice stayed even. “She liked that you forgot to be careful.”
Eren’s mouth twitched.
Not a smile yet. Almost worse.
“She liked when I laughed.”
Levi’s voice dropped. “Congratulations. You entertained the enemy.”
Eren huffed softly.
It should have irritated Levi less than it did. The sound was barely anything. Half a laugh, half a protest, still too warm. Levi wanted to shut it down. He wanted to put his hand over Eren’s mouth. He wanted to do it for reasons that had nothing to do with silence.
Eren looked at him as if he had felt the thought move through the room.
“You didn’t like that,” he said.
Levi did not answer.
The quiet was answer enough.
Eren’s mouth changed.
Not into a smile. More like the beginning of one, caught and held there because he knew he had found something and was deciding how stupid he wanted to be with it.
Levi already knew the answer.
Very.
He leaned back into the cushions, but his eyes stayed on Levi, bright and too focused for someone pretending not to push.
“You didn’t like her making me laugh,” Eren said.
He wanted to shake him.
He wanted to drag sense into him by force.
He wanted to put him down on the couch and make every soft, careless thing Hitch had pulled out of him belong somewhere else.
That last thought was the one that made Levi go still. He shoved it down so hard his jaw ached.
“Stop talking.”
Eren’s eyes stayed on him. “Why?”
“Because you’re bad at it tonight,” Levi said.
Eren’s mouth curved, small and irritating. “I thought I was entertaining.”
His gaze flicked to Levi’s hand.
Levi had not realized he had moved it.
His fingers were half-curled, hanging in the space between them like they had already decided where they wanted to go.
He forced them back to his side.
Eren’s mouth changed.
Little shit.
Levi stepped closer.
Eren leaned forward a little, elbows on his knees now, the movement bringing him closer without giving Levi the satisfaction of having to step back. His hair fell into his eyes. He left it there.
“You’re sitting there proud of surviving a trap you didn’t notice,” Levi said.
The words hit.
Eren’s face tightened.
He dragged his thumb over the seam of his trousers, slow and absent, then seemed to realize Levi had seen it and stopped.
For one second, the warmth thinned enough for the embarrassment underneath to show clearly.
Then Eren looked up at him again, and this time the look was different.
Still embarrassed.
Still stung.
But not retreating.
The brat had found a loose thread and, because he was Eren, because wine had made him warm and stupid and brave in all the wrong places, he put his fingers around it instead of leaving it alone.
“Maybe,” Eren said quietly.
Levi’s gaze fixed on him.
The couch was close enough now that one more step would make a decision for him. Levi did not take it.
“Maybe what?” he asked.
Eren’s fingers shifted against his ankle, restless. His eyes stayed on Levi’s face, searching with a focus he should have wasted on the room downstairs.
“Maybe I didn’t notice that part,” he said.
Levi waited.
Eren’s mouth curved, not quite a smile yet. Something smaller. Worse.
“But I noticed you.”
The room went very still.
Levi’s weight shifted forward before he caught it.
Eren saw it.
That was the trouble with him. Always had been. He could misread a room full of officers and still read Levi’s silence like it had been written on his skin.
“You noticed shit,” he said.
Eren’s mouth curved a little more.
The flush on his face made the look softer than it had any right to be, but there was nothing soft in the way he kept pushing.
“You were watching me,” Eren said.
“I was assigned to watch you.”
Eren leaned back into the couch, one shoulder pressing into the cushions, eyes still lifted to Levi.
“No.” Eren’s voice was still low, but warmer now, the argument slipping further sideways despite Levi’s effort to hold it in place. “Not like that.”
Levi should have moved back.
Instead he stood there, too close to the couch, every nerve under his skin pulling in the wrong direction.
“You hated that she got to talk to me like that.”
Levi moved before he had decided to.
Only one step.
Enough that Eren’s head tipped back farther to keep his eyes on him. Enough that the air between them changed. Enough that Levi could see the pulse move at the side of Eren’s throat.
He wanted his hand there.
He wanted to shove Eren back against the cushions and wipe that knowing little curve from his mouth with his own. Wanted to put him flat under him, pin his wrists, make him stop teasing and start saying the things he only said when all that stupid boldness turned into need.
He did not move.
Not the way he wanted.
That was restraint.
Barely.
“You’re not sober enough for this,” Levi said.
Eren’s smile sharpened because he heard the weakness in the accusation. “You said I wasn’t drunk.”
“I said you were stupid,” Levi said.
Eren’s mouth tightened, but the corner of it still wanted to move. “You say that all the time.”
“Because you keep earning it,” Levi said, his voice flat.
Eren’s eyes dropped briefly to Levi’s mouth.
Levi felt it like contact.
The brat looked back up, more flushed now, but not backing away. “I’m sober enough to know you want to touch me.”
Levi’s fingers curled.
There was the line.
Not spoken as accusation. Not even as triumph. More like wonder wrapped in provocation. Like Eren had found something warm in the middle of being scolded and could not stop pressing on it because pressing made Levi’s control shake.
Levi bent before he could stop himself.
Eren’s breath caught again.
For half a second, Levi was close enough to smell the sweetness still on him, close enough to see the fine tension at the corner of his mouth, close enough that Eren stopped looking smug and started looking affected.
Good.
Dangerous.
Levi held there, one hand braced on the back of the couch beside Eren’s shoulder, the other still at his side because if he put it on Eren now, the evening would end on the mattress and the shower would come after, if they remembered it at all.
Eren looked up at him.
No fear.
Too much trust.
And under it, worse, the quiet certainty that Levi wanted to close the distance.
Levi could feel the shape of the next second before it happened. His hand at Eren’s jaw. His knee sinking into the couch. Eren pushed back into the cushions with that look finally broken open into breath and heat.
Too easy.
Too close.
He straightened before his body made the decision for him.
Eren blinked, thrown by the retreat.
“Water,” Levi said.
The word came out rougher than he wanted, dragged up from the last useful part of him.
Eren stayed still. “What?”
“Drink water,” Levi said. “Then shower.”
Eren’s eyes flicked over his face, catching too much again.
Levi stepped back another half pace.
Practical. Distance. Order. Anything that kept Eren off that couch and Levi’s hands where they were.
“Now, brat.”
For once, Eren obeyed without arguing.
He unfolded himself from the couch with too much care and not enough distance, crossing to the table while Levi kept his hands still and his eyes somewhere safer than the shape of Eren’s mouth.
The water poured too loudly.
Eren drank.
When he lowered the glass, he looked back over his shoulder.
Still warm. Still embarrassed. Still dangerously pleased.
Eren looked at him from under his lashes, the corner of his mouth barely behaving.
“Yes, Captain.”
Levi closed his eyes for half a second.
“Shower,” he said.
If Eren heard the strain under it, and Levi knew he did, the brat was smart enough not to answer this time.
He pushed himself up from the couch instead.
Slowly.
Not because he was unsteady. Because now he knew slow did something.
Levi kept his eyes on Eren’s face and nowhere lower. That took effort. More than the brat deserved to know.
Eren crossed the room toward the bathing room, still carrying that loose, dangerous warmth from the table and the argument and the wine he had not known to fear. At the door, he paused with one hand on the handle.
Levi’s stare sharpened.
Eren glanced back over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth still not behaving.
Then he opened the door and disappeared inside.
The door shut behind him.
Levi stayed where he was.
For a few seconds, he only listened.
The small scrape of the latch. A muffled step. Fabric shifting somewhere beyond the wood. Then water, faint at first, then steadier, old pipes complaining inside the walls.
He let out a breath.
Slow.
Controlled.
It did not help.
The evening had been exhausting in a way battle was not. Battle had lines, even when they broke. Battle had blood, noise, direction. This had been food and silverware and smiles pressed around sharp things. A table full of people trying to make Eren visible without ever calling it that. A room where Levi had been expected to sit still while the brat got loosened, watched, poured into.
And now Eren was behind a door ten steps away.
Probably undressing.
Levi’s mind supplied the rest before he could stop it.
His jaw tightened.
He turned toward the bed where his pack had been placed. Practical. Cloth. Buckles. Sleep. Clean shirt. Things with edges. Things that did not involve thinking about Eren’s hands on buttons, Eren’s flushed skin, Eren standing naked in warm steam with that stupid, dangerous look still on his face.
Levi crossed the room.
He unfastened his jacket with more care than necessary and laid it over the back of the chair. Belt next. Boots. The routine should have settled something. It usually did. Each piece removed, folded, placed where it belonged. Order forced onto a room that had spent the night trying to pull him apart by the seams.
His fingers found the hem of his shirt.
He paused.
Water moved behind the bathing-room door.
Levi’s mouth flattened.
“Idiot,” he muttered, though he was not entirely sure which of them he meant.
He pulled the shirt over his head.
The room vanished for half a second into cloth and dark, the rough drag of fabric against his face, the smell of soap, travel, and himself.
Then the bathing-room door opened.
Levi lowered the shirt.
Eren stood in the doorway.
For one stupid second, Levi’s mind gave him nothing useful.
No assessment. No order. No next step.
Just Eren.
The brat had come back out in nothing but his shirt and underwear, damp already at the edges from steam or carelessness. His hair had been pushed back badly with one hand and was already falling forward again, darker at the tips, clinging near his temple.
The flush had not left him. If anything, the heat from the bathing room had drawn it higher, spreading it down his throat and across the sharp line of his collarbones.
Levi should have looked away.
He did not.
Eren stopped with one hand still on the doorframe, as if he had forgotten how to finish the movement. Steam curled behind him, softening the hard edge of the room for half a breath.
He looked bare in a way that had nothing to do with how much skin was showing. Bare because the argument had stripped too much from his face. Bare because the wine had left him warm and because his eyes, when they found Levi, did not have enough caution left in them.
Levi stood by the bed, shirt still in one hand.
The silence changed.
Eren’s gaze dropped.
Not quickly. Not by mistake.
It moved over Levi’s chest, his shoulders, the line of his stomach, and Levi felt every inch of it with a precision that made his fingers tighten around the shirt.
He had been looked at all his life.
Measured. Feared. Weighed. Watched by men who wanted a weapon and enemies who wanted a weakness.
This was not that.
This was Eren, flushed and half-dressed in a room too clean for either of them, looking at him like he had forgotten the reason he had come back out.
Levi’s mouth went dry.
“Forgot your clothes?” he asked.
His voice came out flat.
Barely.
Eren blinked.
The question reached him slowly, as if it had to fight through whatever else had taken hold of him. His eyes flicked toward the pack near the bed.
Then back to Levi.
“Yes,” Eren said.
He still did not move.
His gaze lifted slowly this time, not hiding the path it took. Chest. Throat. Mouth. Eyes.
By the time he met Levi’s face again, the flush on his cheeks had deepened. The tipsiness had not made him soft now. It had made him honest in the most inconvenient way possible.
“You’re distracting,” Eren said.
Levi’s hand tightened around the shirt until the fabric pulled between his fingers.
“You keep calling me stupid,” he said, stepping closer again, “and then you stand there half-naked like I’m supposed to have room left in my head for sense.”
Eren stepped out of the doorway.
Only one step.
The steam followed him, thinning around his legs before the cooler room swallowed it.
“Distract yourself in the shower,” Levi said.
Eren blinked once.
Then his mouth curved.
Small.
Too slow.
“What if I don’t want to?”
The brat took another step, not close enough to touch, close enough to make Levi aware of every place he was not touching him.
“You’re…” Eren stopped, and his face tightened with irritation, as if the words were lined up badly in his head and refusing to come out in a useful order.
Levi gave him nothing.
Eren huffed once, quiet and frustrated.
“Walls,” he muttered. “You look like that and expect me to just walk past you?”
Levi went still.
The words were not polished. Not careful. They came out rough and too direct, dragged up by wine and heat and the fact that Eren had never known when to stop digging once he found something dangerous.
Eren’s gaze dropped again, not far, not long enough to make it subtle.
Then he looked back at Levi’s face.
“When I see you like this,” he said, quieter now, “I want to do things to you.”
Want.
Again.
The stupid word kept finding its way into the room.
Everyone else seemed to manage it so easily. Wanting. Taking. Reaching for what caught their eye and dressing it up afterward if anyone bothered to ask. Hitch with her smile and her glass. Zackly with his polished table. Eren with his flushed face and reckless mouth, standing there like wanting was something he could just say and survive.
Levi had spent the entire evening not wanting.
Not visibly.
Not where anyone could use it.
His fingers tightened around the shirt.
“I don’t give a shit what you want right now,” Levi said.
Eren’s eyes stayed on him.
The words should have cut more cleanly. They did not. Not with Eren standing half in steam and half in lamplight, still warm from wine and whatever trouble he had decided to become. The steam clung to his skin in faint, shining traces, catching the low lamplight along the line of his throat, the sharp edge of his collarbone.
Levi’s mouth tightened.
“You’re still in trouble, spoiled brat.”
Eren blinked once.
Then his mouth curved.
Small.
Too aware of the fact that Levi had not put the shirt on.
“That’s unfortunate,” he said.
Levi’s eyes narrowed.
Eren stepped closer.
Not far.
Enough.
The steam followed him into the room, touching Levi’s bare chest before it vanished into the cooler air. Eren’s gaze dropped again, quick and hungry and not nearly careful enough, tracing the line of Levi’s chest like he was already imagining what it would feel like under his hands.
Then he looked back up.
“What if I make it up to you?”
Levi should have told him to grab his clothes.
He should have told him to shut his mouth, get in the shower, drink more water, sleep it off, do any of the dozen practical things that would put the night back into a shape he could manage.
Instead his eyes dropped to Eren’s lips.
Just once.
Too close.
Eren saw.
Of course he fucking saw.
His smile shifted, still nervous underneath, but sharpened now by the pleasure of catching Levi looking. He took another half-step, close enough now that Levi could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, close enough that the faint scent of soap and steam and leftover wine wrapped around both of them like something private.
“Come on,” Eren said, softer. “What can I do?”
Levi’s jaw locked.
“You’re pushing it.”
Eren came closer anyway.
One more step, and now Eren was too close. Close enough for Levi to feel the warmth of him, close enough for his own body to turn the missing contact into something worse.
Eren lifted a hand slowly, watching Levi’s face as if waiting for the order to stop.
It did not come.
His finger touched Levi’s collarbone.
Barely.
A light drag over bone and skin, so small it should have meant nothing.
It did not mean nothing.
The touch lingered, warm and deliberate, tracing the line of bone with a slowness that felt like a question. Eren’s eyes followed the movement for half a second before he looked up again, lashes low, mouth still curved in that small, dangerous way.
“Don’t make me beg,” he said.
For one second, Levi only looked at him.
That word should have been a warning.
Beg.
It should have made him step back. Put the shirt on. Turn this into another order, another line, another careful little structure built around keeping Eren safe from what Levi wanted.
Instead it went straight through him.
The room narrowed to Eren’s finger on his skin, Eren’s mouth too close, Eren standing there asking for something he knew Levi had been holding back all night.
Levi was so tired of holding back.
Tired of swallowing every look. Tired of keeping his hands clean while everyone else took small pieces of Eren with smiles and glasses and questions. Tired of being careful until careful felt like another word for starving.
Eren was watching him now.
Not Hitch.
Not Zackly.
Not the table.
Him.
Levi let the smile come.
Slow. Dark. Mean enough that Eren’s breath caught before Levi even touched him.
“I bet you beg nicely, Eren.”
Eren went still.
Good.
There it was. The first crack. The little break in his nerve when Levi stopped pretending he was only angry.
Levi caught Eren’s wrist.
Not to push his hand away.
To keep it there.
Against his skin.
“You don’t get to put that in my head,” Levi said, voice low, “and then act surprised when I want to hear it.”
The words landed like a spark on dry wood.
Eren’s breath caught. For half a second, the teasing confidence in his face faltered.
Just a flicker, a small fracture in the reckless confidence. His fingers stilled against Levi’s skin, and something uncertain, almost shy, flashed through his eyes before he managed to pull it back under control. Levi saw it.
But Eren didn’t retreat.
He swallowed once, then lifted his chin, voice lower now, a little rougher around the edges.
“If I’m making it up to you,” he said, “then this isn’t about me begging.”
Eren’s hand landed against Levi’s stomach, clumsy and hot and too honest to pretend it was an accident. His fingers spread there, then curled slightly, as if he had meant to be bold and only halfway remembered how.
“It’s about what you want.”
The room tightened around that.
Levi stared at him.
Eren held his gaze. Too bold for the way his breathing had already changed. Still pushing. Still asking. Still giving Levi the choice and making it sound like provocation because he was apparently incapable of doing anything safely.
His thumb brushed once, slow, over the line of Levi’s waistband, and Levi felt the touch everywhere. In the tightening of his stomach, in the sudden heat low in his spine, in the way his fingers flexed around the forgotten shirt like they wanted to reach for something else.
Levi let the shirt fall.
Eren’s eyes flicked down.
When he looked back up, Levi was already in front of him.
Close enough that Eren’s hand flattened against his stomach.
Close enough that the smile slipped.
Good.
“Oh, I know what I want,” Levi said.
Eren’s fingers pressed against his skin, warm and unsteady now. Levi could feel the faint tremor in them, the way Eren’s breath had gone shallow, the way his eyes kept flicking down to Levi’s mouth like he couldn’t help it.
Levi leaned in, low enough that the words hit Eren’s mouth before they reached the rest of him.
“I want that pretty mouth too busy to talk.”
Eren’s breath broke.
Then, because he was Eren, because sense always arrived too late and never stayed long enough to be useful, his mouth curved again.
“Then get in the shower with me,” Eren said, voice dropping. “I can keep my mouth busy in there.”
Levi’s eyes stayed on him.
Eren’s gaze dropped.
Lower this time.
Deliberate.
When he looked back up, there was nothing innocent in his face. Just heat, and nerves, and that reckless, hungry edge that always made Levi want to ruin him and keep him in equal measure.
“Under the water. On my knees,” Eren said, quieter now, voice low and rough at the edges. “I could make it good for you. Slow. The way you’d like.”
Levi’s whole body answered.
For one second the image hit him so clearly it stole the air from his lungs.
Eren on his knees in the steam, water running down his back, hair dark and wet between Levi’s fingers. That mouth open, warm, taking him in. Eren looking up at him with those eyes, flushed and determined and so fucking gone for it.
The thought was gone as fast as it came, but it left Levi’s control in pieces.
Stupid.
Dangerous.
Yes.
He wanted that.
He wanted Eren’s mouth. Wanted that smile gone under his hand. Wanted the water loud and the door shut and Eren’s attention fixed nowhere but on him.
Wanted to take the warmth Hitch had pulled loose at the table and put it somewhere it belonged. Not for anyone upstairs. Not for Zackly’s notes, not for Floch’s eyes, not for any polished bastard still picking over dinner.
Eren was here.
Looking at him.
Offering.
Choosing.
Levi moved fast.
Levi caught him by the back of the neck and hauled him in. Eren made a sharp sound, hands catching at Levi’s sides, but he came willingly, stumbling half a step into him with a heat that made the last of Levi’s patience burn clean away.
Levi turned him toward the bathing-room door.
“Then use it,” he said.
Eren’s breath hitched.
“Levi - ”
“No.” Levi pushed him forward into the steam. “You wanted to make up for it.”
Eren looked back over his shoulder, flushed and bright and no longer smiling quite so easily. His eyes were wide, dark, the bravado cracking just enough to show the raw want underneath.
Levi followed him in.
“Then prove it.”
Levi pushed him forward into the bathing room and shut the door behind them.
The water was still running from earlier, steam already thick in the air. Levi didn’t waste a second. He caught Eren by the front of his damp shirt and dragged him in close, already working the wet fabric up and over his head.
“Get that off,” Levi muttered, voice low and rough. “Fast.”
Eren’s hands moved just as quickly, fumbling with Levi’s belt and the fastenings of his trousers while Levi shoved Eren’s shirt the rest of the way off and let it drop heavily to the floor. Eren kicked off his own underwear in the same hurried motion, and Levi did the same, both of them stripping with impatient, clumsy hands until there was nothing left between them but bare skin and heat.
Only then did Levi catch Eren by the back of the neck and walk them both toward the shower and guided Eren inside first, following right after. The hot water hit them immediately, pouring over Eren’s shoulders and down his back as Levi stepped in close behind him, crowding him under the spray.
Eren turned in the small space, water already running down his face and chest, and looked at Levi with wide, dark eyes. His breath was coming faster now, lips parted, and there was nothing careful left in the way he reached for Levi.
Just heat and want and that same reckless edge from before.
Levi’s hand found the back of Eren’s neck, fingers sliding into damp hair. He didn’t push yet. Just held him there, thumb brushing slowly over the side of Eren’s throat like he was deciding something.
Then he spoke, low and rough over the sound of the water.
“Alright then,” he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching. “On your knees, brat. Show me.”
Eren’s breath hitched. For a second he just stared, eyes wide and dark, like the order had gone straight through him.
He smiled.
Small, sharp, and far too pleased with himself.
“Yes, sir.”
Then he sank down, water splashing around his legs, knees hitting the wet tiles. He looked up at Levi the whole way down.
And the sight of it made something hot and mean twist low in Levi’s stomach. Eren on his knees, flushed and needy, looking up like he was waiting for instructions.
Levi’s free hand slid down between them. He wrapped his fingers around himself, slow and deliberate, and gave one lazy stroke from base to tip. Water ran down the hard length of him, and Eren’s eyes followed the movement like he couldn’t look away.
Levi looked down at him for a second, water running down his face, eyes dark and heavy-lidded.
“Look at you,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “Too fucking pretty like this.”
Then his hand tightened in Eren’s hair.
“Now open up,” he said. “And get to work.”
Eren’s mouth parted instantly.
Levi didn’t wait. He guided Eren forward with the hand in his hair, slow but firm, until the head of him brushed against Eren’s lips. Eren’s tongue flicked out, tentative at first, tasting the water and the warmth of Levi’s skin. Then he leaned in and took the head into his mouth, warm and wet and careful.
Levi’s head tipped back for a second, a low sound catching in his throat.
“That’s it,” he muttered, voice rough. “Just like that.”
Eren made a soft, needy sound around him and took him deeper. His hand came up, wrapping around the base of Levi, but Levi caught his wrist and pulled it away.
“No hands,” he said. “Not yet.”
Eren looked up at him, eyes glassy, mouth stretched around Levi’s length. He looked wrecked already. Levi felt something dark and satisfied curl in his chest.
He tightened his grip in Eren’s hair and started to move.
Slow, shallow thrusts at first, testing how much Eren could take. Eren’s eyes fluttered, but he didn’t pull back. If anything, he leaned into it, letting Levi use his mouth, letting himself be guided. Water ran down his face, dripping from his lashes, and Levi had to bite back a groan at the sight.
After a minute, Levi’s voice dropped lower. Rougher than before, like the words escaped before he could catch them.
“Fuck,” he muttered, barely audible over the water. “Look at you Eren… mine.”
The words were out before he could stop them.
Levi heard them the second they left his mouth. Too honest. Too bare. He should’ve regretted it.
He didn’t.
Instead, his fingers tightened in Eren’s hair, and he kept going like he meant every word.
“Touch yourself.”
Eren’s eyes flicked up, startled.
Levi’s thumb stroked once over Eren’s cheekbone, almost gentle.
“Go on,” he said. “I want to watch you.”
Eren’s hand dropped immediately, sliding down his own stomach. He wrapped his fingers around himself with a shaky breath, and Levi felt the vibration of it around his hardened member. Eren started stroking himself in time with the slow thrusts of Levi’s hips, eyes half-lidded, mouth working sloppily around him.
Levi’s jaw tightened.
“Eren…” It came out quieter than he meant. Almost helpless.
Eren moaned around him, the sound muffled and desperate. His hand moved faster on himself, hips twitching forward like he couldn’t help it. Levi’s fingers tightened in his hair, guiding him deeper, controlling the pace.
“That’s it,” Levi said, voice low and rough. “Just like that. You’re doing so well.”
Eren’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, like the praise hit him somewhere deep. His free hand came up to brace against Levi’s thigh, fingers digging in. He was breathing hard through his nose, cheeks hollowing, trying to take more. Water ran down his back in rivulets, tracing the curve of his spine, and Levi couldn’t look away.
He could feel himself getting close already.
Too fast.
Too soon.
But he didn’t slow down. He wanted this. Wanted Eren like this. On his knees, mouth full, hand working between his own legs, completely undone and still trying so hard to be good.
Levi’s voice dropped even lower.
“Don’t stop touching yourself,” he said. “I want to feel you come while your mouth is on me.”
Eren made a broken, muffled sound and sped up his hand. His hips jerked forward, chasing his own pleasure, and Levi could see the tension building in his shoulders, in the way his thighs trembled under the spray.
Levi’s grip in Eren’s hair tightened.
“Eyes on me,” he said.
Eren’s eyes flew open, glassy and dark, and the second their gazes locked, Levi felt it.
The last thread of Levi’s control snapped.
He held Eren there, deep, and came with a low, rough sound. His hips jerked once, twice, as pleasure crashed through him.
Eren made a small, choked sound but didn’t pull away, his throat tightening around Levi as he swallowed. His eyes stayed locked on Levi’s the whole time, glassy and dark.
The sight of it, Eren on his knees, flushed and trembling, hand still moving frantically between his own legs, dragged Levi’s peak out longer than he expected. He kept Eren there, fingers tight in his hair, until the last wave faded and his legs felt unsteady beneath him.
Only then did he loosen his grip.
Eren pulled off slowly, gasping, lips red and wet and swollen. He was still stroking himself, fast and desperate now, and Levi could see how close he was.
The way his stomach muscles jumped, the way his breath came in short, broken gasps.
Levi’s hand stayed in Eren’s hair, thumb brushing once over his temple.
“That´s it,” he said, voice rough. “Come for me.”
Eren’s eyes squeezed shut. A broken sound left him as he came, his whole body shuddering hard. His knees slid on the wet tiles, and Levi quickly caught him by the shoulder to keep him upright.
For a long moment, the only sounds were the water and their breathing. Levi’s low and steady, Eren’s shaky and wrecked.
Levi looked down at him.
Eren was still on his knees, flushed and trembling, water running down his face and chest. He looked completely undone. And when he finally opened his eyes and looked up at Levi, there was something raw and open in his face that made Levi’s chest tighten.
Levi exhaled slowly.
Then he reached down, caught Eren under the arms, and pulled him to his feet.
The water was still running hot over both of them.
Levi didn’t say anything right away.
He just pulled Eren in, one hand still at the back of his neck, and kissed him.
Slow, deep, tasting himself on Eren’s tongue. Eren made a soft, overwhelmed sound and melted into it, hands sliding up Levi’s chest like he needed something to hold onto.
When Levi finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against Eren’s for a second, water dripping between them.
Eren’s voice was hoarse when he spoke.
“…Did I make it up to you?”
Levi huffed out something that might have been a laugh, low and rough.
“Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no heat in it.
He reached past Eren and turned the water off.
The sudden silence felt loud.
Levi grabbed a towel from the rack and draped it over Eren’s head, rubbing roughly at his hair like he was trying to dry off a particularly troublesome cat. Eren made a muffled sound of protest, but he didn’t pull away.
When Levi finally pulled the towel back, Eren’s hair was sticking up in every direction, and he was looking at Levi with that same soft, stunned expression from before.
Like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.
Levi stared at him for a second.
Then he sighed, long and put-upon, and reached for another towel.
“Come on,” he said. “Before you catch a cold and make this even more complicated.”
Eren didn’t move right away.
Levi raised an eyebrow.
Eren stepped closer instead, still damp and warm and too bold for someone who had just been on his knees for him. He leaned in and kissed Levi again. Slower this time, almost sweet. When he pulled back, his voice was quiet, but steady.
“I’m in love with you,” Eren said, too blunt, too raw, like the words had been dragged out of him by frustration more than softness. “You know that. I don’t know how much clearer I’m supposed to make that.”
Levi did not move.
Eren’s chest rose too fast. His eyes were too bright. Brave, stupid brat, standing there with his heart in his mouth again and pretending it did not leave him exposed.
Eren’s face burned, but he kept going.
“She was nice. I liked it. I’m not going to lie about that. But I keep looking for you. I want you to see me. I want you to care,” Eren said. “You’re the one I think about. You’re the one who makes me feel like I’m going to come apart if you look at me too long.”
His mouth tightened.
“So don’t act like she took something from you. She didn’t.”
Levi blinked.
That hit harder than the rest.
Because he had been acting like she had.
Levi wanted to say something.
Anything.
I know.
I’m sorry.
You idiot.
Me too.
None of it fit in his mouth.
So he moved.
Fast enough that Eren’s breath broke before Levi even reached him. Levi caught the back of his neck, pulled him in, and kissed him hard.
Not careful.
Not soft.
Not enough to make up for the way he had twisted himself around Hitch’s name and made Eren bleed truth to get him to stop.
But it was the only answer Levi had that did not come out wrong.
Eren made a small sound against his mouth, startled and open, and Levi tightened his grip at the back of his neck because he needed him closer. Needed the words gone from the air and under his skin instead. Needed Eren to understand that he had heard him.
That he believed him.
That it had ruined him anyway.
By the time Levi reached for the tap, the water had started to cool.
Eren was quiet.
That was the first thing Levi noticed.
Not silent in the way fear made people silent. Not withdrawn. Just emptied out enough that the usual words had nowhere to catch. His forehead rested against Levi’s shoulder, one hand still curled near Levi’s hip, fingers loose now where they had been digging in before.
Steam clung to both of them. The tiles were slick under Levi’s feet. Water ran down Eren’s hair, over his temple, along the sharp line of his jaw.
Levi turned the tap.
The pipes gave one last ugly complaint.
Then the room went still.
Too still.
Eren breathed against him, warm and unsteady.
For a moment, Levi did not move.
He should have. There were towels. Dry clothes. A bed. Practical things. Useful things. The sort of things he knew how to handle after letting himself have something he had no clean name for.
But Eren was leaning into him.
Not asking.
Not teasing.
Just there.
And Levi had the stupid, brutal thought that he had wanted to take and had taken, and somehow Eren still looked at him like he had given him something.
His hand moved before the thought got worse.
He pushed wet hair out of Eren’s face, rougher than necessary, gentler than he meant.
Eren blinked up at him.
His mouth was flushed. His eyes too dark, too open, stripped of the sharp little smile he had used to get Levi through the door.
Levi’s chest tightened.
He hated that too.
“Still alive?” he asked, keeping his voice dry because anything else would have been worse.
Eren huffed once against him.
Barely a laugh. Barely even that. The sound scraped out tired and warm, with none of the sharp little edge he had used before to get himself into trouble.
“Your concern is moving,” Eren said.
It should have sounded like him.
It almost did.
Levi’s fingers stayed at the side of his face, wet hair caught against his knuckles.
“Answer me.”
Eren looked up at him then.
Not with the teasing from before. Not with that reckless, filthy little smile that had dragged Levi through the door. His eyes were darker now, tired and too open, searching Levi’s face like he needed to know what was left there after everything else had burned down.
Then he nodded once.
“Yes.”
Levi did not move his hand.
He should have.
Eren noticed.
A faint smile tried to form, but it came out exhausted, ruined at the edges, and too soft to defend itself.
“Still pissed?” Eren asked.
The question was quieter than it should have been.
More like he was offering Levi the old shape of the argument because he did not know what else to do with the way Levi was still touching his face.
Levi stared at him.
The answer should have been simple.
No.
Yes.
Somewhere in between.
The evening no longer sat under his skin like a hook. That part had burned out, or been driven out, or drowned under Eren’s hands and mouth and the sound he made when Levi finally stopped pretending restraint was the only thing keeping them alive.
But the rest remained.
The wanting.
The weight of it.
The fact that Eren had said he loved him again like an accusation and Levi still had not found a single useful word to put beside it.
Levi’s thumb moved once against Eren’s cheek.
“Less,” he said.
Eren’s mouth curved properly this time.
Small. Exhausted. Pleased with himself in the way that made Levi want to bite him and wrap him in a towel at the same time.
“Good.”
“Don’t sound proud.”
Eren’s smile widened, then faltered when he shifted his weight.
Levi caught him before it became anything.
Eren’s hand closed on his arm.
For a second, neither of them mentioned it.
Then Levi reached past him, grabbed the nearest towel, and shoved it at his chest.
“Dry off.”
Eren looked down at the towel and snatched it from him.
Levi watched him wrap it around himself with too much care, his fingers slower now, the heat in his face shifting into something quieter. The reckless edge was gone. Not erased. Just spent.
Eren looked at him, softer now.
Too soft.
“Levi.”
There it was again. His name, without the edge, without the title, without any of the games he had used before.
Levi hated how fast it reached him.
“What?”
Eren swallowed.
For one second, Levi thought he would say it again. The love. The thing from before. Push it back into the room now that there was no steam and no mouth and no dirty little challenge to hide behind.
But Eren only shook his head once.
“Nothing.”
Levi did not believe him.
He let it go anyway.
For now.
He grabbed his own towel, rubbed it harshly over his hair, then around his shoulders. Practical. Rough. Normal, if either of them had any right to the word.
Eren watched him.
Not like before.
Not hungry now.
Something worse.
Fond.
Levi pointed toward the door.
“Out.”
Eren’s brows lifted.
“That’s it?” Eren asked.
Levi looked at him.
The brat was damp, unsteady, and wrapped in a towel like he had any right to stand there expecting praise after the amount of trouble he had caused.
“What, you want a medal?”
Eren’s mouth curved, slow and exhausted and far too pleased with itself.
“I was thinking maybe a thank you.”
Levi stared at him.
Eren’s mouth curved again, slow and dangerous despite the towel and the damp hair and the fact that his legs were still not quite steady.
Levi moved before the smile could become anything worse.
He stepped in, caught Eren by the back of the neck, and kissed him once.
Brief.
Rough.
Enough to shut him up.
Enough to answer the part of the question Levi refused to touch with words.
When he pulled back, Eren’s eyes had gone dark again.
Levi’s hand stayed at his neck for one breath too long.
“Thank you,” Levi said, flat as a threat.
Eren stared at him.
Then laughed.
Softly.
Too happy with that miserable little victory.
Levi turned him by the shoulder and pushed him toward the door.
“Move before you drown standing up.”
Eren went, still laughing under his breath, towel clutched around his waist, damp footprints marking the polished floor as they stepped out of the shower room and back into the cooler air of the bedroom.
Levi followed and shut the door behind them.
The room was waiting.
Beds too neat. Clothes on the floor. Lamps low. The night not over, not fixed, not safe.
But Eren was in front of him, alive and warm and looking back over his shoulder with the last of that smile still caught on his mouth.
Levi picked up the discarded shirt from the floor.
Then threw it at his face.
“Dress yourself, brat.”
Eren did.
Slowly.
The exhaustion had caught up with him all at once. It showed in the way he crossed to his pack, in the careless drag of his feet over the polished floor, in the slight delay before his hands found the clean clothes inside. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on, head bowed, damp hair falling into his face.
Levi dressed too.
Clean shirt. Dry trousers. Belt placed where he could reach it. Boots aligned near the bed. Wet clothes gathered from the floor before Central’s expensive polished boards could soak up the mess.
Normal things.
Useful things.
Behind him, Eren made a small, frustrated sound.
Levi turned.
The brat had managed to get one arm through his sleeping shirt and trap the other inside the fabric, head bowed, hair falling wet into his eyes. For one second he sat there like a half-drowned idiot, fighting cloth and losing.
Levi stared at him.
Then he crossed the room and tugged the shirt down properly.
Eren let him.
No complaint. No teasing. Only a small, tired breath when Levi’s knuckles brushed his shoulder.
The quiet after that was different.
Not heavy.
Not safe either.
But softer than before.
Eren looked up at him from the bed, eyes darker with exhaustion, mouth still bruised red from the shower and the kiss after. He should have looked ridiculous.
He did, a little.
He also looked like the only thing in the room Levi could not make himself step away from.
“Water,” Levi said.
Eren took the glass when Levi handed it to him and drank without arguing this time. That alone proved how tired he was. When he finished, he held the glass in both hands for a moment, staring down into it like something might be waiting at the bottom.
Then his gaze moved toward the second bed.
Levi saw the thought before Eren said anything.
“You’re not going over there, are you?”
The question came quietly.
Almost careful.
Levi’s fingers stilled around the glass.
He looked at the second bed. Neat. Cold. Pointless.
Then back at Eren.
“Move over.”
Eren did.
Not with triumph. Not even with a smile. He just shifted under the covers, making room with the same exhausted trust that had been undoing Levi piece by piece all night.
Levi put out the lamp nearest the table.
The room dimmed.
Central’s walls did not become less ugly in the dark, but at least they stopped showing off. The polished furniture blurred into shape and shadow. The second bed disappeared into the edge of the room. The door stayed locked. The key stayed close.
Levi checked it once anyway.
Then he got into bed beside Eren.
The mattress dipped.
Eren turned toward him almost immediately, not fully curling into him, but close enough that his warmth crossed the small space between them. His hair was still damp near the ends. Levi frowned at it, but said nothing.
Eren’s eyes were already half-closed.
“Good night,” he murmured.
The words were soft.
Almost gone.
Levi looked at him.
Eren’s face had loosened before sleep had fully taken him. Younger like that. Not because he was innocent. He was not. But because exhaustion stripped the fight from his features and left the person underneath. The one who had smiled at dinner because someone had been kind. The one who had looked for Levi anyway. The one who had stood in the shower, heart in his mouth, and told him the truth because Levi had been too stupid and too angry to trust what was already his.
Levi’s throat tightened.
He stared at the ceiling instead.
“Good night, Eren.”
Eren made a small sound, pleased or half-dreaming, and sank deeper into the pillow.
A minute later, he started snoring.
Softly.
Just a faint uneven sound against the quiet, barely enough to count.
Earlier, Levi would have used it. Called him a nuisance. Threatened to suffocate him with the pillow if he kept it up. Turned tenderness into irritation because irritation was safer and Eren understood it better.
Tonight, Levi only listened.
He did not mind.
That was new.
Or maybe it was not new at all, and he had only run out of ways to pretend otherwise.
Eren had said it again.
I’m in love with you.
Blunt. Raw. Standing there with his heart in his mouth as if Levi was the idiot for not knowing what to do with it.
You know that.
Levi closed his eyes.
He did know.
That had not been the problem.
The problem was what knowing did to the room. To orders. To duty. To every line Levi had drawn because lines were the only reason people survived being wanted by someone stronger than them.
The problem was that Eren loved like he fought. Too directly. Too recklessly. With both hands open and his whole body behind it.
And Levi -
Levi had spent years making himself useful instead.
Useful was clean. Useful had rules. Useful did not ask for anything it could not afford to lose.
But Eren was breathing beside him now, warm under the covers, alive after the table and the wine and the shower and every stupid thing he had said because he never knew when to stop handing Levi knives with the blade pointed at himself.
Levi turned his head.
Eren slept on his side, facing him now, mouth parted slightly, damp hair fallen across his forehead. The snore came again, soft and ridiculous.
Levi should have been annoyed.
He was not.
His hand moved before he decided on it, brushing the hair back from Eren’s face with two fingers.
Eren did not wake.
He only shifted closer, as if even asleep he knew where Levi was.
That did something to him.
Small.
Devastating.
Levi let his hand rest there for one breath longer than necessary.
Maybe, he thought.
Levi swallowed.
Maybe, yes.
The admission came quietly.
No lightning. No mercy. No answer that fixed anything waiting for them beyond the locked door.
Only the shape of it settling in him, heavy and impossible and already true.
Maybe, yes, he loved Eren too.
The thought should have terrified him.
It did.
But Eren slept beside him, warm and finally still, and Levi found he could be terrified in the morning.
For now, he pulled the blanket higher over Eren’s shoulder, settled back against the pillow, and kept watch in the dark until sleep came for him too.