Chapter Text
Was there an expiry date on passion?
Does it sour long before love does?
And if so, what were the signs?
Levi had never imagined himself in what others might call a loveless marriage. Yet after ten years with a silver band circling his finger, the once-meaningful symbol now felt more like a shackle - cold, unyielding, and far too tight. He exhaled a slow, tired sigh, the ring catching a glint of the bar's low, amber light as he swirled his wine.
‘Don’t you think?’
Hange’s voice broke through the fog in his mind, and suddenly the bar rushed back around him, as if she had opened the floodgates to his surroundings. Layers of conversation overlapped, a background hum beneath the rich, smoky tones of the jazz singer crooning into the night. The slap of the double bass echoed softly in his chest, but did nothing to lift the weight inside it.
He could feel Hange’s eyes on him. Curious, patient, too knowing. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
‘What?’
‘The wine,’ she said. ‘I asked what you thought of the wine. It’s not like you to let me choose. Even less like you to drink something outside your usual.’
She leaned forward, candlelight flickering in her glasses, the flame catching like a question she didn’t want to ask. Her face was a careful blend of concern and restraint. She knew any overt sympathy would be met with a wall of ice.
‘Do I even want to know what’s going on in that head of yours?’
Levi resisted the urge to sigh again; if he let one more out, he might just collapse into the velvet embrace of the armchair and disappear entirely. Honestly, the idea wasn’t unappealing.
’Erwin’s in France again,’ he said at last. ‘Another business trip.’ Only the sixth international trip of the year, and it was barely May.
His gaze drifted sideways, narrowing slightly as the louder patrons near the bar let out a round of laughter. Did they not understand the tone of this place? The soft lighting, the jazz, the carefully curated quiet - it was meant for escape, not disruption.
’I get it,’ Hange said gently. ‘Lonely?’
He gave a short, hollow laugh.
’No lonelier than when he’s home,’ Levi muttered.
Loveless marriage.
Levi turned the phrase over in his mind, chewing on the taste of it as he lifted his glass. It hadn’t always been that way.
A decade ago, he would’ve died for Erwin, and nearly had, more than once. His love for the blond man had sharpened his already lethal instincts into something even more precise, more dangerous. And Erwin, ever the strategist, had wielded him like a weapon. They’d fucked the way they’d lived - raw, relentless, and without apology.
So maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that ten years, a trail of bodies left behind in the name of work, three businesses, and several millions of dollars later… the flame had begun to flicker.
What had once been a life charged with adrenaline and unpredictability had become something sterile. Predictable. Mundane. The battlefield had been swapped for boardrooms, and Levi - once the silent executioner of the city’s underbelly - had become the sharp-suited ruler of a corporate empire.
He supposed he owed Erwin for that. For pulling him out of the blood-soaked streets, for offering something close to a normal life. But over the years, it began to feel like Erwin believed that salvation meant erasure. That with enough time, enough silence, the blood on Levi’s hands would fade away.
Another crack of laughter burst from the group by the bar.
Levi’s assessing eyes flicked toward them. Young, loud, drunk on novelty. A blonde girl tilted her head back to laugh at something the man in front of her had said. He was tall, his unruly hair catching the light as he leaned in closer. Even through the bar’s dim haze, his sun-warmed skin stood out, glowing faintly like something just out of reach.
Levi took another sip of his shiraz, the wine dark and full-bodied, a poor distraction.
‘It’s harder not to think about it,’ he said finally, voice low. ‘When he’s off doing who knows what… with fuck knows who.’
He didn’t look at Hange, didn’t acknowledge the flicker of something that crossed her face. Pity, maybe. Or restrained fury. She’d never made her disdain for Erwin a secret. But even now, with everything he knew, everything he felt... some part of Levi still flinched at hearing criticism against him. Even unspoken.
‘You know exactly what he’s doing,’ Hange said, irritation bleeding into every word. ‘He’s not even trying to be discreet with his…’
She pulled a face, searching for the right word before it landed.
‘…dalliances.’
’What he does is none of my business,’ Levi replied, voice flat. ‘Or yours.’
‘He’s your husband.’ The word landed like a challenge. ‘Why do you tolerate this? Why do you keep defending him?’
Levi held her stare, calm on the surface, but turmoil churned quietly beneath.
‘It was a mutual decision.’
Hange snorted. ‘Don’t feed me that bullshit.’
‘It was,’ he insisted, the lie smooth from repetition. ‘Travel is hard on him. Work is hard on him. He deserves a break.’
‘And you don’t?’ She dropped her hands onto the table with a soft thud, making the small candle between them flicker. Her stare was sharp and unyielding, one that no one else would dare turn on him.
‘You deserve joy too, Levi. You can’t keep playing the part of the tragic housewife while he screws around with whatever pretty distraction crosses his path.’
He didn’t flinch, but her words landed all the same. Levi's thumb drifted to the underside of his ring, tracing the engraved band like a reflex. The silence between them stretched - heavy, familiar.
Hange was still the only person who spoke to him like this. Who could. After all these years, her brashness didn’t grate on him the way others’ did. If anything, it anchored him.
And yet, it also forced him to look at truths he’d spent a long time trying not to see.
It had been months - years, even - of their sex life slowly eroding before Erwin brought up the proposition.
By then, the intimacy had already begun to rot beneath the surface. On the rare occasions when Erwin was actually home, sex felt more like a ritual than desire - an obligation, something to tick off a list. Mechanical. Measured.
The same routine every time: Levi turning his head away from kisses that no longer felt like his, Erwin flipping him over without a word, hot breath in his ear that stirred nothing but numbness.
Then silence.
Then sleep.
Levi would emerge from the shower, damp hair clinging to his face, only to find Erwin already drifting beneath the sheets. Present in body, absent in every other way.
Like everything else in their carefully constructed life, even their once-wild, once-consuming sex had become... predictable.
Erwin was never one for compromise. Always on top. Always in control. What Levi wanted barely factored in anymore. Any attempt at conversation spiraled into argument. Raised voices, slammed doors. Erwin disappearing into the city night, needing to ‘clear his head.’
Levi left alone, again, in the dark.
So when Erwin finally broached the subject of opening their marriage, he presented it like a gift.
A solution.
A generous offering to ease the pressure.
But to Levi, it felt less like a gift and more like a surrender. A quiet admission that the fire they’d once shared had burned out.
And only one of them was still standing in the ash.
Yet another burst of laughter shattered the ambiance, snapping Levi’s thinning patience. How many times could one group of loud-mouthed twenty-somethings interrupt his brooding? He shot them a glare through the low lighting. Most of them barely looked old enough to drink.
He let his gaze drift over them, slow and impassive, the way he might scan a room for threats. A force of habit more than anything.
And then he stopped.
Grey locked with green.
The tall man, who had only been a blurred profile before, had turned, leaning his forearms against the bar. The light hit just enough to illuminate the lines of his face: sharp jaw, tanned skin, brown hair curling slightly at the edges. Striking. Effortlessly so. And those eyes - vivid, focused, unmistakably green - were staring directly at him.
Levi held the gaze. Still. Waiting.
Something tightened in his chest, something that whispered attention. He was no stranger to admiring glances. He'd endured his share - some obvious, some subtle, some that left little to the imagination. But this… this felt different. There was no hunger in the man’s gaze, no lecherous edge. Just openness. Hazy curiosity, like someone seeing something that caught them off-guard and didn’t know what to make of it.
The man didn’t flinch. Didn’t glance away.
Until he blinked.
Sharpness flooded his eyes suddenly, like clarity snapping into place. He looked startled, almost guilty. Levi caught it: the slight widening of his eyes, the way he froze for a beat too long.
Shock?
Embarrassment?
Levi lifted a single, perfectly arched brow, amused. Even in the dim light, the colour rising in the younger man’s face was impossible to miss.
Boy? Levi mused briefly. Or just young enough to make me feel old?
The man stumbled as he turned, his foot catching on the leg of the barstool in a graceless move that only confirmed his fluster. But before he fully turned away, he looked back. A fleeting glance. As if to confirm Levi had been looking at him, too.
He had.
Levi took a slow, deliberate sip of his wine. The glass tilted just enough to catch the flicker of candlelight. His lips curled, almost imperceptibly.
Interesting.
*****
Eren tore through his wardrobe, muttering obscenities under his breath. Every harsh scrape of a hanger against the rail grated on his nerves, fueling his growing frustration. He flipped through his shirts like they held the solution to some impossible code.
‘Fuck!’
Another shirt hit the ever-growing ‘no’ pile dominating his bed. His annoyance was quickly curdling into full-blown hopelessness.
What the hell was he supposed to wear to this shit, anyway?
He didn’t want to be ungrateful - Historia was his friend, and he loved her, he really did - but her idea of a birthday celebration was... predictably out of touch. Raised in satin sheets and private schools, she had a knack for planning events that assumed everyone else came from the same cushy world.
A fancy bar uptown? Yeah, that was her kind of fun.
His? Not even close.
The idea of spending an entire evening in some overpriced, dimly lit lounge where he couldn’t even be loud without someone glaring over a crystal glass of something he couldn’t pronounce, never mind afford, was enough to make him want to bail.
Would it kill her to pick a place with a tab? Or even, god forbid, a bottle of cheap wine to pass around?
He stared at the mess on his bed like it had betrayed him.
A soft knock tapped against the door before a blond head peeked in, wide blue eyes surveying the disaster zone beyond.
Armin’s gaze swept across the floor, the bed, the leaning tower of ‘no’ shirts, before landing on Eren.
‘Everything okay in here?’ he asked, amusement threading through his concern.
‘Armin,’ Eren breathed, tripping over a hideous bright blue button-up - the cursed relic from middle school that had somehow followed him all the way to college. He lunged forward, grabbing his best friend by the shoulders like a man clinging to a life raft.
‘What the fuck am I supposed to wear tonight? I have nothing!’
He threw his arms out dramatically, knocking his water bottle off the dresser in the process. It clattered to the floor with a thud.
Armin raised a brow, calm as ever, and took in the chaos again.
’There’s got to be something salvageable in all of this.’ He pulled a grey shirt from the edge of the bed. ‘What about this?’
‘Sniff it.’
Armin recoiled instantly.
‘You couldn’t pay me to even consider that.’
Eren snatched it back, pressing the collar to his nose. Yep, definitely not. The shirt joined the growing pile of shame on the floor.
‘This is going to be a disaster,’ Eren groaned, flopping onto his bed. He threw an arm over his face, the picture of theatrical defeat. The mattress dipped as Armin perched on the edge, careful to avoid the worst of the clothing avalanche. He began sifting through the chaos, muttering quiet, biting commentary that Eren chose to tune out for his own survival.
This night was doomed from the start. Not just because of the dress code or the overpriced cocktails or the polished barstools that would probably squeak if he so much as shifted wrong. No, tonight was cursed for a much more specific reason.
It was his first night out since the breakup.
And not the slow-fade, mature kind of breakup. The kind with shouting, with broken things, with silence so thick it made him want to scream just to hear something human again.
The wounds were still raw. Scabbing over, maybe, but not healing. For a week afterward, Eren barely left his bed. It had taken both Armin and his sister, Mikasa, dragging him out by sheer force of will to get him to even shower.
By week two, he told himself he was fine. Over it. Totally functional.
So he drank.
A lot.
Stumbled into the cheap bars his campus offered and straight into strangers’ beds, chasing some blurry version of distraction that never lasted through morning.
This week? This week, the grief had calcified into something sharper.
Rage.
Between his college classes and shifts at the art store, he’d poured every spare second into the fighting gym. Sparring, striking, hitting until his arms ached and his thoughts blurred. Pain made sense. Blood had its own kind of language. Split knuckles spoke louder than words - and finally, they were saying something he could understand.
He’d always been a fighter.
Even back when he was just a lanky kid barely passing for a teenager, swinging at anything that made him feel small. The ring had taught him how to shape his rage - how to sharpen it, how to survive in it. It helped him hone not just his body, but his thoughts. And now, at twenty, Eren knew exactly what he looked like.
Attractive. Lean. Sharp-jawed and well-built, with a restless energy that turned heads.
The men he went home with from sleazy bars made that much clear.
But he could be the most attractive man on the planet and it still wouldn’t change the fact that Jean had chosen someone else.
If anything, the whole mess had started because of that.
He’d been trying. After one particularly shitty day, he’d shown up to Jean’s place with his favorite takeout, trying to be... good. Thoughtful. Maybe even salvageable.
Instead, he walked in to find Jean in bed with some faceless asshole.
The guy barely had time to cover himself before Eren’s fist broke his nose.
Eren grit his teeth hard, his jaw pulsing with the effort not to relive the moment. Armin, sensitive to the shift in energy, paused mid-rummage and let out a quiet sigh.
‘Hey.’
Eren glanced over, eyes dark.
‘I know you’re struggling,’ Armin said gently. ‘And yeah, tonight’s gonna suck. But we just have to get through it. One night. Avoid Jean, ignore the two of them-‘
He froze, realising his mistake.
Eren stood.
‘Both?’ His voice was low, dangerous. ‘Jean is actually bringing that fucker?’
Armin raised his hands, now visibly concerned. ‘I- I don’t know for sure. I just heard-’
‘I can’t fucking believe this.’
Eren laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just bitterness, jagged and raw. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair like he wanted to rip it out. It felt like betrayal all over again.
‘Whatever,’ he muttered, the fire in his voice flickering out at the sight of Armin’s worried expression. The anger drained away, leaving behind something heavier.
Guilt.
Armin had been putting up with the worst of him lately—every mood swing, every outburst, every silent, sleepless night. The least Eren could do was try.
He reached blindly into one of the floor piles and tugged out a wrinkled but wearable grey shirt. It wasn’t perfect. But it would do.
‘This’ll work. Let’s just get this over with.’
*****
In any other context, Eren might’ve liked this place.
Sure, he couldn’t pronounce half the items on the menu, and the drinks cost more than his weekly grocery budget, but his impulse order was surprisingly good. The lighting was warm, the music mellow, and the bartender mixed drinks like it was performance art.
More importantly, he was surrounded by friends. People who’d shown up for him, even when he hadn’t exactly made it easy.
He’d been isolating himself these past few weeks. Sitting here now, drink in hand and laughter humming in the air, he realized how much he’d missed this. It felt like a window cracked open in a stuffy room. A breath of fresh air.
He leaned against the bar, body angled toward Historia as she launched into a familiar rant about their fine arts professor. He didn’t even need to speak, just a well-timed eye-roll or grunt of agreement kept the rhythm going. It felt good. Natural.
And as long as he kept his back to the other side of the bar - away from Jean and Whatever-His-Name-Was - he could almost pretend the night was normal.
Almost.
Too late.
Out of the corner of his eye, Eren saw him - that guy. Leaning into Jean’s space, laughing in his ear like they were the only two people in the damn room. Small, delicate-looking, all coy smiles and soft features. The kind of person who knew exactly how to flatter a man like Jean. All charm, no threat.
Is that what he wanted? Some twink to stroke his already inflated ego?
Eren felt the familiar sting begin to rise; hot and ugly. The slow slide into self-loathing was second nature by now. He scoffed and turned away, forcing his expression into something breezy, detached. Leaning against the bar like he had nothing better to do than exist in this overpriced lounge.
He let the world dull around him, his mind fogging in that way it did when the feelings got too close to the surface. Dissociating wasn’t healthy, sure, but it was better than the alternative: flipping a table, starting a scene, getting thrown out in front of all these pompous assholes.
He allowed himself that brief, hollow silence. One minute of moping. Then he’d move on. A burst of laughter from his right pulled him back like a rope snapping taut. He blinked, awareness slowly returning.
And froze.
Another pair of eyes were on him.
Cool. Sharp. Grey.
Not just looking. Watching.
And they belonged to, hands down, the most gorgeous man Eren had ever seen.
Even in the low light, he could make out the clean lines of a well-cut suit, jet-black hair that ghosted over his face, and the faint, unreadable curve of his mouth. Unamused. Calm. But still watching.
Eren’s mouth went dry.
The man quirked an eyebrow. Not curious. Not inviting. Just… deliberate.
Like he was challenging Eren to look away first.
God. How long had he been staring?
Heat flushed to Eren’s cheeks, burning up from his collar to the tips of his ears. Shit. How embarrassing.
The man’s presence was commanding, even from across the room. There was something sharp about him. He didn’t seem like someone you stared at without permission.
And Eren? He had no business bothering the upper crust who clearly haunted places like this. He already felt out of place, just another broke college student in borrowed confidence and a wrinkled shirt. A stranger like that probably attracted eyes everywhere he went. He was used to stares. Expected them, even.
Still, Eren had been the one caught gawking.
Mortified, he spun back toward the bar, catching his foot on the barstool and stumbling slightly. Smooth. He cursed silently and gripped the edge of the counter like it might anchor him to reality.
Mind your own damn business, he told himself. Don’t make it worse.
But a thought pressed in, insistent and dangerous.
The man had been looking at him. Not over his shoulder. Not at someone behind him. At him.
Eren chanced a glance over his shoulder, slow and tentative.
His breath caught.
Those grey eyes were still on him. Unwavering. And now, undeniably interested.
There was a gleam in the man’s gaze, subtle but unmistakable. Not a leer. Not amusement. Curiosity, maybe, or something more calculated.
Whatever it was, it sent a jolt down Eren’s spine.
Eren drifted toward the quieter end of the bar, putting some distance between himself and the laughter of his friends. He kept his eyes focused on the liquor shelves, deliberately not looking in his direction.
His mouth was far too dry. He needed another drink, something strong. Something distracting.
‘What’ll it be?’ the bartender asked smoothly, pausing his glass polishing routine with all the professionalism of a man who’d seen it all.
Eren glanced at the menu, squinting at words he couldn’t pronounce. Would ordering a vodka coke get him thrown out of a place like this?
‘Uh-‘ he stalled, scanning for something simple.
‘Hibiki, on the rocks,’ came a voice - cool, low, and dangerously close.
Eren nearly jumped. He turned slightly, and there he was. The man. Right beside him, like he’d always been there.
Those grey eyes met his again, steady and unreadable. ‘And the same for him.’
The bartender didn't blink, already sliding two heavy tumblers onto the bar like this kind of exchange was normal.
Eren reached for his wallet, heart dropping a little at the thought of what this drink would do to his next week’s grocery budget. More shifts, he thought grimly.
But the man clicked his tongue in quiet amusement and casually handed over a sleek black card.
‘Hey, wait-‘ Eren started, flustered. ‘You can’t just-‘
The man didn’t reply. He raised his glass with a small smirk, tapped it lightly against Eren’s, and turned on his heel without a word.
Eren blinked. He barely registered the cold glass in his hand, still stunned as he watched the man walk back across the room, unhurried and unbothered. He sat back in his armchair with all the poise of someone who belonged there.
Then, he looked back.
Their eyes met once more.
The man took a slow, deliberate sip of whiskey. Held Eren’s gaze. And then, finally, turned his attention back to his companion.
Eren exhaled - sharp and shaky - only just realizing he’d been holding his breath.
A thrill shot through Eren’s chest.
So that’s how he wants to play it? Fine. He could play.
If there was one thing Eren knew how to do, it was poke the bear. And this bear? He wanted to see it bare its teeth.
A private smirk curved at the corner of his mouth as he turned his body just enough - angled now, open and watching. He lifted the tumbler to his lips, the whiskey smooth and heady on his tongue. It tasted far too expensive. Fitting.
The man was speaking now, low, quiet words shared with the woman seated beside him. His expression never flickered. Still composed. Still maddeningly self-contained.
But Eren let his eyes roam, now that he had an excuse.
The man’s suit was tailored so precisely it almost hurt to look at, cut to frame a body that didn’t just wear power, but held it. Broad shoulders. Strong forearms. No wasted effort in how he moved.
His hair was dark, thick, just unruly enough to fall across his brow before it faded into a clean undercut. Sharp and sleek, like the rest of him. He was shorter than Eren, but somehow more imposing. Gravity clung to him. Confidence that didn’t try too hard. The kind that didn’t need to.
And then there was the silver chain.
Thin. Subtle. Just a glint of it, peeking from beneath the open collar of his shirt, catching the light with every shift of his shoulders.
Eren took another sip, slower this time, lips brushing the glass.
God, he thought, gaze burning. He wanted to take that chain in his teeth.
The heat in Eren’s chest had begun to spread, pooling deep in his spine, coiling somewhere behind his ribs. His thoughts were steadily sliding out of the realm of reason.
Then he felt it. Another pair of eyes.
He shifted his gaze slightly, past the man who held his attention, and met the knowing stare of the woman seated beside him. The glasses didn’t hide the amusement dancing in her eyes as she watched him. Watched them. She smiled, more to herself than anyone else, then turned to say something quietly to the man.
She rose a moment later, smoothing her dress and placing a quick, familiar kiss on the man’s cheek. And as she slipped past the small crowd, she caught Eren’s eye one last time.
A wink. Unmistakable.
Permission, maybe. Or a warning.
Eren blinked, and when he looked back, the man was alone.
Still watching him. Still with that quiet, calculating intensity.
Fuck it.
He tossed back the rest of his whiskey, the warmth burning in all the right ways now. With slow, deliberate steps, Eren crossed the room. The bar, his friends, the music - all of it faded into the background as that gaze pulled him in like a tide.
Neither of them looked away.
He slipped into the now-empty armchair, body angled casually, but his pulse was a hammer in his throat.
A beat of silence.
Then-
‘That whiskey wasn’t a shot.’
The man’s voice was smooth and low. Amused. Disapproving. His eyes narrowed just a touch. ‘You’re meant to enjoy it slowly.’
Eren allowed himself a slow smirk. ‘Should’ve thought of that before buying a drink for a college student.’
The man returned the expression, before raising his glass and taking a slow sip, as if offering a live demonstration on how whiskey should be consumed. The pause was deliberate. His eyes dragged across Eren with practiced ease.
Eren felt the scrutiny like a touch - measured, lingering, and just shy of too much. It didn’t make him shrink. It made him straighten.
‘Do college students not own ironing boards?’ the man asked at last, the slightest arch to his brow.
Anyone else, and Eren might have bristled. Might have folded in on himself, tugged at the shirt or made a joke to cover it up.
But he was too busy basking in the man’s assessing gaze. And whatever the man was seeing, he was clearly in no rush to stop looking.
Good.
The man turned back toward the bar with the kind of deliberate calm that made time feel slower. His eyes stayed on Eren until the very last second.
’What’s a group of college students doing in a place like this?’ he asked, tone dry. ‘Seems a far reach from the sticky bars your type usually haunts.’
Eren huffed a laugh. ‘Birthday party. My friend Historia tends not to consider the financial ruin of her peers.’
The man’s gaze flicked across the room. ‘Historia Reiss?’ he echoed, spotting the blonde girl among Eren’s group before turning his eyes back on him. ‘At least you’ve got some connections, kid.’
Eren flushed. ‘She’s just a friend.’
The man’s smirk deepened, clearly amused by the hasty defensiveness in his voice.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Eren.’
The man repeated it slowly, almost thoughtfully. ‘Eren.’ As if tasting it.
A beat passed, one heavy enough to feel intentional, before Eren tilted his head.
’And yours?’ he asked.
Another look - up, down. Unhurried.
‘Levi.’
*****
Levi had never done this before.
Not really.
The so-called ‘open’ years of his marriage had mostly been a formality, an agreement made in exhaustion rather than desire. Erwin played his part abroad, while Levi stayed behind, dutifully disinterested in the advances that occasionally wandered his way. It had never felt worth the effort. Never felt right.
But now...
Now he couldn’t look away.
Eren.
Even the name felt too bold to belong to someone with such reckless vulnerability written all over him. The cheap, wrinkled shirt was laughable in a place like this - but it clung to his frame in a way that gave Levi no room to complain. Every muscle, every line, from broad shoulders to a tight waist - visible, effortless.
If nothing came of it, he thought dryly, at least he’d have something pretty to look at tonight.
Still, he knew his own presence. Knew the way he held attention when he wanted to.
But what about Eren? What did he want?
Levi’s eyes tracked the way Eren’s attention kept flicking toward the group at the far end of the bar, toward them. The tall one and the smaller man
tangled around him like ivy. The tension in Eren’s jaw was all the answer he needed.
Jealousy. Or heartbreak. Maybe both.
He leaned forward slightly, voice low.
‘So, what’s the story there?’
Eren tensed, the air sharpening between them. But after a moment, he looked Levi in the eye - dark, wounded.
‘Nothing interesting,’ he muttered. ‘Just my ex. With some pretty little thing. Apparently that’s what he prefers.’ A humourless laugh. ‘Made that pretty clean when I walked in on them.’
Levi’s jaw tightened.
The tone. The look in the kid’s eyes. He recognized it all too well.
He glanced toward the couple again, toward the way the taller man now traced his thumb along his companion’s lip, then leaned in for a kiss like they were the only ones in the room.
Disrespectful. And theatrical.
He stood.
’I’ll get you another drink.’
’No, I can pay-‘
Levi gave him a look.
‘You need it,’ he said flatly. ‘My treat.’
The bartender didn’t blink when Levi ordered the Macallan - an unspoken upgrade.
Eren was still watching him when he returned, glass in hand.
Levi offered it silently, then sat back down with practiced calm.
‘This one’s definitely not a shooting whiskey.’ A pause. A twitch of amusement. ‘Don’t embarrass yourself.’
Eren smirked, taking the glass. ‘I’ll try my best.’
Levi watched him for a moment longer - his youth, his defiance, the heavy emotions buried under both.
The kid needed a distraction.
Fine.
If he wanted to make someone jealous… Levi could be a distraction.
He could be very good at it.
He let the corners of his mouth curl into the kind of smile that had started wars.
‘So tell me, Eren…’ he murmured, tone smooth as smoke. ‘What else are you trying to forget tonight?’
Levi watched Eren startle, just for a second, before his expression settled into something more deliberate. That smirk was calculated now, slow and simmering. He swirled his drink idly, fingers trailing the rim of the glass like he had all the time in the world.
‘My own name, ideally,’ he said, voice lower now. He lifted his eyes to meet Levi’s, gaze unwavering.
‘Make me forget it.’
Levi’s smirk deepened. ‘Bold, aren’t we.’
But Eren didn’t flinch. His gaze held, unwavering.
Levi took a slow sip of his whiskey, letting the moment stretch, aware of how Eren’s eyes followed the movement of his throat, the subtle shift of the silver chain where it brushed his collarbone.
Several rounds later, Levi gave Eren a much closer view of it - from his new position, sprawled lazily across Levi’s lap.
In their shadowed corner, no one batted an eye. Or perhaps no one dared. Either way, Levi didn’t care.
Eren toyed with the chain between two fingers, dragging the delicate links across Levi’s chest like he was drawing a map only he could read. His eyes were heavy-lidded, half-lost in the intimacy of it.
’Is it real?’ he murmured, voice low.
Levi huffed a soft laugh, lifting a brow. ‘Of course. Not all of us here are scraping by on student wages.’
Eren grinned, clearly unfazed. ‘It’s pretty,’ he said, alcohol feeding through into his voice. He let the chain slip through his fingers like silk. ‘Matches you.’
Levi tilted his head, amused. ‘Trust me, I’m not the pretty one here,’ he replied, his voice just above a purr.
He brought his glass to Eren’s lips, Eren’s own drink long since emptied. The younger man didn’t hesitate, letting Levi tip the glass just enough for the warm whiskey to meet his mouth.
Good boy, Levi thought, but didn’t say. Not yet.
He watched as Eren licked a trace of whiskey from his lower lip, eyes flickering up through dark lashes.
Yes. This was getting interesting.
Levi’s hand slid down Eren’s back, his fingers tracing the line of muscle with deliberate ease. He felt the younger man lean into the touch, responsive and hungry for more. Levi relished the way Eren’s breath caught in his throat when his hand drifted lower, stroking the inside of his thigh, just enough to tease.
Eren didn’t look away. Those hooded eyes stayed locked on Levi’s face, heat simmering beneath the surface.
’Want to get out of here?’ Levi asked, voice smooth and low.
Eren’s lips curved into a slow, wicked smile. ‘Back to your nursing home?’
Levi chuckled darkly. ‘Brat,’ he muttered, leaning in to murmur it against Eren’s ear. The word came with a sharp squeeze to his thigh.
Eren’s laugh stuttered into a quiet, breathy sound - halfway to a moan, meant only for Levi.
’I have a better idea,’ Eren said, mischief lighting his face.
He stood, slow and deliberate, and offered Levi his hand. His other tilted casually toward the hallway - toward the bathrooms.
Then, eyes back on Levi. ‘Too old for a little risk?’
Levi let his head tilt back against the armchair, grey eyes meeting Eren’s with lazy, measured interest. He chuckled under his breath, tipped back the last of his whiskey - savouring be damned - and set the glass down with a soft clink.
Then, without breaking eye contact, he took Eren’s outstretched hand.
The younger man pulled him up with a confident tug, and together they slipped from the shadows of their corner. The bar’s ambient glow wrapped around them as they moved, slow but deliberate, weaving past tables and patrons without a word.
Levi caught glimpses as they passed. A messy halo of red curls at the bar, a flicker of movement from Historia, the fading buzz of conversation as Eren’s peers began to filter out.
But then his eyes found him.
The ex.
Still seated, still wrapped in the company of that sweet-faced thing, but no longer paying him any attention.
No, those eyes were locked on Eren now.
Watching the way his hand lingered in Levi’s.
Tracking his every step like a threat.
The muscles in his jaw twitched.
Levi allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk. Good. Let him watch.
*****
Eren’s colourful past had led him to many bathroom hookups before, but this one - with its floor-to-ceiling doors, dim lighting glinting off black marble, and a single private room instead of stalls - was by far the nicest place he’d ever brought his brand of recklessness.
The moment the dark door clicked shut behind them, Levi was on him - fast, unhesitating. Eren let himself be pressed roughly against the cool surface, breath catching as Levi's mouth found his. He tasted the whiskey still lingering on Levi’s lips, smooth and burning. They kissed like they had all the time in the world, even though they both knew better. Deep, passionate kisses accompanied by Levi’s hands trailing down his sides. Eren let his head fall back as Levi continued his pattern down his neck, definitely leaving marks. It made his head spin, but Eren wanted more. He roughly pulled Levi impossibly closer, grinding down on him. He felt Levi laugh softly against his neck.
‘Impatient?’
Eren groaned at the teasing edge in Levi’s voice. They both knew exactly what they wanted. The low lighting caught the glint of that beautiful silver chain again, and Eren didn’t hesitate - he hooked a finger under it, tugging Levi back toward him. Levi’s eyes darkened, narrowing with quiet warning.
“Careful, brat,” he murmured, before reclaiming Eren’s neck, mouth trailing with renewed purpose.
Eren couldn’t stop the gasps escaping him as Levi gripped him tighter, the pressure bruising, grounding. His fingers clenched around the silver chain like a lifeline. It was too much, and not nearly enough. His machochistic instincts called out to him.
He wanted more. He needed more.
The ache in his chest begged for it. To forget, to unravel, to disappear into this stranger and whatever promise he carried behind his eyes.
Levi smelled like oud and tobacco - rich, dark, and far too expensive for Eren to even guess at. For a flicker of a moment, he wondered what Levi did for work. That thought vanished the second Levi kissed him again - rough, consuming, like he’d earned the right to take whatever he wanted.
It was clear to Eren that Levi was in control. Probably always was. But tonight, Eren’s need for pain was fiercer, louder than Levi’s quiet command.
Without hesitation, he bit down hard on Levi’s bottom lip, sharp enough to draw blood.
He watched as Levi’s eyes widened, surprised for only a beat, before narrowing, darkening with something dangerous. Pressed chest to chest, Levi’s voice dropped to a low purr.
“So, that’s how you like it, huh?”
Eren only gave him a lazy grin, the familiar, coppery tang of blood still fresh on his tongue.
*****
This was far more than Levi had anticipated. But damn, it lit him up from the inside. It had been too long since he’d felt this kind of fire. And Eren - brazen, hungry, reckless - seemed to know exactly how to stoke it. That grin, stained faintly with Levi’s blood, sent a pulse of heat straight through him.
With one smooth motion, Levi turned the tables, pressing his back to the cool wall. Eren caught himself easily, eyes dark with challenge, chest rising and falling in quick bursts. Levi leaned in, voice a gravelly whisper against the shell of his ear.
‘Knees.’
Levi didn’t need to say it twice. Eren sank without hesitation, hungry eyes never leaving his.
Power like this, tangible, electric - Levi had nearly forgotten what it felt like. Control wasn’t something he exerted lightly anymore, but with Eren, it wasn’t about dominance. It was about connection, the kind forged in bruised lips and defiant gazes. The kind that burned.
Eren’s fingers ghosted along his thighs like a question Levi already had the answer to.
‘Good,’ Levi murmured, one hand threading through soft, wild hair, the other braced hard against the marble wall behind him. His voice was low, rough with want. ‘So good for me.’
Eren’s eyes lit up in response to the praise, the spark unmistakable. Levi watched the way it rippled through him - a breath caught in his throat, a subtle lean forward, like he was starving for more. He looked perfect like this: eyes heavy, lips kiss-bruised, mouth parted with want.
Levi was going to ruin him.
Levi’s right hand moved from the wall behind him to stroke his thumb across Eren’s bottom lip, drawing out the anticipation with a cool edge he knew made people falter around him.
But then Eren’s gaze dipped. Subtle, almost imperceptible — catching on the silver ring around Levi’s fourth finger. Levi stilled. That damned ring. Heavy as iron, even now. A tether he hadn’t shaken, even here, in the dark with someone new and willing.
It sat between them like a ghost.
Eren looked back up at him, pupils blown wide, gaze unfocused with heat. Levi felt a flicker of relief settle in his chest. Whatever Eren had registered about the ring, it wasn’t enough to slow him down. His breath was shallow, chest rising and falling like he’d forgotten the world outside this room existed.
Whatever he thought this was - a distraction, a rebellion, a chance to forget - he wasn’t backing out. Not now.
And Levi wasn’t going to stop him.
Levi smirked down at him, slow and deliberate, as he pressed his thumb against Eren’s parted lips. Eren didn’t hesitate. His tongue flicked over the pad with a languid confidence before he closed his lips around it, gaze locked on Levi’s like a dark promise exchanged in silence.
Levi let swallow around his thumb without protest, tracing it over Eren’s sharp teeth, as if testing his worth. The younger man’s eyes were growing heavier, more dazed, caught in the gravity of Levi’s control.
Finally, Levi spoke, voice low, composed, and sharp enough to cut through the haze.
‘Open that pretty mouth for me.’
Eren obeyed without hesitation. Levi kept a steady hand in his hair, the other drawing back slowly. They both tracked the strand of spit that stretched from Levi’s thumb to Eren’s lips - taut, glinting, until it snapped just as Levi reached his belt buckle. His movements were deliberate, practiced. When the clasp finally gave, Levi caught the flicker in Eren’s eyes. Widening just slightly, a reaction Levi felt down to his bones.
Levi wrapped a hand around himself, stroking slowly, deliberately. He wasn’t in any rush. This was for show. The corner of his mouth curled upward as he caught Eren’s gaze, fixed and unblinking. Levi didn’t need to say a word; the way Eren’s eyes tracked every movement spoke volumes. He smirked, sharp and knowing.
‘Need something?’ Levi drawled.
Eren exhaled, eyes dark and intent. ‘You have no idea.’
He looked up at Levi, all shameless want and wordless plea. Levi held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary, then gave a single, decisive nod. The kind that said go on - even though his own control was hanging by a thread.
Eren wasted no time, lips plush and red as he took Levi’s cock. The motion drew a low sigh from Levi, his head thudding softly against the cool marble wall behind him.
Eren moved up and down Levi’s cock with a determined rhythm, his hands braced on Levi’s thighs, muscles taut with focus. Every glance upward was a silent question - Am I doing this right? Do I have your attention? - and every flicker of Levi’s approving gaze was an answer.
Levi’s hand found its place tangled in Eren’s hair again, not guiding so much as holding, reminding. His expression was unreadable save for the slight part in his lips and the slow flare of his nostrils, betraying the storm under the surface.
‘Good,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t stop.’
Eren’s breath hitched. He lived for that kind of praise. His pace quickened, more fluid now, lost in the rhythm and the dark satisfaction of drawing sounds out of the man towering above him. The air between them pulsed with heat and tension, Levi never loosening his grip, never surrendering his edge. The obscene, slick sounds of Eren’s mouth and tongue around Levi filled the bathroom.
‘You really want to impress, don’t you?’ Levi drawled, thumb brushing along Eren’s cheekbone. His voice was laced with approval, but it carried a dark promise too - how far are you willing to go?
Eren pulled back just enough to breathe, eyes burning with hunger. ‘You have no idea,’ he repeated, though his voice was far rougher than before.
Levi leaned in, his breath brushing against Eren’s ear like a promise wrapped in threat. ‘Then let’s see how deep you can take me.’
Eren didn’t hesitate. He took to his task with the kind of hunger that made Levi’s hand tighten in his hair almost instantly. There was something deeply gratifying about the way Eren moved, like he had something to prove. Like pleasing Levi was the only thing that mattered right now.
Levi exhaled slowly, eyes lidded as he watched the younger man work, committed and intense. He held a firm grip on Eren’s hair, keeping him in place as he bucked his hips. Eren’s throat spasmed around him with each thrust, drawing out a deep groan from Levi
‘You’re trying awfully hard, brat,’ Levi murmured, voice low and rich. ‘You that desperate to impress me?’
Eren looked up at him through wet lashes, hazy and focused all at once. He didn’t answer with words, he didn’t need to. Every motion, every shiver of his frame, every tear that fell from his eyes in the name of service screamed yes.
Levi smirked, tightening his grip. ‘Good.’
He let Eren continue, his own body tensing as the moment dragged out. Each second that passed under Levi’s watchful eye only made the tension coil tighter.
‘I could get used to that look on you,’ Levi muttered. ‘All need and no shame.’
He tilted Eren’s chin upward, savoring the glazed-over haze in his eyes, the way he leaned into every touch like he couldn’t get enough. Levi didn’t need to say it out loud, but the thought echoed like a drumbeat in his chest.
Mine. For tonight, at least.
‘Who would have guessed you would be such a greedy little cockslut,’ he mused. Eren let out a choked-off whine, his hand drifting to his own painfully hard erection.
’Don’t touch,’ Levi snapped, pulling hard at his hair as his rough thrust punctuated the threat.
Levi’s boot tapped once against the polished floor, a silent command. The edge of his boot gleamed under the dim light, dark leather worn and powerful.
’Grind against this, if you’re so desperate.’
Eren’s eyes rolled back as he positioned himself, the first roll of his hips against the leather pulling another whine from him.
Levi raised an eyebrow, almost amused. ‘Go on then,’ he said, voice smooth, the kind of command that was more gravity than sound.
Eren ground himself against Levi, the humiliation making his head swim. He never stopped his incessant need to please, choking down on Levi’s cock as he felt his own leak through his pants.
‘Desperation suits you,’ Levi murmured, his hand continuing to thread lazily through Eren’s hair.
Eren exhaled shakily through his nose, the praise sinking into his skin like heat. It wasn’t about the boot - it was about Levi, the control, the permission. The way every move was watched and noted. Eren closed his eyes. That was what he wanted, what he needed. To be seen. To be used. To
be made into something pliant under Levi’s gaze.
‘My pretty whore,’ Levi added, almost to himself, watching how Eren’s hips were beginning to become sloppy, chasing his release. Levi knew he was close, and so was he. He quickened his pace in Eren’s throat, satisfaction running through him as he watched drool spill from Eren’s lips.
One more look at Eren’s lust filled eyes, and Levi’s release barreled through him. His orgasm spread through his veins like wildlife, and he could not hold back the groan that escaped him as he felt him spill into Eren’s waiting mouth. Eren chased him through that high, greedily sucking and swallowing every part of Levi he could fit. After a moment, Levi turned his hooded gaze downwards, to the pretty mess below him who caused his demise.
Eren felt the pressure coil low in his gut, tight and overwhelming. Every breath was shallow, every nerve lit with the heat of Levi’s touch, his voice, the weight of him — commanding, grounding. It was his taste that tipped him over the edge.
’That’s my perfect boy,’ Levi murmured, catching his own breath. ‘Come for me.’
That was all Eren needed to break. He came with a strangled gasp, hips rutting against Levi’s boot, held up only by the hand that never left his hair.
The silence that followed was warm, not awkward. Just the sound of steady breathing and the faint hum of the bar outside. Eren leaned against the marble wall, shirt rumpled, hair completely wrecked, a pleased, self-satisfied grin tugging at his lips. He looked like sin and satisfaction rolled into one, and he knew it.
Levi, ever composed, adjusted his collar and flicked his hair back into place with an ease that suggested this wasn’t the first time he’d handled chaos with elegance. Not a single strand out of place now. His gaze drifted back to Eren with a slow, deliberate sweep.
‘You always do this in public bathrooms, or am I just lucky?’ Levi asked, tone dry as the whiskey they’d shared.
Eren stretched lazily, like a cat who knew he’d gotten away with something. ‘I mean… not usually in ones this clean,’ he drawled. ‘But I’ll admit, you’ve raised my standards.’
Levi gave a short, unimpressed huff - almost a laugh. Almost. ‘You’re incorrigible.’
‘And you like that,’ Eren quipped, eyes sparkling.
Levi didn’t deny it.
There was a beat of silence, a shift in the air. Levi reached into the inner pocket of his blazer and pulled out a slim, matte black business card. He held it between two fingers, the silver ink gleaming under the low lights.
‘Here,’ he said simply, offering it.
Eren raised an eyebrow but took it. He read the name - no title, no company, just a number and the name Levi Ackerman in minimalist script.
‘Classy,’ Eren said. ‘Let me guess — you only give this out when someone’s sufficiently memorable?’
Levi’s mouth curled into the ghost of a smirk. ‘Only when they earn a second round.’
Eren looked up, green eyes gleaming with something wicked. ‘So when should I call?’
Levi stepped closer, adjusting the collar of Eren’s shirt like he had every right to. ‘When you’re ready to behave.’
‘Not happening.’
Levi leaned in, close enough to brush his breath against Eren’s jaw. ‘Brat.’
With that, he turned on his heel, composed and cool as ever, leaving Eren grinning in the glow of the marble room, the card still warm in his fingers, and a thrill buzzing through his chest.
Definitely not the last time.