Chapter Text
Five.
Levi finds himself counting down, cognizant of the seconds passing in a way that frightens him, like a rabbit pricking its ears. He does not understand, but cannot help the humming awareness in the tendons of his hands, the pads of his fingers. Something is happening. He feels the way he imagines the leaves of trees must feel, before they turn upside down in anticipation of rain.
Four.
Paris is dark, quiet. Levi is reading, has reread the same sentence eight times now. Nous ne sommes nous qu'aux yeux des autres et c'est à partir du regard des autres que nous nous assumons comme nous-mêmes . He cannot keep his eyes on the page – they keep sliding inexorably to the turquoise on his bedside table, as if it will cease to exist if he stops looking at it. Nous ne sommes nous qu'aux yeux des autres et c'est à partir du regard des autres que nous nous assumons comme nous-mêmes . It pulls at him, behind his eyes, seems to settle inside him, and every time Levi looks at it he is filled with such an unbearable nostalgic melancholy that his heart seizes in his chest.
Three.
Sartre again. Levi reaches forward, touches the words on the page. The stone, still on the bedside table, so close to the pillow where he sleeps, seems almost to be reaching for him. He feels that his entire soul has been flung painfully into the past, and that his body is hanging on by a thread, stretched out and hollow. Like he hardly exists at all.
Two.
Outside. Levi needs to go outside. He gets up, means to head toward the door, but finds himself standing in front of the turquoise as if in a trance. He brushes his fingers over it, feels a strange sort of jolt, like he is speeding toward a fixed object. There is something terrible in his stomach when he touches it, a rush of fear and awareness – of himself, of something else. Of the fact that they may be the same.
One.
He pushes the door open, steps into the cold air. The streetlight is soft and yellow, warm, liquid. There is someone arguing down the street. A man walks toward him and Levi’s entire world narrows to nothing but the pounding of his own heart, which did not seem to exist until now. Nous ne sommes nous qu'aux yeux des autres et c'est à partir du -
The man looks at him, speaks. Or perhaps Levi speaks. It is impossible for Levi to decipher who is speaking, whose heart is beating. Where he is, who he is.
Erwin.
The second he says the name something violent blooms in the center of his chest, like a strangling vine. He knows, instinctively, that if he looks away from Erwin now he will blink out of existence like a faulty light bulb. That perhaps they both will. Please , he thinks, the desperation of it knocking the wind out of him, Please keep looking at me.
A long while later, Erwin turns to him in bed and touches his temple, spreading color into the world in a way that is so singular that Levi feels himself dying just watching it.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, voice so soft. Still, Levi knows that the air touching Erwin’s lips must have been born only to catch that voice.
He cannot say, I’m thinking that if you look away, I will disappear. And he cannot say, I’m thinking that we were so made for each other that we can't exist without touching.
So instead he shrugs, looks at the peeling paint of the ceiling and says the only honest thing he can say: “Quanta.”
Erwin turns to him, big hands tracing Levi's collarbone softly, almost dangerously. As if he could snap it in one move.
"Quanta?"
"Mm."
Erwin shifts, reluctant to let go of him. He is so warm. Levi realizes he has been shivering most of his life, and that he is not shivering now.
"Oh," Erwin says, almost to himself, and Levi feels the edges of his lips curl. Of course Erwin understands.
"QED?" Erwin asks, terribly astute, while Levi presses into him and looks at the ceiling. Levi nods, hums again. He is sticky, but it's so late and he is so tired and it can wait, it can wait.
It's the grey, lazy pocket of the early morning where he always wakes, in between dreams, for a few minutes. Erwin seems to have woken at the same moment.
Of course Erwin is the same. Of course.
Erwin's warm, achingly familiar smell is seeping into Levi's sheets. He can't imagine ever shivering again. He feels he will burst into flame from the heat of another body so close to him, and yet makes no move to distance himself.
He curls closer, even, rests a hand against Erwin's chest and feels the steady beat of his heart.
"You're thinking about how quanta only exist when interacting with one another," Erwin says, and it's not a question.
Levi nods, knows Erwin will feel the movement where his head rests on Erwin's warm, comforting shoulder.
"I see."
And he does, Levi knows.
Quietly, Erwin says, "So am I."
He tightens his hold on Levi, pulls him nearly all the way on top of him, runs hands down the overheated skin of Levi's naked back.
Levi wonders if they are dreaming now, but decides that if they never wake, it doesn't matter.
I would die if you left me now , he thinks, and he knows Erwin feels the same. Instead he says, "Move over, I'm falling off."
Erwin looks past him at the edge of the bed and snorts.
"You've got at least a foot of space."
"Liar."
Erwin's arms tighten around Levi again and he hauls Levi's whole body on top of himself, so Erwin is the only one touching the bed. Levi huffs, then decides he's too tired to fight for it and simply lays his head on Erwin's chest.
Erwin's not a bad bed. Warm, solid. Safe. The steady rise and fall of his chest is perfectly in sync with Levi's.
He's never been so close to someone before. It feels like he might just melt into Erwin and disappear. He settles one of his knees onto the bed between Erwin's legs.
"This is nice," Erwin says quietly, then tightens his arms circled around Levi like he's afraid he's scared him away. Levi pushes his face against Erwin's chest and says, muffled, "Go back to sleep."
"Mm."
He's just drifting off again when Erwin's voice floats through the dark, so soft Levi can hardly hear it.
"What do you think we'll dream now?"
Levi shrugs, suddenly terrified of seeing Erwin die in his dreams again after he's had this.
Erwin starts running fingers down Levi's back again, gentle and almost exploratory. His knuckles bump each vertebrae on their way down Levi's spine.
He sighs, "Levi," as if he's telling Levi everything, and it's the last thing said between them before they slip almost simultaneously into sleep, limbs tangled together.
It's a cabin, teetering on the edge of a great grey sea.
Levi has only seen it once before, earlier that night, when Erwin had fucked him and he'd smelled the rain rolling off the water, seen them inside the cabin.
Warm, safe.
Happy.
He's never dreamt of this. His dreams are almost exclusively of death.
He's alone, standing barefoot on the porch wearing what he's fairly certain is Erwin's shirt, holding a mug of tea and watching the waves. The ocean is grey and the air is cold, so that the wind makes his eyes water and floor of the porch bites at the skin of his feet. But his hands around the mug are warm and there's a warm flush still on his cheeks, as if he's just stepped outside.
The bottom of Levi's chest feels so light he is afraid he might float away, and it takes a moment to realize that the feeling is the absence of fear.
The porch is cozy, with a couch and a swing and a lot of blankets, candles burned down to nothing, wax spilled on the tables. The early morning sun is rising to Levi's left, warm and orange on the side of his face, and he has no idea where he is.
He stands for longer than he means to, steam floating up out of his tea and out onto the wind, toes cold and chest warm.
From inside the house, through the cracked-open door, comes Erwin's unmistakable voice, "Baby?"
Levi's stomach drops. He turns, drawn like a magnet.
Erwin's voice is warm and sleepy. "At least put some socks on," he says, muffled, and Levi feels himself smiling so easily it shocks him. The door creaks when he pushes it open, inevitably rusted from the wind off the water.
The living room is quiet and dark, though the lights on the Christmas tree in the corner blink almost lazily at him.
There are presents under it, more than Levi expects.
The window of their bedroom is open, and Levi follows the sound of the ocean.
Erwin has yet to get out of bed, and his hair is longer than Levi has ever seen it, curling under his ears and turning a stunning silver-blonde at his temples. He smiles sleepily at Levi when he sees him, and his eyes nearly close all the way.
Levi thinks he has never felt anything so good in his life, and then a tiny head of strawberry blonde hair peeks out from under the covers.
Her eyes are bright and beautiful and so happy and Levi feels his entire life stopping just looking at her. Her hair is sticking up in all directions, much too short for her pigtails, and she holds out a box wrapped very poorly in newspaper.
"Merry Christmas, Daddy!" she says, and her voice shatters his heart and puts it back together.
Erwin puts his hand on her head and says in a soft voice, "And?"
Levi's daughter looks around the room, clearly deep in thought. There are bells on her sweater. She can't be older than four.
Finally her face lights up and she says, "And happy birthday!"
Levi's face cracks down the middle and he's never smiled like this in his life. He goes to the bed and sits down and she climbs into his lap, still talking so fast she keeps having to pause for breath in the middle.
"Papa says this is an extra special day because -" she takes a huge gulp of air and settles into Levi's lap, "it’s Christmas and it's your birthday and since it's the day you." She pauses and takes a huge breath again, winded by so much excitement. "The day you potted me it should be my birthday too because papa doesn't know when my other birthday is so- " gulp of air - "we get to share now!"
Levi meets Erwin's eyes and they are warm and blue and smiling.
"Potted?" He manages, voice wavering. He is at a loss for any other words.
Over the girl's head Erwin says, "We haven't learned the word 'adopted' yet."
The girl touches Levi's face and her hands are so small. Levi thinks his hands are shaking. He puts his arms around her anyway, leans back against Erwin's chest.
"Your face looks weird, Daddy."
Erwin says, "Isabel, that's not nice," but then he looks at Levi and frowns.
"Baby, are you alright?" He asks, and again Levi feels a shock of warmth through his chest. Baby .
"I -"
He doesn't know what to say, and the ocean pounds at the shore, and the cold salt wind comes through the window and raises goosebumps on Erwin's arm, and their daughter, their daughter looks up at him and declares, "Daddy is a different Daddy today."
Levi's eyes are wet before he realizes it.
Erwin makes a noise and reaches for him.
"Dreaming?" Erwin asks, soft and unbearably affectionate, and never in Levi's entire life has he heard such unbridled tenderness from anyone.
He nods, throat tight and eyes still wet.
“Come here,” Erwin says, and then Levi is settling next to him, leaning against the headboard with Isabel in his lap and the warm weight of Erwin’s presence pressed against his side.
Erwin wordlessly leans over and kisses the side of Levi’s head, then their daughter’s, and the hard knot of disbelieving anxiety loosens in his chest.
Isabel falls asleep, faster than Levi would have imagined with the promise of Christmas presents so close by, and she’s drooling on Levi’s shirt where she’s leaned against his chest. Levi feels like he could end the world with the force of his love for her.
“Are you happy?” Levi asks, softly, before he can stop himself. He notices that his own voice is different.
Erwin looks out the window, still slightly open. He makes a soft sound.
“Always,” he says, and his skin is so warm in the chill of the air. Levi can feel the cold salt on the side of his face. This Erwin, he knows instinctively, always smells of the endless grey sea. “Always.”
Levi settles further against Erwin’s body, thinks of the Erwin in his apartment in Paris, the one who he’s probably tangled legs with at this very moment. Thinks of how he will wake and see him, touch him, speak to him. Thinks of how he will never have to look away from his face for the rest of his life.
Then he thinks of how he will never have to look away from his face again for any of his lives, and runs his fingers gently through their daughter’s hair and listens to the pounding of the waves against their little house and breathes.
He thinks, when he wakes, that he will take his Erwin to see his city. That he will leave this Erwin and their beautiful child to the other Levi, the one who remembered all his past lives, the one who found Erwin so early, the one who built this cabin. They will be in good hands, with him.
He thinks, finally, that it is time to stop dreaming, and resolves to kiss Erwin when he wakes, morning breath and all.
“Me too,” he says to Erwin, and means it.