Ryan talking about how you never really hear about ghosts from like 2010 wearing ripped jeans and a flannel is hilarious and also true but I cannot describe the fear I would feel if some dead douchebag whispered “YOLO” in my ear during a ghost hunt.
the summer humidity sticks to them, makes their shirts damp, and their faces slick and shiny. levi kicks his feet out as they walk in an attempt to exercise the muscles he hasn’t used in almost three hours.
they had droned on like bees through the hottest time of the day, buzzing but not producing any honey. tall men in long coats, hands folded on expensive wood found outside of wall sina–a place that has been closed off for over a year since shinganshina fell.
a charade. a game. all of which erwin is an expert. he uses his drones. he makes the honey.
they praise levi, call him “humanity’s strongest”. mention his kill count as if it’s accurate at all–as if it matters at all. the titan’s kill count is higher. much higher.
“i recognized it first.” erwin says. it sounds protective, stern, all while being so incredibly matter-of-fact. levi can smell the pomade in his hair, sweet like sap but tangled in his intoxicating musk.
levi walks along side erwin’s right side, close enough that their arms are touching.
“your potential.” erwin answers the unasked question. “i’m glad they’re noticing it now too.” they exit the building into the courtyard, their carriage waiting to bring them back to headquarters. “makes my job easier."
levi isn’t sure why he’s saying all this. he knows it all, has had it implied through actions. lance corporal is a title never held by another. no other solider drinks the black tea that he does. erwin finds him special.
“i’m proud of you."
levi’s lips twitch into a frown. his cheeks flush against the heat of the outdoors, the sun radiating against his dark hair, cooking his scalp, reddening his neck and cheeks and nose. he sighs out softly, almost inaudibly. finds he can’t find the words to respond, so chooses not to all.