[ There might be some small gathering in the evening; Eren is well aware that he's now two years beyond the age at which he expected to die. It's worth celebrating, though he feels Armin's absence more profoundly.
He comes back to the flat in the afternoon. He wants to see everyone but doesn't really expect anything, not from Levi and not from anyone.
But here Levi is anyway, with a paper bag. He's given Eren a couple of these over the past year. Eren remembers the peach, sure. This…isn't a peach.
He reaches into the bag and pulls out the cloak. He runs a hand over it. Of course it's familiar; he'd never forget the way these cloaks felt in his hands. He'd longed to have one, after all. He had left his somewhere on the island before they'd gone to Liberio, knowing he would never wear it again.
He feels like he might choke.
His eyes move from the fabric in his hands to the man standing in front of him. He's only ever called Levi Captain, but it was habit, some mix of old respect and familiarity. He knew he couldn't be one of them again, not really.
Or so he thought.
He turns the fabric over in his hands again, fingers catching on the stitch on the hem. Eren.
It clicks that it's not his old cloak, not one tailored for him. His own stitching would be a mess, even now. Better than at fifteen, probably. But this is definitely not his work. ]
You're really giving me something like this, Captain?
[ It's not that he expects Levi to change his mind. It's half-rhetorical. Of course it still means something to him. ]
me crying real tears about this,
He comes back to the flat in the afternoon. He wants to see everyone but doesn't really expect anything, not from Levi and not from anyone.
But here Levi is anyway, with a paper bag. He's given Eren a couple of these over the past year. Eren remembers the peach, sure. This…isn't a peach.
He reaches into the bag and pulls out the cloak. He runs a hand over it. Of course it's familiar; he'd never forget the way these cloaks felt in his hands. He'd longed to have one, after all. He had left his somewhere on the island before they'd gone to Liberio, knowing he would never wear it again.
He feels like he might choke.
His eyes move from the fabric in his hands to the man standing in front of him. He's only ever called Levi Captain, but it was habit, some mix of old respect and familiarity. He knew he couldn't be one of them again, not really.
Or so he thought.
He turns the fabric over in his hands again, fingers catching on the stitch on the hem. Eren.
It clicks that it's not his old cloak, not one tailored for him. His own stitching would be a mess, even now. Better than at fifteen, probably. But this is definitely not his work. ]
You're really giving me something like this, Captain?
[ It's not that he expects Levi to change his mind. It's half-rhetorical. Of course it still means something to him. ]
Thank you.