When they meet, Erwin’s married. Levi takes one look at the ring on his finger, twists his lips, and says, “I don’t fuck married guys.”
Erwin nods. Erwin wears three-piece suits and worry in the wrinkles by the corners of his eyes. He’s nursing a whiskey that he’s been working at all night. “I respect that,” he says. “But I’m not asking you to fuck me.”
"Then what are you asking for?"
"Fuck," Levi snorts, shaking his head. This has bad idea written all over it and he knows it. But Levi’s life has been a series of bad decisions, things he did despite knowing better not to; he doesn’t regret them, really, but he isn’t proud of them either. "Why not?"
"You don’t have to," Erwin tells him. He means it, too, and Levi knows he does, even if the open turning of Erwin’s body in his direction is hopeful.
He has a vague suspicion of how this will all end. It doesn’t stop him from agreeing, from wanting things that aren’t his and have never been his—knowing how it ends never has. That’s always been the root of his problems.
"It’s fine." He waves down the bartender to order another drink.
Erwin doesn’t press further. His mouth simply curves softly instead.