Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

12th November 1992.

Erwin first meets Levi on a grey, November day in 1992.

All morning, customers have been bringing the rain in with them; on their shoes, leaving wet footprints across the tiles which he’s had to mop countless times despite the fact it isn’t even lunchtime yet; on their hair and clothes, which they shake across the nice clean counter; and on their umbrellas, crumpled miserably under tables like a kicked dog waiting for scraps and gathering puddles. The bad weather serves to put everyone in a foul mood, making them more impatient and bad-tempered than usual. Erwin has had to remake several orders over the smallest mistakes, biting his tongue and forcing a smile while a woman screams in his face that her cappuccino is not hot enough even though it scalds his skin as she thrusts it back across the counter towards him.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t been flying solo, but Carla had called in that morning to gloomily inform him that her kid had “the mother of all stomach bugs”, moving her mouth away from the receiver to frantically yell “toilet, not sink!” before hanging up without a goodbye. Unfortunately, she wasn’t quick enough to stop Erwin from hearing an awful retching noise that has been echoing in his mind non-stop ever since and he strongly suspects it will be a long time before he can look at Eren again without hearing it, cute as the boy may be. There is no point in trying Shadis and Nana had responded to his 911 page with “420- 707-6262”. The use of LOL means she’s at the point of being utterly useless to him. Not even the knowledge that Mike will be keeping some of the bag back for him once he’s finished here is a comfort when the baby at table four emits a piercing shriek of rage for the fifth time in as many minutes at his mother’s intensive focus on the gossip magazine in front of her rather than him and table two is verging upon being an island since the floor somehow needs going over again.

All of this to say: Erwin is in a foul mood by the time Levi very literally slams into the counter and into his life with enough force that it ought to have been a warning sign of how much things were about to change in the former’s wake. The bell over the door is still mid-peal, Levi’s hands out to brace for impact when the skateboard comes to an abrupt halt against the scuffed wood with a bang that rattles the sugar bowl and startles the baby into silence.

Erwin would have sworn in that instant that he could not only hear the dent that the board has undoubtedly made in the front of his counter, but that it was immediately followed in his mind by the mournful sound of said repair coming out of his already meagre paycheck. Finishing the espresso he’d been making, he gives the customer a smile as he passes the cup over before turning and letting the polite smile drop into a furious frown.

“Get out.”

The boy blinks up at him in confusion, all eyes under a tangled mess of dripping dark hair and fuck was he cute. If Erwin wasn’t contemplating his murder and the best place within a mile radius to dump his body, he’d be trying to gauge the new arrival by the chipped black nail polish he is sporting and the well-laundered and startlingly clean-looking flannel shirt two sizes too big for him.

“What?” His voice is a slow drawl acquired somewhere far from here, unexpectedly low for someone his size.

“I said, get out. No boards in here.”

The words are greeted by an expression which suggests the concept of a skateboard-less place is a foreign one at best and Erwin leans over to point to the sign taped behind the counter listing all of the current bans held by this fine establishment. Old enough to be peeling rebelliously against the sellotape still valiantly trying to hold it up and perpetually in the process of being added to in a barrage of different handwriting, it also serves as a tribute to the litany of minimum wage workers who have walked through the door of The Scouts in the past few decades that it’s been open. In the rare lulls between customers, it provides a never-ending source of entertainment for newer employees who demand the backstory on some of the more unusual entries. Erwin’s personal favourite is a rather desperate looking scrawl in the bottom left hand corner which simply reads “period accurate mediaeval armour with or without a flail” accompanied by a bloody thumbprint underneath it, although Shadis refuses to divulge on that one.

The other boy leans on the counter to read through it, supported by his elbows, pushing himself back and forth on the skateboard absently with one foot as he does so. Outside the rain has just resumed and, with no-one behind him to kick up a fuss, he’s obviously in no rush to go. Not that Erwin is complaining; it’s an opportunity to study the figure before him, all the while feigning busyness by wiping down the machines, topping up the milk jug, taking in the lean lines of his body, the sweep of long eyelashes against high cheekbones as the darker haired boy blinks sleepily. There is something utterly beautiful about him in an unconscious way. If this was a film, one of the cheesy ones that Nana bullies them into watching when she’s tired of either the war films Erwin picks or Mike’s bad-CGI-explosion heavy preferences, there would undoubtedly be something appropriately moody playing in the background to introduce the idea that this is the main romantic lead one is to root for.

Real life, rarely being so obliging, has instead substituted the last half of Rump Shaker.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, the other peels himself off the counter and shoots him what might be the beginnings of an amused smile, grey eyes dropping to the name tag that they all reluctantly sport. By some miracle he’s wearing the correct one today after an entire two weeks of answering to Hange. “Alright, Erwin.” It’s practically criminal how good his name sounds in his mouth. He raises a hand, lifting two fingers to his temple in a half-hearted salute before pushing himself off the counter and rolling over to the door, pushing it open and giving himself a kick off with his foot.

Pathetically, Erwin watches him until the slight figure is out of sight.

“…And that was Wreckx-N-Effect, next up we have at the top of the charts The Heights asking the question that’s on all of our minds, How Do You Talk To An Angel?”, the DJ declares with a level of energy that could only come from illegal drug usage at this hour of the morning from the radio propped up in one corner. The lucky bastard. Too late to be of any use, romantic-lead-scene-setting music fills the café as the hubbub of chatter picks up again with no-one else seemingly aware that something monumental has occurred before their eyes. The baby at table four, recovered from his brief respite, emits yet another piercing cry as Erwin lets his head sink down to hit the wooden counter.

He never even got a name.

A week passes, during which time he contemplates the pros and cons of stapling signs to lampposts searching for a dark-haired boy approximately 5’3” to 5’4” surgically attached to a battered skateboard. The cons he comes up with are that Hange will never let him live it down for as long as he lives, that there are at least a dozen boys within this Wall alone who would answer to that description and there is no way of knowing if he frequents this area; while the singular but significant pro he can think of is the tiny percentage chance of finding him again.

Every time the bell sounds, Erwin’s shoulders stiffen in anticipation of the thump of a skateboard that never comes. Nanaba calls him out on it the fourth time she catches him, crowding him up against a counter and threatening to hide the keys to their shared car until he spills. His cousin, despite their difference in heights, is just as terrifying as the time she’d pressured him with the decapitation of an unlucky G.I Joe caught in enemy territory into taking the blame for spilling paint on their grandmother’s carpet twenty years ago.

He manages to get as far as the words “someone cute”, the careful sidestep of pronouns second nature at this point, before her eyes take on a maniacal gleam and she claps her hands together so loudly that several customers look up in alarm.

“You should have told us, you big lughead. What if she came by and you weren’t on the schedule? Honestly, you boys are so clueless about these things.”

The incorrect assumption is by no means Nana’s fault. As far as both she and Mike know, his teenage on-and-off-again relationship with Marie amounts to almost the entirety of his dating experience and it is not entirely incorrect. Nonetheless, that does not stop his heart from sinking the entire way down to his stomach. Fortunately, the short description he can offer could easily be taken either way when it comes to gender if you overlook the obvious information that he leaves out. She eagerly scribbles it down on a napkin, pen lid held between her teeth, and props it up against the cash register below the sight line of customers with “Urgent: find for Erwin!” scrawled across the top surrounded by a sickening number of love hearts in pink gel pen. Where she even produced a pink gel pen from is beyond him.

“Now. It’s just a matter of time until she reappears.” Nana declares confidently.

As it turns out, there are a surprising number of short dark-haired girls within this Wall alone and if they hadn’t been kept so busy all day then he might suspect Nana of somehow sending out an urgent signal to summon all of them. She doesn’t say anything, but Erwin feels the weight of her gaze flicker to him every single time one walks through the door and her quiet disappointment when he does not immediately drop to his knees and rejoice. In spite of her outwardly tough front, he knows that his cousin is at heart a hopeless romantic who somehow managed to find the love of her life in high school and would love nothing more than to see him as happy as she and Mike have been for the past twelve years.

The breakfast rush runs straight into the lunchtime crowd from the local offices without a long enough pause for a smoke or even to take a piss. He’s jonesing pretty bad for both by the time the clock hits two and the crowds eventually slow to a trickle. Nana lights up where she droops tiredly against the counter, moving only as required to weakly tap the ash into the novelty tray shaped like a dog’s ass that someone bought as a joke ten years ago, but Erwin braves the pavement outside in an attempt to get some fresh air in addition to the nicotine.

After a morning spent sweating behind Big Bertha as the machine is unfondly nicknamed amongst the staff, the winter air is a definite shock to the system. The chill had started early this year, displacing what had up until then been a blissfully pleasant autumn. He’d left his jacket in the broom cupboard when he’d come in that morning and retrieving it now would mean Nana might seize the opportunity for conversation to ask more probing questions about the girl he’s supposedly looking for.

A quick smoke then, he tells himself with a shiver. Patting down his pockets reveals his Walkman is still in his jacket after his morning walk too, denying him the comfort of his music to distract him from the cold breeze ruffling his hair. He’s just settled against the bricks, cigarette balanced between two fingers while he digs out his lighter just as the distinctive sound of plastic wheels against concrete comes from the corner of the street.

It won’t be him, Erwin thinks though his heart has already picked up its pace in revolt against his head. To deny himself the moment of disappointment for a bit longer, he stubbornly does not look up until the skater is right beside him and then only long-buried instincts gained by playing sports in school allow him to jump backwards with a loud curse before he is nearly mown down. The boy stops a foot away, a smirk on his lips which says the near-collision was very much intentional. He’s wearing a different kind of flannel today, making Erwin envision for a brief second an entire wardrobe stuffed with the heavy fabric, unbuttoned over a black, pristine Nirvana t-shirt in odd juxtaposition with a pair of Vans that last saw better days some years previous. The dark hair is dry this time and styled somewhat scruffily. The itch to run through it and to know if it is as soft as it looks is overwhelming.

“My bad. ‘Sup, man?”

“Do you have any fucking consideration for other people with that thing or is your head so far up Cobain’s ass that you can’t see anything around you?” Erwin blurts out, suddenly furious at himself for having spent an entire week mooning over someone who apparently is actually attached to that stupid board.

Thin brows quirk upwards slightly at the obvious goad, but he doesn’t take the bait. “What do you listen to then, Erwin?”

He drops his name like it’s nothing, like it isn’t unusual that he still remembered it a week later. Maybe for him it isn’t. Perhaps he’s like this with everyone he interacts with or he has an uncanny memory for names the same way Moblit can recite the entire periodic table without hesitation. That does not stop it from being both the singular most endearing and annoying thing that anyone Erwin’s been attracted to has ever done. His head tips to one side calmly awaiting an answer as if they aren’t having this conversation while standing in the middle of the sidewalk with people weaving in and out between them.

“Rock mostly. Grew up with it, my dad was really big into it. Even took me on a tour once.” It’s taken the best part of twenty years to get to the point where he can speak about his dad without a lump in his throat, but the words still come out softer than his previous outburst.

Maybe the other can pick up on his feelings or maybe he did exclusively want to know the answer to that one question because he doesn’t ask anything else, just nods like this answer has been deemed acceptable to him and turns away to kick off. Before he can, Erwin calls out to him.

“I never got your name.”

“Levi.”

He doesn’t salute this time, but lifts one hand in a backwards wave without looking back while he skates away, dodging slow-moving pedestrians with flawless precision– confirming Erwin’s previous suspicion that the crash was definitely not accidental. It’s only when he’s out of sight that Erwin realises he never got to so much as light his cigarette and that the cold has now permeated his thick sweater down to his skin. Tucking it behind one ear for later, he pushes open the door to return to his shift with the name still echoing on his lips.

Nana must spend the entirety of the following evening on the phone because the first words Mike greets him with the following morning when he wanders in for his usual late morning cappuccino, even before he’s kissed his girlfriend hello, are, “Oi, Erwin, is it true that you’ve really fallen in love at first sight? Nana’s brainwashed you, dude, you’ve been watching too many of those chick flicks.”

“It’s so romantic.” Hange sighs later that afternoon, perched on the counter with feet swinging childishly. “I didn’t think you would be that kind of person, no offence.”

Her name isn’t on the schedule till Saturday, but all of them know that if they swing by during the shifts when Shadis isn’t around, they can score a free cup. She slurps loudly on a coffee that is more sugar than anything else, her feet drumming rhythmically against the wood as she launches into a tirade of questions that leave Erwin feeling exhausted from trying to keep his half-truths and outright lies straight by the time Moblit shows up to walk her home.

His friends are good people who love him dearly, Erwin reminds himself repeatedly every time he looks down and catches sight of the napkin covered in Nana’s neat handwriting. They want him to be happy and are just trying to help him. The fuss will die down soon enough once they realise the mystery girl is not going to appear out of nowhere and walk through the front door.

That is, naturally, the moment that Levi barges in through the front door. Because life has a real fucking sense of humour like that sometimes.

Once again, his arrival is greeted by the harsh impact of plastic against wood as hands smack down on the counter hard in lieu of brakes. After seeing his perfect control outside, it’s hard for this not to feel like a deliberate assault. Nana is manning the register while Erwin battles with persuading Bertha through yet another shift and her head lifts with the air of a bloodhound sensing prey. Levi, to his credit, does not so much as flinch before it but calmly drawls, “Latte to go.”

“No skateboards.” Nana says.

In one smooth move, the offending object has been kicked up and tucked under one arm.

“Do you want me to leave it at the door or is this good enough for you?”

Years of practice have taught him the scent of danger when it comes to his cousin and Erwin wisely chooses this moment to intervene. Nanaba resists his gentle tug at her elbow at first, a scowl on her lips as she stares down Levi who remains unruffled despite the fact he has to tip his head back to meet her gaze. It takes a minute for Erwin to rearrange themselves in the minuscule space behind the counter, but finally Nana is safely tucked behind him where she slams the metal containers against each other to make sure her displeasure at being denied her kill is known and Erwin is directly in front of those calm grey eyes.

Like a storm cloud, he thinks suddenly then berates himself for it immediately. Mike was right, they clearly need to start shooting down the chick flicks. “She’s right, you know. I told you last time, skateboards aren’t allowed in here.”

Levi drums his fingers on the counter meditatively. “I don’t believe you have the balls to kick me out.”

It’s a bold statement for someone who barely reaches the top of his ribcage and Erwin has to admire him for a moment. Only a moment because unfortunately he knows what needs to be done.

“Smile.”

“What?”, Levi asks, mid-word in the instant the flash on the camera pops.

“Congratulations on your ban. Feel free to swing by in one to two weeks to see your face on the wall when we get the film developed.”

“You’re seriously fucking banning me from entry?”

Erwin grins as he tucks the camera under the counter once more. “Seriously.”

“Two lattes to go please.”

It’s been surprisingly quiet for a Monday afternoon so Hange ducked out ten minutes ago for an emergency milk run, leaving Erwin to stare moodily at the latest addition to their wall of shame. Admittedly a much more extensive collection than one might expect a coffee shop to have, he’s reasonably certain at least some of the people on it must be dead by now given their photos are in black and white. Ridiculously he’d almost been tempted to ask the shop to print a second copy of the photo when he’d dropped the film in last week, but the thought of Mike or Nanaba, or worse his mother, finding Levi’s headshot in his room and having to try to explain who he is, was embarrassing enough to stop him.

Big Bertha makes an odd groaning sound at the girl’s request and her eyes flicker to it in a brief moment of obvious panic that they might both end up on the front page of tomorrow’s paper for being killed in a freak coffee machine explosion before settling back on Erwin with a sweet smile. The bell on her velvet choker jingles with each movement of her head.

“Coming right up.” Erwin tells her in his most reassuring voice. He sneaks glances at her while he works.

She’s a tiny little thing and pretty in an obvious way. The exact kind of girl his mother is always telling him to bring him, right down to her long floral dress. If he was smart, he’d ask her out to dinner or something like that or find a way to give her the number for his pager currently balanced precariously on the microwave where he’d dumped it coming in. He’s in the middle of trying to remember the chat-up line the main character had used on a leggy brunette from that spy thriller he and Mike had caught last week when, to his surprise, he catches her staring at Levi’s photo with a small smile.

“You know him?”

She nods her head with the same mysterious smile, but does not offer any details, throwing a few coins in the tip jar after she pays. On her way out, Erwin catches a glimpse of combat boots heavy enough to stomp someone’s head in under the frothy laced hem of her dress. His gaze follows her out onto the street where she offers one of the lattes to a dark-haired boy sitting on the curb with his back to the shop and his blood suddenly runs cold.

Levi accepts the cup, half turning to smirk over his shoulder before standing and kicking up the board that must have been under his feet, tucking it under one arm as he and the girl walk away together talking earnestly.

“What are you smiling about?” Hange asks curiously when she returns a few minutes later, hefting a paper bag sweating with cartons onto the counter. Thankfully Bertha chooses that moment to repeat her earlier ominous warning sound and that provides a distraction from any more questions he doesn’t have the answer to.

“You don’t have to keep buying him coffees just because he asked.”

The girl blinks at him in obvious confusion. It’s the third time she’s been in this week and it’s only Wednesday. Levi isn’t making any attempts to hide the fact that he’s waiting outside either, twirling a set of keys around one finger in plain view and the omnipresent skateboard nowhere in sight.

“Levi is my friend.”, she says primly.

“I see.” Erwin wonders what Levi talks about with a girl who is currently wearing what looks like an inch of glitter on her nails and comes up blank.

“I’m Petra, Petra Ral.” She extends a sparkling hand towards him, her fingers curling tight around his as they shake. “Mm, I can see what he meant about you.”

Resisting the urge to ask for clarification on that statement takes more self-control than he’s willing to admit. He draws a flower on Petra’s latte and a familiar smiley face he’s seen on a thousand band shirts on Levi’s and makes a point not to look up to see the latter’s reaction to it through the window.

“Say psyche!”, are the exact words that leave Erwin’s lips immediately upon seeing a curly haired boy decked in flannel appear a few days later.

Outside the window, Levi gives him a cheerful wave as if there could be any mistake who sent him when this one is dressed like a taller copy of him right down to the same colour of Vans. On him however, it looks more like a poser’s idea of grunge and less natural. The kid shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“Two lattes please.” His voice cracks halfway through, shooting up an entire octave between words. He clears his throat in obvious embarrassment. “Two lattes. To go.”

Erwin isn’t so far past puberty that he’s forgotten how humiliating the entire process can be. He takes mercy and shelves the lecture he’d mentally queued up for the next one of Levi’s little gang to show up.

“Isn’t that the kid from the wall?” Carla asks, squinting at the two of them where they stand outside clutching the paper cups. Levi had actually smiled at the sight of the carefully written NIᴎ in froth today; enough to make his heart do an odd swoop. “I thought you were the one to ban him. You still served him?”

Erwin shrugs and turns away to wipe down the crumbs from newly-vacated tables. “He’s technically not entering the premises. Can’t bar his friends, too, just because they want to buy him a coffee.” He finishes his shift just as the sun is going down and the Walls cast long shadows across entire blocks of streets. Somehow it isn’t a surprise to find Levi sitting on the curb outside waiting for him, rolling his board back and forth under one foot on the tarmac.

“You should just unban me, man. I know you think you’re all that and a bag of chips, but you gotta admit, I beat your system.”

Erwin doesn’t respond, just hits the code to set the alarm and locks the door after him. The sound of wheels follows him down the street.

“I know you can hear me, Erwin.” Levi sounds amused.

He doesn’t slow down. Overhead the street lights are just beginning to come on, providing a miniscule amount of warmth that is probably purely psychological each time he steps into their glow.

“Now who’s the one with their head up their ass, huh?”

They make it the entire way back to his place like that with Levi tailing him a few metres behind. There’s a brief minute where Erwin thinks he’s lost him in the shuffle between Walls when the other has to pull to a halt and scramble frantically through the depths of his pockets for a pass while the guards, recognising him since he makes this commute almost daily, wave Erwin through quickly. No sooner has he reached the corner of the next street though than Levi reappears, out of breath and grumbling about the stupid fucking system they live under.

He isn’t wrong. Paradis is a historical city, formed of three concentric Walls one inside the other built to withstand any army who opposed them. Outside, there is barely more than clumps of villages and farmland spaced out on roads that are half dirt. During the summer all of them pile into the Mustang he and Nana pooled their savings to buy when they were teenagers after closing and drive along pitch-black roads illuminated only by their headlights until they hit the coast, build campfires and sleep out on the beach.

Those nights feel a lifetime away now on the first of December with another month of winter ahead. Despite the fact there is no danger of the city being set upon by raiders nowadays, crossing between gates or going outside still requires passes that need to be applied for in the local district office. He’s not been turned down for one yet, but Erwin still feels a rush of nerves every year as he fills in the form, wondering if this will be the one that the past finally catches up with him and someone finally cross-checks his records.

His place isn’t much. Property prices rise in relation to how far inside the Walls one is, with the tiniest studio in Mitras costing over three times what he earns every month. The cottage had needed pretty extensive renovations when he’d moved in, having fallen into disrepair after the owner moved out, but it’s inside Rose and far enough away from both Walls that he can look out his window in the morning and pretend for a brief minute that they aren’t there. Levi looks as impressed though, as Erwin produced a key for the old palace, his grey gaze lingering on the neat window boxes awaiting spring to be replanted and the freshly painted front door. Erwin pauses on the threshold, glancing back for the first time.

“You coming in, or what?”

It’s considerably more cramped on the inside, mostly because every flat surface is covered in either stacks of books or tapes. Levi kicks off his shoes at the door and crosses the room on socked feet to inspect the latter, letting his board slip down to the ground while he digs through them.

“What kind of fucking system do you have? Everything is all mixed up.” The irritation in his voice is evident as his hands begin to form four neat piles, a frown growing on his lips when he has to pause to read through the tracklist of a mixtape before assigning it to a fifth tower. “Your friends have shitty taste, putting Guns on the same tape as George Michael.”

“That would be Hange. Her taste is ecliptic to say the least.” Erwin tugs out two beers from the fridge and holds one up, but gets a head shake in response.

“Tea, if you have it.”

He does have some left from his mother’s visit the month previous although he has to sniff it to check it still smells fresh. Leaving the kettle to boil, he returns to the living room where the stacks of tapes are growing steadily higher. Levi’s taken the opportunity to put on some music as he works and Erwin pauses in the door-frame, sipping his beer from the bottle, to watch him methodically work through the chaos, singing to himself under his breath.

“Pretty sure I don’t own this album.”

Levi doesn’t look up, “It’s mine.”

Of course. If he was to dig through those pockets, it wouldn’t surprise him to find a copy of Nevermind in there, too.

“Put these on the top shelf and get a fucking cloth first, I can see the dust from here.”

He obeys, pouring the now hot water into the cup while he’s in the kitchen and carrying both back in. They work in silence, Levi passing him stacks with strict instructions on how they are to be shelved as if he lives here. Somehow Erwin doesn’t mind at all. By the time they are finished, considerably more surface space has been freed up and just the books remain. Levi eyes them critically. “Next time.” He says dismissively, all easy confidence that he will return. “I gotta bounce before they close the main gates.”

“You want company?”

“Nah, I’m good. You got work tomorrow.” Just like that he is gone with a quick, mocking salute, his shadow stretching out behind him as he skates right down the centre of the street. Erwin shuts the door after him and surveys the room. At some point, they’d stopped the music to argue about whether Nine Inch Nails should be grouped as rock or metal and the silence suddenly feels deafening even though he’s been living alone for years now. He hits play and realises a second later Levi must have left his tape in the player because he doesn’t recognise the song.

“No, I can’t see you every night…” Cobain sings.

The light of the moon filters through his cheap curtains. Somewhere out there, Levi is making his way home through the dark streets. Erwin flops down onto the couch, flings an arm across his eyes and envisions him in motion.

“I do, I do, I do…”

“Here. Give this to him.”

Petra catches the tape in one hand deftly. She turns it over and her eyebrows raise, “He lent you his copy of Bleach?”

“No,” Erwin answers too quickly. “He left it at my place.” That, if anything, sounds worse, and his cheeks flush, “He came by to help me clean.”

“Mm. He does that.”

Ignoring the smug note to her voice and the implication in her words, Erwin reaches for the milk. Over the past week and a half, he’s come to learn that she takes three sugars and night classes in marketing in the local high school, the curly haired boy is called Oluo and prefers his coffee weak, the grouchy looking one whose only been in once, now currently lounging against the wall outside, is Gunther. There’s apparently another one he hasn’t met yet who is called Eld, who has the dubious honour of being the only one called to higher education, the reason for his absence. There are no local universities, unless one chooses long-distance mail-in courses like Hange is doing. Petra describes him almost lovingly as being the most annoying person she knows.

At some point he realised he now actively looks out for the dark rainbow of flannels and oversized knit sweaters that Levi keeps in constant rotation, a much smaller number than he’d first envisioned, and that his day feels off-kilter until at least one of the group shows up with their order. It varies every day which one it’s going to be, clearly determined by some long standing group schedule he isn’t privy to that they all follow like gospel, but Levi is always a given. He’s not made any attempt to breach his ban, just stands outside and performs the kind of tricks most skaters would kill themselves to learn with a casual air.

“You all seem like good friends.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised about it.”

“My dad used to say that opposites attract.” Erwin states slowly, choosing his words carefully while trying to keep his hand steady. As an adult, he wonders now if that had been the foundation of his parents’ relationship. It is hard to imagine a couple less suited to one another, but he has no memories of ever seeing them argue. “I’ve just never seen such an extreme case as you and Levi.”

Petra laughs at that like he’s said something truly hilarious, “As if.” She abruptly slides the tape back across the counter. “Give it to him yourself. We’ll be in the skatepark until late. You should swing by after you’re done.”

“She’s cute.” Hange comments quietly after the bell has tolled behind her. “You going to ask her out?”

“Not my type.”

“I forgot. You like the short dark-haired ones, right?”

The tone of the question makes him look over sharply; her gaze is focused on where both boys have stepped forwards to help unload the cups Petra cradles to her chest. Amongst the dark flannel, she looks like a lost exotic bird. She says something inaudible through the glass that makes the taller of the two laugh and makes Levi smile and rap his knuckles against her forehead lightly in admonishment. As if. The way she’d said it made it sound like there was an obvious problem in the idea that he was missing or that he should have figured out by now. Erwin doesn’t realise he’s staring until he meets Hange’s knowing look.

He tells himself he’s not going to go as he mindlessly cleans up and closes, the routine familiar enough to not to require much thought at this point. Yet when he finds himself out on the street, his feet begin to lead him away from the gate and deeper into Trost. Erwin’s never been a skater, but he knows where the park is from evenings spent trying to score weed with Mike. It wouldn’t be hard to find anyway since all he needs to do is follow the sound of the dozen kids that swarm the place. There’s a girl up on one of the higher ramps, hair whipping out behind her, dress tucked into what looks like a pair of men’s jeans. As he draws closer, he realises it’s Petra.

Up until now he’d pretty much dismissed her inclusion in the group as being the girlfriend of one of the boys, there by default. Levi had appeared to be the most likely candidate given how the other three gravitate around him like planets in orbit, but something in her earlier words rejects that notion. Seeing her in action, however, makes him rethink the presumption entirely. As he watches, her body tucks into itself, one hand holding onto the board as she flings herself into the air high enough to be a middle finger to gravity itself and turns a half circle. Petra lands it neatly, easy as breathing and slaps Gunther a five in passing.

“Good, isn’t she?” Levi’s voice makes Erwin jump. He’s watching with unmistakable pride, his own board standing on end against his leg. She must have warned him that Erwin was coming because he doesn’t seem surprised to find him here.

“The bomb.” Erwin scrambles through his bag to dig out the plastic box, holding it out to Levi. “You forgot this.”

The tape vanishes once more into the recesses of his pockets. “I taught her to skate. Now she’s almost as good as me.”

“Can you teach me?”

Levi studies him for an entire minute in silence, “You ever done an Ollie before?”

By the time Petra and the boys reappear, Erwin has managed to land one out of ten which is apparently not bad for a first attempt. All of the kids have emptied out over the last hour, their voices bright in the evening air as they complain about curfews and school the following morning. Levi tugs on knee-pads in the sudden silence they leave behind and climbs to the top of the ramp, a silhouette against the setting sun as he surveys the drop for a minute. Erwin watches as he balances on the edge for an endless second before tipping forwards. He shoots up the other side just as Petra did, turning a full circle in the air before coming back down. None of them seem impressed though. The second pass he lands on his knees when he goes up, hard enough to make him wince. The third time, he goes back and forth a few times to build up speed. Even to someone with limited experience on a board, it’s clear he’s got a goal in mind.

“What’s he doing?”, Erwin asks.

Gunther puts a finger on his lips and jerks his head back towards the ramp. The expression on his face borders on reverence.

Levi repeats the same actions as before, building up speed before rising up over the edge again. This time, he tucks himself into a ball, turning up and over into an almost somersault with his feet above him in the air before the board touches down cleanly. The skill level required to do something like that is unimaginable. He doesn’t so much as smile.

“540!” Oluo whoops, pumping one fist into the air. “Fuck yeah, man.”

“We knew you could do it.” Petra grins from under his shirt where Oluo had tucked it around her exposed shoulders with a mutter about how she never could dress right for the weather. The gesture had instantly endeared him to Erwin a lot more.

Levi bumps fists with the boys when he ambles back over, tugs up the collar of the shirt around Petra’s neck in an absently sweet gesture, and stops dead in front of Erwin expectantly.

He wants to tell him that it’s the most impressive thing he’d ever seen someone do on a board, that he didn’t even know something like that was possible. They’re standing close enough for him to feel the heat off Levi’s skin in the chilly air, close enough that Erwin could reach out and bump their fists together without thinking like he’d done with the others.

There would be nothing unusual about that.

It’s the kind of easy gesture he and Mike do all the time; something that is natural amongst men as an acceptable form of affection between friends. Are they friends? This is, after all, only the third time they’ve interacted directly if you don’t count messages written in latte foam. Surely Levi wouldn’t have bothered to tidy up his place if they weren’t? Yes, they are friends and that means Erwin can touch him without it being weird. A hand on his shoulder maybe, but that might feel awkward with their height difference and come across somewhat condescending. The dark green flannel, long enough to reach halfway down equally oversized jeans, looks soft from frequent washing and he can imagine how it would feel to touch it.

“We’re going.”

The words are an unpleasant jerk back to reality. Levi has already turned away towards the exit, his fingertips brushing Erwin’s sleeve lightly to indicate who the “we” in that sentence is.

It’s contact, but not enough.

Oluo pauses in mid-argument with Gunther over the technicalities of some trick to mutter a “see you around, man” and Petra waves them off enthusiastically with the promise, “I’ll teach you how to kickflip next time!” Erwin mutters something vague in return. His longer legs let him catch up with Levi easily, a dim figure ahead of him in the dark. The two of them walk in silence for a few minutes, the smaller pushing himself leisurely along on the board to allow him to keep pace. At the gate, there is the same flustered pantomime as last time as he digs through his pockets before producing his pass. As Levi is tucking it away, Erwin catches a glimpse of the name on it. It looks suspiciously like a P and a H, the brief thought crossing his mind that Levi must be a nickname although he cannot imagine what for then he thinks no more about it once they are through.

“You listen to the tape?”

“Yeah, it’s awesome.” Erwin doesn’t need to glance down to see the doubtful look on his face so he adds, “About A Girl. I like that one.”

“You would.”

What follows is an incredibly detailed history and analysis of the album that lasts the entire way back to Erwin’s place. It’s the most he’s heard Levi talk thus far; possibly the most he’s ever said at one time. Normally this kind of single-minded focus would secretly irritate him a little, like with Hange when she drones on about their latest laboratory work, yet for once he is content to listen, to watch the way the other comes alive while he’s talking about something that he loves. They linger outside his door, breaths coming out as white puffs while Levi winds down his lecture on how Bleach was an underappreciated work of genius that got eclipsed by a whole bunch of posers latching onto Nevermind without sufficient respect for the minds behind it.

The talk finishes so abruptly that it takes Erwin half a minute to realise that it is over and that Levi is clearly awaiting some kind of response to it all. In the cold air, his pale cheeks are flushed a rosy pink. How easy would it be to do what he hadn’t gotten to earlier and reach out to touch him? No-one else is out on the street this late after dark. And if they were, what would be unusual about it?

Nothing.

Nothing is stopping him except for his own hesitation and the old stomach-clenching fear, a constant plague since his teenage years when he’d first made some startling realisations, that he could give himself away with just one mistimed gesture. Were either of them a girl, they’d probably have already exchanged mixtapes by now. Erwin blinks. As usual, he has overthought the situation and the moment has passed. Typical Erwin. Marie’s exasperatedly fond voice echoes in his mind clear as day in spite of all the years that have passed since they last talked. Too trapped in your own mind.

“That’s cool,” is all he can muster up to say.

“See you tomorrow.” Levi calls over his shoulder, apparently his reply as he skates away.

“See ya.”

Just like that, a new routine begins to develop.

Erwin still goes to work, gets screamed at by customers, and contemplates quitting twice a day. This was supposed to be a temporary job after all, one that grows more permanent looking every year the longer he lets himself linger in indecisiveness. He won’t quit, he knows. It’s simply nice to imagine. On the days when he doesn’t have plans with Mike or Nana, he goes to the skatepark where they hang out for hours, trading blunts back and forth although Levi never takes so much as a hit, just passes it on each time that it comes his way.

Petra makes good on her promise, proving to be a talented teacher. Under her guidance, Erwin learns the basics along with greater respect for the kind of magic they’re capable of. Levi walks him home afterwards each night, their shadows and time blurring into one another in a pleasant haze that acts as a barrier from the freezing air. Conversation flows easily with him, except for the occasions he tries to ask any kind of personal question. Then Levi turns evasive and redirects the subject to something else. They’ve known each other for a month now, but Erwin has no clue where he lives or where he’s from, whether he has family within the Walls or if it’s just him.

One day, a week before Christmas, a brown-haired boy turns up, hands shoved in his pockets as he watches Levi skate the ramp from a bench a few metres away. None of the group acknowledge his arrival, but Levi walks away towards him automatically once he’s done. He hunkers down in front of the boy, looking as unsurprised to find him here as he had with Erwin.

“That’s Furlan.” Petra tells him like the name ought to mean something to him. As if. She had said with a smile when he’d hinted at the idea of her and Levi dating. Erwin watches the pair conversing with their heads close together– one light, one dark. A realisation tugs at the corner of his mind. He thinks he understands now looking at them why she’d laughed, but childishly doesn’t want to ask her to confirm what part of him already knows to be true. Levi stands abruptly, one hand dropping to squeeze the newcomer’s shoulder in a blink-and-you’d-miss-it gesture before walking towards them and Erwin has to glance away quickly to avoid getting caught staring.

“Erwin?”

He looks up, feigning surprise. “Yeah?”

Levi has paused a few metres away, Furlan right behind him. “You good to get yourself home tonight?”

Erwin nods, swallows down his disappointment so that none of it will come through in his voice as he tells him, “You should come by the café tomorrow. Say hi to everyone else there.”

“You hit your head when Petra was teaching you or something? I’m banned, remember?”

“Not anymore. I took your photo off the wall.”

Levi’s lips twitch into what might be considered a smile for him. “I’ll come then.”

He actually walks in this time, board nowhere in sight for once.

Saigon Kick is playing on the radio which ranks significantly higher than Wreckx-N-Effect in terms of scene setting, but cannot be of much use when he isn’t alone this time. Hot on his heels is Furlan dressed in the same flannel shirt Levi had been wearing the first time they’d met, but it looks like it might be the correct size for him. The latter immediately crosses the room to snag the last free table by the windows while Levi approaches the counter to order.

“Friend of yours?” Erwin asks as he rings him up. Levi digs in his pocket for a minute before producing a handful of change and spills it across the counter. Erwin ducks his head over the pile to count it, grateful that his face is obscured at the answer:

“Boyfriend.”

The abruptness with which he declares it is shocking; an open “take it or leave it” statement that shows no regard for whether or not anyone has an issue with what this implies about him. Pale chin lifts defiantly, grey eyes blazing. Erwin’s brain goes blank when he searches for an appropriate response.

“That’s nice.” He manages too late for it to ring true.

Behind him, from where his supposed friend is pulling an espresso comes a strange noise that sounds like a snort.

“Sorry. Bertha’s been acting up all morning.” She says cheerfully. “One tea, one cappuccino, right? I’m Hange, by the way.”

Erwin leaves them to chatter, the conversation flowing mostly from Hange’s side, while he takes the next order. She’d make conversation with a wall if it was possible. They once had to have an intervention to stop her from making friends with the goddamn raccoon that occupied the alley next to The Scouts. She’d cried real tears of sorrow the day the city council showed up to take it away too.

At the next break between customers, he sneaks glances over at the couple. The brown-haired boy, Levi’s boyfriend, though he doesn’t know why the word feels so strange in his mind because it would be nothing less than hypocritical for him to have an issue with this, is slumped down in his chair, a wide grin on his lips as he talks enthusiastically about something inaudible under the din of conversation from the other tables around them. Opposite him, Levi is inattentively stirring his tea with one hand, the other propping up his chin. There’s a small smile on his lips, a real one that makes yesterday’s look like the dim glow of a candle compared to the warmth of the sun, while he listens. His whole face is soft and utterly unlike what Erwin has seen before.

Of course not.

That is a side of him that exclusively belongs to Furlan. A few nights of walking home together does not entitle him to anything and if Erwin had begun to question in the back of his mind whether or not those walks meant anything, then it is his own fault for doing so when Levi had probably just been being nice. Miserably, he returns his attention to loading the dishwasher with the dirty mugs and pretends he does not feel Hange’s pitying gaze.

An hour later, a girl with bright red hair literally bounces in the door and over to their table. Erwin tries not to eavesdrop and fails miserably. “Big brother! You promised you’d teach me to grind the rail today.”

“I did, did I?”, Levi heaves a weary sigh as he pushes himself up, yet the tiny smile never wavers. It’s sad though he’s seeing an entirely different person from the one he has gotten to know these last few weeks. “I better get to it then, huh?”

He doesn’t even look back at Erwin as the three of them leave together, the girl talking nineteen-to-the-dozen and pulling both of them along by the hand.

“Haven’t seen you around the last few days.” There’s no barbs to Petra’s tone like there might be with other people, just a simple statement of fact. It’s what he likes about her.

“Been busy.” Erwin curses under his breath just as the heart that he’s drawing turns lopsided.

Her fingers brush against his as she takes the cup. “Don’t be a stranger, alright? You’ve still got a lot to learn.” Gentle as the reprimand is, it still stings to think his absence has been noticed and how it might be interpreted given what Levi had just told him.

In fact, his stomach immediately clenches at the thought. He promises to come by that evening and only realises once she’s out the door that was probably her goal in the first place. Selfishly, he persuades Hange to help him close on the last shift before they shut for Christmas and to tag along with the half-formed notion that she could be, in the worst case scenario, a buffer to any awkwardness.

It turns out there was no need to worry however since none of the group comment on his disappearance or reappearance when they show up that night. To his irritation, Furlan is already there. Erwin gives him a brief nod of acknowledgment, receiving one in return. Thankfully, he seems to have the same level of social skills as his boyfriend because there are no further attempts at establishing friendship before he and Levi return to some trick they are both determined to master at the apparent cost of their kneecaps.

Hange wanders over, delighted when the conversation turns towards the technical and she, having never once been on a board in her life as far as Erwin is aware, weighs in eagerly on the physics side of it. This mostly seems to consist of Levi or Furlan hurtling themselves up into the air, landing heavily and then the three of them talking intently about whatever that particular attempt might mean. Losing his Hange-sized safety-net is worth it both for the dual reasons of seeing Furlan falling on his ass repeatedly and for the little grin that lights up Levi’s face when he finally lands it. He and Petra quickly give up their pretence of classes in favour of passing a cigarette back and forth as they watch. Gunther and Oluo joining them after a few minutes.

In spite of the chill in the air, two days before Christmas, none of them are particularly eager to go home and not long after that there is the general consensus that one of them should do a beer run. Erwin volunteers along with Levi. Neither of them speak until they’re halfway to the corner shop.

“We good, man?” The cautious note in his voice is a knife to the heart.

How easy it would be to tell him now. How sweet it would be to talk to someone who could understand. Someone who would accept him with no hesitations.

Erwin opens his mouth to speak and, just as they have for the past ten years, the words do not come out. “We’re good.” He waits until they are a few metres on before asking, gesturing with his head back towards the skatepark. “Do they know?”

“Petra does. Someone called me a queer in front of her once. Kneed him so hard in the balls we had to call an ambulance.” Unsurprisingly, he sounds just as pleased by this as he’d been about her skating skills. Maybe Levi had taught her that too. He’s small but it wouldn’t be surprising to learn he knew how to fight; there’s the suggestion of it in the hard way he holds himself.

As they approach the fluorescent sign of the 24-hour convenience store, Levi’s fingers clench abruptly in his sleeve to draw him to a stop. The harsh overhead lighting makes the omnipresent dark circles under his eyes look even worse than usual.

“Don’t tell them.”

“I won’t.” Impulsively, without knowing why he does it, he smacks his fist against his heart in a gesture traditional to children upon making a sacred vow.

Levi stares at him for an entire minute before cracking up, nearly bent double as he laughs. “You’re such a fucking dork.” He snorts, a genuine, undignified snort that would be off-putting from anyone else but is the sweetest sound Erwin has ever heard, “How goddamn old are you?” His fingers tighten in Erwin’s sleeve briefly, circling Erwin’s wrist lightly. He’s still smiling when they arrive back, laden with a couple boxes of six packs. That is almost enough to dull the strange ache in his chest at the sight of Levi automatically arranging himself cross-legged next to Furlan on the thin grass. They aren’t touching, but their bodies seem to curve into each other unconsciously as though they hold the shape of each other still.

Hange finds a space next to Erwin opposite the couple in the asymmetrical circle they make, nudging him gently with an elbow to get his attention. “Thanks for bringing me along.” She murmurs for just them to hear. “This is really nice.”

There’s no way he can tell her his original reason for dragging her along in the face of such sweetness, therefore he settles for ruffling her messy brown hair and passing her one of the beers damp with condensation.

They stay there, swapping stories and blasting music from a boombox, until their bones grow stiff with cold and Petra falls asleep with her head on Gunther’s lap and has to be shaken awake before frostbite sets in. The moonlight is bright overhead while Erwin and Levi walk Hange home, woozy with tiredness and carefully positioned between them to prevent her from wandering into the road. She throws her arms around Erwin’s shoulders to give him a hug when they arrive at her door and does the same to Levi before he can stop her and disappears inside. By unspoken agreement, the two of them automatically turn left to take the longer route back to Erwin’s although it is already late.

“You got any plans for Christmas?” This is the closest he’s verged to a personal question in weeks, having come to respect Levi’s unwillingness to speak on the subject.

Maybe it’s the three beers he drank earlier, although he seems perfectly sober still in spite of his small stature, but Levi doesn’t dodge it as normal.

“Not really. We don’t celebrate holidays much.” The automatic use of the plural stings; a reminder of that same closeness he’d glimpsed earlier in the way they sat together. “Isobel, I think you saw her that day we came in, she’s been wigglin’ for weeks. Even insisted we get a tree. Just like a kid. What about you? Got family to go back to?”

Erwin thinks of his mother and the empty place at the table, the awkward silence of two people that have nothing to say to one another. How every year the things they can’t speak about seem to grow louder and louder.

“My mother.”

If the words don’t sound particularly enthusiastic, Levi seems to afford him the same respect and doesn’t push it. “My mum always said I was born on Christmas so I didn’t have to get her a present. Cheesy shit. Still got her something every year and her whole fucking face would lit up like I’d brought home diamonds.”

There is possibly more personal information in that one sentence, spoken so casually with his face tipped up towards the stars, than he’s volunteered in the entirety of the previous month. Unsure where to begin with all of it, Erwin latches onto what he deems to be the safest part to press, “It’s your birthday? I didn’t get you anything.”

“Don’t have to. We’re friends, aren’t we? Everything else is just bullshit.”

“Yeah, we’re friends.” He echoes and looks up at the glittering sky above them. The news on the radio that morning had predicted snow, the last fall of 1992 but there isn’t a cloud in the sky. “Happy birthday, Levi.”

“Thanks.”

The next morning proves that the forecasters do occasionally get things right since Erwin wakes to find everything dusted in a thick coat of powder. He tugs on his heaviest coat and opens the door to almost step onto a package wrapped in brown paper sitting on the doorstep. Levi must have doubled back last night after they’d said goodnight because he has to dust snow off the top where it accumulated overnight.

The damp paper gives way easily to his nail, he tips the envelope up to empty the small plastic-wrapped box out onto his hand. The design is instantly familiar and Erwin laughs in surprised delight, turning the tape over in his hand to read through the track list as he shuts the door behind him again. His mother will be furious if he is late, yet he does not hurry on as he should. Instead he removes the previous cassette from the player and slits open the new box. The first attempt, he hits fast forward a beat too long and goes too far ahead so that he winds up halfway through the first verse and has to backtrack until finally he gets it right and finds the start of the song.

I need an easy friend, I do...

Somewhere maybe far away or maybe close by, Levi could be listening to the same album as he bickers over a tree or cuts into a birthday cake. He pictures that same smile on his face that he’d seen at the café with the two of them, the softest side of him. That image lingers in his mind all day, providing enough warmth to dispel the icy tension of his mother’s until long after the final snow has melted.