[ It doesn't last long - his sharpest grief rarely does. It's the quick stab of a knife, blade into his chest, acute, horrid pain. The rest will linger, forever a wound, rarely a scar.
Levi lifts his head, sniffing hard, because he's not about to get snot in Eren's hair (truly he has no problem with crying as a show of emotion, but the physical act of it is so often messy and gross). He shifts one arm to find the handkerchief in his pocket, but doesn't pull away from Eren yet. A word or two of fuck and gross gets muttered under his breath as he cleans up his own face carefully, then exhales.
When he finally does start to shift backward, raw around the edges, Levi drags a few fingertips through Eren's hair, combing it back into place. He sighs, looking down at the teen where he sits, corners of his eyes tinted red. Perhaps moreso than ever before now, he looks...tired. Worn.
So many hours and moments spent wrapped up in anxiety and worry, he finally just asks: ]
SOBS WITH U
Levi lifts his head, sniffing hard, because he's not about to get snot in Eren's hair (truly he has no problem with crying as a show of emotion, but the physical act of it is so often messy and gross). He shifts one arm to find the handkerchief in his pocket, but doesn't pull away from Eren yet. A word or two of fuck and gross gets muttered under his breath as he cleans up his own face carefully, then exhales.
When he finally does start to shift backward, raw around the edges, Levi drags a few fingertips through Eren's hair, combing it back into place. He sighs, looking down at the teen where he sits, corners of his eyes tinted red. Perhaps moreso than ever before now, he looks...tired. Worn.
So many hours and moments spent wrapped up in anxiety and worry, he finally just asks: ]
What do you need from me, Eren?