Chapter Text
Levi doesn't know what it is about these kinds of moments. It happens at such innocuous times, like now, when sunlight catches Hange’s profile as she gazes into the horizon. Sunlight turns her windswept hair bronze. Maybe it’s the way hissing waves fill the silence at the end of her sentence. Or maybe it’s how the air tastes like spices as Hange holds the railing to keep from falling overboard while the ship rocks. A piece of his heart is outside his body.
“Cat got your tongue?” Hange smirks, fine lines deepen around her right eye.
What a stupid thing to say. Such an old expression. Hange looks rectangular, in her coat with wide buttons and matching periwinkle trousers and top hat. There’s nothing alluring about Hange. It really doesn’t make any sense.
“Shut up.” Levi descends into the ship’s hull. On the stair banister the backs of his hands have permanent red discoloration around the knuckles. Why does this keep happening? He should’ve moved on from these kinds of things.
When he was younger, there was always a girl he was mooning over. Must be because he’s from below. From a whorehouse. The working girls seemed pretty, in their bright makeup, their thin nightgowns. Even as a toddler, Levi could parse some of what the working girls would say as they’d bounce him on their lap, talking about men, and love, and sex.
The Scouts can’t afford for him to lose focus when there are so many dying wishes to honor, he will stomp out the coals.
It’s too much to go from the underground to the civilized world across the sea. There’s horseless wagons rolling down the brick road. Vivid fabrics on bodies. It smells like salt and soap, the ocean pushes wind from behind that brushes hair against his ears. Music is playing, but there aren't any instruments around. His eyes ache. All this color could probably make the average underground citizen go blind.
Hange is standing nearby, the cuff of her white shirt peeking from the coat sleeve as her hand dangles limp, fingers softly curled. Levi can’t shake the soft glide their palms would make if he reached out and took it. How warm, how delicate. Paradis is on the cusp of global warfare and he wants to hold Hange’s hand.
Walking inwards to Marley from the dock, he hasn’t got it in him to look Hange in the face. In the brick path, the most feeble weeds are growing through the cracks. A kid steals Sasha’s wallet. Reminds him, uncannily, of himself at that age, and as he carries the boy his tiny ribs prod his palm. Hungry, living somewhere squalid, life must be the same all around the planet, people at the bottom do whatever it takes to survive.
By the time they’re all in the hotel that’s halfway between the dock and the estate, it’s as if a year has gone by. Hange pours herself a second glass of wine. Legs crossed, there’s not much room for him where he sits across her desk, his knees jab into the wood. They are supposed to be talking about the Scout’s objectives here, but it’s not going anywhere. If only this could be over, and he could leave. Go to his room. Plant face-first into the blankets and think about nothing until he falls into a hopefully dreamless sleep.
Hange taps the lampshade on the desk. “Their technology really is amazing.” The bulb shines between them as she tips wine into her mouth.
He wrings the neck of the bottle and sets it on his lap. “I’m cutting you off.”
Hange leans over the desk. “You know, I don’t…” She chews on her bottom lip. “I don’t think you’re my mother.”
“Can’t even form fuckin’ sentences.”
“I can form them well enough.”
“We’re not here for vacation.”
Her expression falls. He wishes he hadn’t said that. Hadn’t seen her this galvanized since Erwin died and made her commander. It’s self-righteous, saying that as if he hasn't spent the majority of his time here nursing a crush like an adolescent.
Hange tries to justify herself. “They have a different fermentation process in Marley, it’s much less bitter than the stuff in the walls. Why not try some?”
He’d probably kiss her. Or worse. Who knows. His hands have broken it all. Femur, teeth, ribs, eyes, skull, they’ve got no idea how to touch a body gently.
“It’s probably also a lot stronger than what we have.” That, and she’s drunk about half of it. “If I’m down the bottle, who's going to save you if things get messy here?”
“I think you’d still manage. That's just how you are, you’re our deus ex machina.”
Levi rubs the smooth glass. He’s never had a drink, not even a sip. It makes men wild. Below, drunkards would leave the working girls with bruises, and for weeks they’d wear the colors. Grays and blues and purples and greens and yellows, blending into pale white skin. He’s made from one of those men, after all.
“Will you have some if I feed it to you like a baby bird?” Hange makes a kissy face.
It takes some effort to form a disgusted look as he imagines the bloodlike juice filling his mouth, the stickiness of her saliva, the edge of her enamel. He pours the rest of the bottle into her glass. On the rim there’s the impression of Hange’s lips. Vinegar and flowers. The slender glass clicks his bottom teeth as he tips it back. Not thinking about Hange’s lips.
“Not so bad, right?” she asks.
“Mm.” It’s not bad at all. Stings, but in a good way, a clean sting like sterilizing a wound. Hange opens the window across the room. Fresh night air blows in. It smells good.
Considering his own distorted reflection in the empty bottle, Levi downs nearly half of the overfilled pour. Always swore he wouldn’t drink. One of the many promises he’s no good at keeping lately. Losin’ his edge. He strolls to Hange's right side by the window, ever since she lost her eye, it’s second nature to come where she can see him. The entire city is full of light bulbs with glowing filaments in their windows.
Hange rests her elbows on the windowsill and says, “How they generate enough power to light up this whole country at night is what I need to know.”
It stretches over the mountains in mounds of light. Too many to estimate. “The world is enormous. We really had no idea, huh?” Levi finishes the wine in two swallows.
Hange looks his way. “Do you think we’ll be able to make it work?”
“Doubt it.” It’s obvious Eldians are despised here.
“The more you understand something, the less scary it is. They just don’t understand us yet.”
Her disheveled brown hair sways in the night breeze. Whatever world Hange is dreaming up, it’s probably beautiful. Probably too good to be true, but beautiful. Levi sets the empty cup on the sill. How the wine glass bends the reflection of the city is somehow hypnotic.
He doesn’t know what to say. He should probably go to his room.
“You look older,” his own voice offers. His tongue is soft, words left him before they came to mind.
Hange doesn’t look upset. “Huh?”
“You have a couple wrinkles around your eye.”
“Well, I’m thirty two. You don’t look so young, either.”
It’s true. Every year the blue veins under his skin are more visible. “You were one of the first people I met above, a decade ago.” Then, she looked kind of how Sasha does now, two eyes, round cheeks, never wearing a frown.
Hange looks between where her elbows rest. “I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long, honestly.”
They’ve lost a lot of people along the way. People they loved. If only Hange could grow old, he’s tired of digging graves for young people.
“Don’t die on me,” Levi says.
Hange smiles. “So, you’re one of those people who gets sweet on alcohol.”
He’s not being sweet. Is he? His fists tighten, though he’s not sure what he’s grasping for.
“You must be a lightweight.”
“Of course not.”
Levi makes to leave, and realizes after a couple steps that he’s staggering over the carpet. He watches his legs amble as if he’s a newborn foal, it’s unnerving to know how he’d like to move, but not having his body obey. Hange’s laughter lights up behind him.
She takes his arm and guides him through the bright hall, and he watches her jab a key into his room’s lock. Inside the doorway, her hands land on his lapels. “Well then, I think you can manage from here.” Hange hugs him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she says into his hair. Her shirt smells like ink and leather and alcohol and his eyes close a centimeter.
The door closes and suddenly Levi is in pitch blackness. For some time he stands there, until his eyes fully adjust to the dark and the furniture around him reveals itself in dull blues. Once in bed, he falls asleep quickly and sleeps well. In the morning, birds are singin’ different songs than he’s used to. Acrid saliva sticks to his tongue. Outside the window it's full sunlight and he’s disgusting; in yesterday’s clothes, never even bathed.
Here, people are always puffing herbal smoke from their mouths. From cafe seats. From windows. Apparently it’s called tobacco. The sky hurts, so Levi rubs his eyes. Must be hungover. Although he drank last night, no one has a black eye or broken arm because of it. The day is painfully jubilant. And Hange looks as if she’s tasted something sour.
“Why are you making that stupid face?”
Hange cracks a nervous smile. “I’m not making a face.”
“You should never play poker.”
“Okay, fine then.” Fingers to his shoulder blade, Hange steers him toward the shadows of a building. The street is loud behind them, chatter, silverware, smoke coming up from cafe tables.
She glances around once, then produces something small from her pocket, a narrow box made of cardboard with a seal printed on it.
Levi squints. “Matches?” Nothing spectacular about that, they have them in Paradis. Perhaps, the ignition process is unique.
“No. It’s called latex.” Her voice drops a fraction. “They stretch it thin. It goes over the um, male reproductive organ. It’s a physical contraceptive.”
Heat rises through him.
Her fingers trace the edge of the box. “People can have sex without it causing pregnancy. Can you imagine if we had something like this in the walls?”
Hange is looking at him with an eyebrow raised and Levi tries to will the color from his face. His jaw tightens as his vile mind supplies images of her nude, bare under his roaming hands, glowing peach from the blood under her skin. She returns the box to her pocket and they continue to commute through the city. Hange’s curious about sex. Makes sense, sex is a part of being alive, a part of being alive that the Scouts don’t get to indulge in.
At the Azumabito estate, Hange discusses the slim possibility of a peace treaty with Kiyomi, her voice firm. All of this is too much to ask of them. Doubt even Erwin would know what to do, he wanted proof that humanity existed beyond the walls, he likely had no plan for what to do after he found it. And it is all on Hange’s shoulders.
The kids have wandered off somewhere and they’re alone again. These days they’re always alone. Looks like a chapel, the wooden object in the center of the table in Hange’s lodging. There’s a full orchestra inside of it, cellos, harp, drums, flutes, all of them playing music.
Hange pours white wine into a narrow cup meant for tea. “Last night was fun, you were nice for a change.” She pushes her glasses up and leaves a fingerprint on them. Levi takes them from her face and cleans the lens with his shirt, then slides the arms back over her temples.
“Thanks.” Hange takes off her boots and tucks her feet onto the couch, balancing the cup on her knee. “You know what I’ve noticed?”
“Hm.”
“My hands have gotten softer. I haven’t held a hilt in so long, all my callouses are going away.”
Unthinkingly, Levi opens his own hand. Her hand slips into his. Delicate. Even though she is androgynous, her dainty, careful hands give her away. His mouth goes dry.
“Yours are soft too,” Hange observes. Her thumb runs over his now-sensitive palm and he suppresses a shiver. She intertwines their fingers.
They kiss. She squeaks, but her mouth gives, and her lips open— tea and wine. He flattens Hange into the velvet couch, pinning the back of her hand to its cushion, and fits between her thighs, stiff linen dragging over his hips, and paints his tongue over her bottom lip, the inner skin like silk. Her legs lock around him. As her arms circle him, wine tips from the cup in her hand, soaking into his shirt and running down his spine, coldly clinging to his ribs. It makes him pull back. Hange’s shiny lips are parted.
“Sorry.” He stands. His heart’s pounding like he’s gotten into a knife fight. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
Hange pushes herself up slowly. Her long legs find the floor, and she fixes her glasses. Absently, she wipes her mouth, and idles there, as if kissing her own wrist.
“I’m sorry I messed up your shirt,” she whispers.
The same whimsical song is playing. His knees feel weak. Gradually, he lowers to the ground, gripping carpet threads. “I forced myself on you.” He closes his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Levi,” she laughs lightly. “It was just a kiss.”
He presses his forehead into the seam of the couch cushion. “It was wrong.”
There’s a soft click of a cup being set down on the table behind him. “Will you kiss me again?”
Levi shakes his head, half to clear his mind. “Hange, no.”
“Please?” Fingers stroke his hair. He needs to get far away. On the other side of the estate, maybe sleep in the garden, take a boat to another town.
Levi lifts his head. “I’m not made for this.”
Hange cradles his cheeks and kisses him, and it is the same as the first time he came above and felt sunlight on his skin. A kind of shimmering warmth you can’t imagine if you’ve never felt it before. Too good.
He braces himself on her thigh, the muscle firm past the linen of her pants, and pulls away. “Hange.” His hands wrap around her ribs. His nose touches hers as he warns, “I’ll hurt you. Your bones are like porcelain to me, I could shatter them without even meanin’ to.”
Her dilated pupil gazes back at him. “I trust you.”