Chapter Text
The smell of incense fills the apartment. It flows in through the crack of his door and wakes Levi up. He inhales deeply, finds comfort in the familiar scent of jasmine and sandalwood floating in the air. He follows it, sleep still clinging to his eyes, joints creaking as he stretches, and it takes him to the foyer.
Foyer makes it sound bigger than it really is. A 1 meter wide, 2 meter long area. It holds a bench for guests to take off their shoes, which also doubles as a place to store them. Next to it on the wall, there’s a mirror and below it is a small console table.
Photographs of their family usually spread across the surface; Kenny, wearing a suit and looking the cleanest Levi has ever seen him, on a different frame, his mom is holding a bouquet of chrysanthemums with a smile, then there’s his own photo, his younger self’s rounded cheeks and tooth gap greet him. The newest photo, one of all three together and Uri, sits right at the centre of it all. It’s a lovely photo.
Just like Levi has come to expect it, candles, money on a tray, a bowl of rice and tea accompany the photographs.
His mum is kneeling before the table, head slightly bowed and eyes peacefully shut. Palms together and held at level with her chest. Her lips move briefly every now and then. She doesn’t give any indication that she has heard him walk in.
He takes a moment to study his mother: how thin strands of grey decorate her beautiful black hair, there are wrinkles right next to her eyes that weren’t there last year, even her frame looks smaller. It makes Levi want to hug her, to keep her as close to him as possible, to shield her. The passage of time isn’t allowed to touch her.
He walks over and kneels next to her, making sure their shoulders brush together. He tucks his feet under his butt and copies her posture. They are supposed to be giving thanks for the past year and praying for their family and friends, for good fortune; opportunities and stability, for food to always show at their table and love to bless them every day.
That’s where his mind should be, and is for a brief moment before shifting to other thoughts; he has never been a man who prays, it’s always felt like begging and he doesn’t like that. Who does, really? So he thinks of the laundry hung to dry, of his luggage, and of Erwin having lunch with his grandparents at this very moment, probably.
When the last prayer leaves his mother’s lips, she sighs, her shoulders sagging with ease. She leans her head against his shoulder and whispers ‘good morning, my baby’ onto the fabric of his long sleeve.
They get up from the floor once he pretends to finish his own prayers. His mother rambles about their day ahead: they are already running late to visit the neighbourhood’s temple to receive blessings and have their fortune told. Kenny isn’t picking up his phone and he is supposed to meet them there with Uri. There will most likely be a long queue to access the grounds by the time his uncles show up.
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Changing into his formal attire for the temple visit is always a pain in the ass; there are these strings on the back that he has to tug through two tiny slits in the back, pull and knot so that the fabric creases beautifully.
It’s always easier to get this done with the help of an extra pair of hands.
A quick look in the mirror lets him know that he’ll have to redo the back again. And between huffs and curses, he finally gets it done on the third try. Erwin said before that he really liked how he looked in his formal robe, that he looked hot. There aren’t many opportunities to wear it, so he thinks of snapping a quick mirror selfie and surprising Erwin with it; much like he did during their first months of dating. The idea is immediately dismissed; he doesn’t have enough time to undo his knots so that the slit goes further up his hip, showing the paler skin and firm muscle there.
Later, he thinks, when he undresses tonight. It’ll be a fun morning message for Erwin to wake up to on the day of his trip back home.
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He washes his hands immediately after ringing the temple’s bell and helps his mother go down the uneven steps of the entrance.
Next on their schedule is lunch. Kenny and Uri sit across from him at their booth. His mother is reprimanding her loser of a brother for being late, and to Uri’s dismay, Kenny will say anything to save his own ass from his sister’s wrath.
“Well, that’s what ya get when ya keep company with the bent.”
Levi shakes his head at the generalisation, “Hey, I’m gay and always on time. You just don’t give a fuck.”
Kenny rolls his eyes before turning to his sister, a big shit-eating grin on his face.
“Funny thing, ain’t it… all of us ‘round this table sure love cock.”
His mother chokes before looking at Levi like he is still eight years old and the word has reached his ears for the first time. Levi catches the moment Uri elbows him, hard, on the side.
“Kenny!”
“I’m just sayin’. None o’ this mess’d be happenin’ if yer precious brother an’ son weren’t a pair o’ faggots.”
Although the words might make others’ ears ring, Levi finds them harmless. It’s amusing to think that this excuse of a man managed to get into a relationship with a man as sensitive and intelligent as Uri.
“I’ve been telling you you can’t say that in public,” Uri half-whispers, his face a shade redder than before. “You’re getting us kicked out one day.”
The conversation derails from there and he loses track of whatever insane shit is coming out of Kenny’s mouth.
He’s been itching to reach into his pocket and check his phone. He felt it vibrate a couple of times after they left the temple. He doesn’t, though, because he might not be the perfect son, but his mother had done her best to teach him manners; and cellphones at the table were a rotund no.
It’s unfair, he thinks, like a mopey teenager. Not even during his younger years was he this annoyed by a rule. But right this moment, as he sits across from his uncles, who are definitely holding hands under the table, and misses his own boyfriend of three years, who he hasn’t seen in six months, the rule stands absurd; it’s not the same for him, he would like to defend.
Does Kenny realise how lucky he is to be able to hold Uri every day? To bicker and then make up over a silly joke, to have him at an arm’s length to hug at any given moment? To be able to wake up in the same bed and memorise the rise and fall of his chest before he stirs awake? To merely hold hands and brush feet under a table?
Checking his phone to catch up with Erwin is like bringing him into this family gathering. And if Kenny can bring Uri, so can Levi bring Erwin; as fucked up as that sounds, because he is aware of how mental it makes him sound, it is the only option he has right now.
He doesn’t want anyone’s pity. Levi knew, sort of, what being in a long-distance relationship would entail and has no one but himself and Erwin to blame for this grief.
He doesn’t think his relationship would be better if they were in the same city, hell, even the same country; maybe, being face-to-face wouldn’t work at all, their worst traits coming to light faster and harsher. His and Erwin’s relationship is fine as it is right now, he reasons with no one but himself, other than spending more time together, quality time, there isn’t anything Levi would like to change about the two of them.
“Speaking o’ cock, Levi!” he might have spaced off a little there, but he is sure they hadn’t been talking about cocks. “How’s yer big man doin’?!”
Kenny never asks about Erwin.
Levi stares, “Please stop talking.”
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New Year’s Eve might be uneventful to them. They only celebrate it because it is part of the process and you can’t have today without yesterday, just like you can’t have now without then.
Then. Then. Back then. Back then, when? When, exactly, is he trying to go back to, he asks himself. Turns the question around, plays with the word order, changes the words completely until it finally spills out absentmindedly in the middle of their conversation. In the middle of their long, comfortable silence.
“If you could go back,” he proposes, he hears Erwin walking around the area, moving pans and pots, and he clutches the covers of his bed in his free hand, “what would you like to do?”
Erwin stops his clattering and clicks his tongue, “What do you mean?”
The sheet is twisted tightly around his hand; he unravels it, only to start twisting again. Preparing a noose.
“Yeah. If you could go back in time, would you change anything?”
Silence follows. Levi can still hear, faintly, the holiday music playing in the background of Erwin’s kitchen.
He also hears, even further away, voices. A different language of which only the cadence is recognisable and no meaning reaches him. He thinks he might be exhausted. It is almost 2 a.m.: he woke up from a nightmare 30 minutes ago, and he called Erwin. Just called, no heads-up, uninvited. His mind keeps blasting the sirens, signalling: you shouldn’t have, you shouldn’t have done that, you’re being dramatic; you couldn’t give him five minutes to himself, right? What a greedy, obsessive, pathetic thing you’ve become!
The silence persists. The pump of his heart makes his head throb dully, he can hear the blood flowing through his body if he holds his breath. And then, it breaks:
“Zorry—Sorry. Dad needed help. What was your question again, darling?”
Erwin is so quick to change between languages that his accent thickens and then almost disappears. Unlike Levi, who has to take a moment to adjust from one sound system to another before continuing, foreign accent still present even when comfortable. Erwin had called it cute, much like he had referred to many of Levi’s quirks in the past.
The pet name does make his heart skip a beat, do a 180 and fucking flutter. His lips tug into a gentle smile, and he lets out a tired exhale. He turns on his side, and his free hand soon finds the back of his ear. He strokes carefully; there's a pattern to it: only downward strokes, no back and forth. He exhales once more and feels his lungs finally collapse.
“Oh, ‘s nothing,” he mumbles, his finger keeps moving. He prepares himself, holds his body tightly in a one-armed embrace across his chest. Possessive. Protective of the prisoner of his ribcage, ramming against the bars with every pump.
“No, please tell me. I’m curious.” Erwin says, but Levi can hear him whisking some eggs in a bowl.
Levi huffs a laugh, “don’t worry, blondie. It was something silly.”
Levi presses his lips tightly. He isn’t about to cry, not about this, but it still asks for some sort of control. It bubbles up in his stomach, scalding hot and meant to blister as it leaves his mouth.
He took that mirror selfie when he got back; he sat on the floor on his knees and legs spread, letting the fabric of his undone robe pool over his groin. He had leaned back on one hand to get the perfect angle that captured his bare thighs, shoulder and chest. He scrutinised it and the other 20 photos he took, one raunchier than the last, and then deleted. His conversation with Erwin at the time had been sporadic, Erwin was up earlier than usual, so the morning surprise was ruined, and by the tone of his messages Levi couldn’t quite tell if such a photo would be appreciated right then and so he never tapped ‘send’.
Before Erwin can press even further, he lets out a hum, measured and tired, “Hey, Erwin.”
“Yes, darling?”
Words crawl their way up his throat, leave a bittersweet residue on the tip of his tongue as he forces them back down like bile. He grimaces, flinches at the mess they make of his vocal chords, pulled tight and woven into knots that no matter how hard he pulls won’t come undone.
“Hm,” he hums again, his eyelids are starting to drop, his body feels heavier than ever, “I’ll sleep,” he says and as soon as the ‘p’ pops on his lips a yawn follows.
“Good night, Levi.” Erwin does this thing, sometimes, where he smacks his lips loudly against the phone. Sometimes. Not tonight. “Sleep well. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Levi nods at the darkness in his freezing room, at his childhood closet across the bed, the dark wood swallows everything around him and he forgets that Erwin can’t see him move his head, can’t see how he looks up, trying to find specs of blue in the shadows. See you in a bit, Erwin said in an attempt to be comforting even when it isn’t technically true or possible.
Before his eyes can finally give up to exhaustion, he swallows the sweet bile back down one last time and it sits heavy at the bottom of his gut: I wish you were here.