Even through the softness of the breath, Erwin instantly recognizes that voice.
It's the one he's come to know better than any other, especially in the way it sounds when it forms his name. The memories of his last moments of life are particularly muddied - marred by pain and a waning consciousness, but one of the few things he does remember in those last, fleeting moments, is this voice.
As their lanterns float away into the dark, Erwin turns, expecting to see him through a veil of life and death, near but untouchable, as he has been for a time he can't even determine. It shouldn't seem all that long ago, really, but suddenly the true length and profundity of their separation is as real as the breath in his lungs.
Levi.
Erwin stares back from less than a full pace away, taking him in in the soft glow of a thousand candles. It nearly seems as though they're enshrined, the din of anything else around them falling away to a distant murmur. It feels impossible that he wouldn't have noticed Levi's familiar presence before he'd gotten so close. How could he have missed it, even through death and time and another world? Yet perhaps that bond, something so precious and indelible, had drawn them together after all. In a perfect mirror-image of the last time they stood together amidst death and hopelessness, they're reunited in this space, memorializing those they've lost...could there be any better place?
Erwin knows he's alive because his lungs burn when he stops breathing. He takes a breath, shaking and unsteady through the hurricane of emotions in his chest. Elation and agony and all their kin in nearly equal measure tearing little holes in his heart in a way he didn't feel beyond the veil of death. Levi can see him again, and all Erwin has to do is reach out and touch him to confirm that he is real, that he isn't just a spirit lurking in the beyond to witness his pain with a distant heart.
Perhaps his sense of time is still askew, and hours seem to pass when in reality it is merely a few heartbeats. Perhaps, too, he has no right to reach his hand out to Levi, to touch fingertips softly to his cheek, to cup it tenderly in his palm. Erwin certainly has no right to the faint smile that pulls at the corners of his lips, to the joy and relief that only just overtake sadness in his eyes. But death has a way of erasing certain inhibitions, if not all of them, and if he couldn't allow himself even this much, then truly, why is he here at all?
Maybe it's selfish to assume that his touch is wanted, even after everything. Especially so.
His gaze slides over Levi's face, and Erwin drinks him in, memorizing every detail familiar and new like a man who has just regained his sight. He knew of wounds, the scars, the ruined eye, now white instead of steely gray, and of the others still hidden from view. But seeing them, truly, for the first time twists the familiar, ugly knife of guilt and sorrow in his chest.
How could he atone for it all? To Levi? To any of them? Levi had lived, but even his strongest soldier, his sharpest blade, his dearest companion, couldn't escape becoming mangled and marked by Erwin's legacy.
Perhaps if this is some sort of second chance, he'll find a way to make that suffering worth it.
Somehow, amongst the tumult in his heart, Erwin finds his voice. It's just as fragile.
no subject
It's the one he's come to know better than any other, especially in the way it sounds when it forms his name. The memories of his last moments of life are particularly muddied - marred by pain and a waning consciousness, but one of the few things he does remember in those last, fleeting moments, is this voice.
As their lanterns float away into the dark, Erwin turns, expecting to see him through a veil of life and death, near but untouchable, as he has been for a time he can't even determine. It shouldn't seem all that long ago, really, but suddenly the true length and profundity of their separation is as real as the breath in his lungs.
Levi.
Erwin stares back from less than a full pace away, taking him in in the soft glow of a thousand candles. It nearly seems as though they're enshrined, the din of anything else around them falling away to a distant murmur. It feels impossible that he wouldn't have noticed Levi's familiar presence before he'd gotten so close. How could he have missed it, even through death and time and another world? Yet perhaps that bond, something so precious and indelible, had drawn them together after all. In a perfect mirror-image of the last time they stood together amidst death and hopelessness, they're reunited in this space, memorializing those they've lost...could there be any better place?
Erwin knows he's alive because his lungs burn when he stops breathing. He takes a breath, shaking and unsteady through the hurricane of emotions in his chest. Elation and agony and all their kin in nearly equal measure tearing little holes in his heart in a way he didn't feel beyond the veil of death. Levi can see him again, and all Erwin has to do is reach out and touch him to confirm that he is real, that he isn't just a spirit lurking in the beyond to witness his pain with a distant heart.
Perhaps his sense of time is still askew, and hours seem to pass when in reality it is merely a few heartbeats. Perhaps, too, he has no right to reach his hand out to Levi, to touch fingertips softly to his cheek, to cup it tenderly in his palm. Erwin certainly has no right to the faint smile that pulls at the corners of his lips, to the joy and relief that only just overtake sadness in his eyes. But death has a way of erasing certain inhibitions, if not all of them, and if he couldn't allow himself even this much, then truly, why is he here at all?
Maybe it's selfish to assume that his touch is wanted, even after everything. Especially so.
His gaze slides over Levi's face, and Erwin drinks him in, memorizing every detail familiar and new like a man who has just regained his sight. He knew of wounds, the scars, the ruined eye, now white instead of steely gray, and of the others still hidden from view. But seeing them, truly, for the first time twists the familiar, ugly knife of guilt and sorrow in his chest.
How could he atone for it all? To Levi? To any of them? Levi had lived, but even his strongest soldier, his sharpest blade, his dearest companion, couldn't escape becoming mangled and marked by Erwin's legacy.
Perhaps if this is some sort of second chance, he'll find a way to make that suffering worth it.
Somehow, amongst the tumult in his heart, Erwin finds his voice. It's just as fragile.
"Yes. It's me, Levi."