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It’s late. Eren’s not sure how late, but it had been late when he had invited Levi to this bar with little hope and zero confidence, and later still when Levi had picked his way through the bar and over to the table where Eren was nursing a beer and giving up on the idea of Levi ever coming to a bar at 10:30pm on a Tuesday (what on earth was he thinking?), and now... Well, Eren has definitely lost track of time, listening to Levi talk about his day and wrinkle his nose at the bar and go quiet to the point where they’re just staring at each other.
Eren should really say goodnight. Even if his job is more flexible hours wise, he knows that Levi’s is not. But instead he focuses on Levi’s exposed wrist, and how he’s let Eren hold onto it without disruption for however many hours they’ve been sitting at this tiny table. He’s sure that he’s swept his thumb over the bones of Levi’s wrist enough times to memorize it, has rubbed at the soft skin on the underside enough times he’s surprised he hasn’t made it raw, and yet Levi doesn’t pull away. Even when he says, “It’s getting late.”
Eren bites his lip and nods. There’s a myriad of half empty beer bottles on the table. Most, if not all, of them are his. Levi is still tipping one back and forth by the mouth of the bottle and the movement catches and distracts Eren’s attention for a few moments.
The glass settles onto the table in stillness and Eren realizes that Levi is staring at him. He scrubs his hand over his face, suddenly feeling all the beers buzzing in his stomach and the late hour.
“What time is it?”
“Just past one,” Levi replies simply, and Eren wrinkles his nose. Not as late as he thought, and the bar will probably be open for another hour (if that—it is a Tuesday), but it’s late for Levi. The age thing is already a touchy subject, and Eren is not going to make it worse by saying something blasé about how it isn’t late at all, not really.
If it’s late for Levi, it’s late for him, too.
“We should leave.” What Eren means to do is get up gracefully and with all the poise and confidence of someone attractive and sure of themselves—the sort of person that someone like Levi would maybe, possibly, date at some point in the future. What he does instead is lose his balance immediately, and he probably would have broken every beer bottle within range if Levi wasn’t there to steady him.
Shit, how much did he drink?
“Do you need me to call you a cab?” Levi helps him straighten, but Eren’s legs still feel a little too liquidated to support him.
He shakes his head.
“I only live, like, five blocks from here. I can walk.” Eren shakes his head for a second time, and wishes he hadn’t. His brain spins apart like a hundred pinwheels that slam back together again with gusto. “It’s fine.”
“You’re going to walk?” Up until that point, Eren hadn’t noticed how low Levi had been speaking. He wonders if it was for the sake of how much alcohol Eren was obviously consuming or just because of the dim, hushed nature of the bar. But now his voice is much louder—incredulous—and it makes Eren ache all the way through his teeth.
Eren has half the mind to shush him when he continues.
“At this time of night? In this neighborhood?”
There’s offense to be taken somewhere in that statement, even as Eren argues that it’s fair. After all, Levi’s couch is the one he had to sleep on after his apartment got broken into. When he was too proud to admit being scared to stay there, so Levi made some completely rational excuse for Eren to stay with him. He’s the one who helped Eren install 4 different locks on the door and a few on each window, as well.
So he’s not wrong. Not really.
“Levi, it’s fine.” Eren wants to tell him that it’s a Tuesday, that it’s not that far, that he doesn’t even have anything valuable on him. But it’s hard to present an argument when all his concentration is on taking steps toward the door.
“Let me call you a cab,” Levi insists, and his grip is tight and anchoring on Eren’s bicep. He’s not sure if he’s being led out the door or helped out the door, or maybe even if Levi is trying to stop him and failing, but he likes the way it feels.
“No, seriously, that’s such a waste. Besides, I’ve walked home in way worse conditions than this.”
Too late, Eren realizes that it’s probably not the best thing he could have said.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” Levi snaps, and Eren realizes that, yeah, Levi is definitely supporting most of his weight at this point. It’s... Nice. Levi is not a touchy-feely sort of person, not the way Eren is, and so physical contact is generally limited in quantity and incredibly brief when it does happen.
Eren revels in feeling like he can drape himself over Levi and still be held up with what appears to be little exertion. It twists something inside of him in a pleasant sort of way.
But it’s so distracting that Eren doesn’t realize that they’ve walked a good deal away from the bar for a few solid (and embarrassing) minutes.
“Wait.” Eren doesn’t even try to stop them, his arms and legs now locked into the fluid movement of walking, but somehow Levi eases them into a pause. “Where are we going?”
The silence that stretches in the following minute (that feels like an hour, really, but it couldn’t be more than a minute) makes Eren feel the stupidest he ever has in his life.
Levi sighs.
“Home, remember?”
Oh.
...wait.
“Your home?” Levi lives like. Really far from here. He works kind of closer, but his commute makes Eren cringe when he thinks about it.
“Yes, we’re going to walk upwards of ten miles to my apartment.” The sarcasm is thick and dry, but it still sounds like the truth to Eren’s addled mind. “No, dumb shit, your cesspool of an apartment.”
They hit the street corner before Eren realizes two things.
One: Levi knows the way to his apartment. It makes sense, they’ve been friends for years, but it still catches Eren off guard.
And two:
“Are you walking me home?”
Levi doesn’t answer. He’s careful maneuvering Eren over the curb, and complains about how fucking heavy Eren is, but Eren can’t find it in him to mind. Maybe, somehow, he can be the absolute mess of a person that he is and Levi might still date him anyway.
Maybe.