Smoldering irises catch and reflect the silver moonlight, boring straight ahead. They aren't angry, aren't joyous or sad, but simply impassive. Stoic. Unreadable. I knew I'd never forget those eyes.

Once the eyes are visible, other features become easier to make out. Strong cheekbones; long, straight nose; strong jawline, thin lips I remember to be impeccably soft. Short stature, square shoulders, lean legs...

As soon as I'm on my feet I realize this might just be a trick of my own mind. It might just be that I've gotten so mentally ill that I'm beginning to hallucinate. That would surely explain the big black wings sprouting out of his back...

But hallucination or not, he's standing in front of me. Staring at me. My breath caught in my throat, I take a small, soundless step forward. He doesn't move, just watches me. It takes a lot not to break into a flat out sprint to close the distance, but it's difficult to keep moving, knowing what I'm seeing might not really be what's in front of me.

I count every step that brings me closer. Because they're small, it takes twelve to be at an arm's length away from him. He's still only watching me with that steady gaze of his, and now his face is in full view - just as perfect as I remembered it to be. My heart pounds. My left hand still holds the drawing; my right twitches, like it wants to reach out for him and make sure he's real. So I let it. I lift it up, gently let my fingertips brush his cheek to make sure he's real.

And he is. He's solid. Warm. Beautiful.

A strangled gasp draws in between my lips, the first breath I've taken in at least a minute. My fingers involuntarily curl into a shaky loose fist. My eyes sting and I'm still partially waiting to wake up, waiting for him to disappear in a cloud of smoke.

But he doesn't. And finally, he moves, lifting his hand to wrap gently around my wrist - those same rough but gentle hands - and slides it to intertwine our fingers tenderly. He holds them there between us for a moment, still watching me, like he's waiting for me to do something. But I'm frozen in complete disbelief. Subconsciously, I'm scrambling to make sense of this.

A long minute passes, and I guess he finally decides I'm not going to do anything, because his other hand lifts to cup my cheek. He's so warm, so solid. I'm afraid my knees are going to buckle.

He starts to open his mouth, but before he can say anything, I'm throwing my arms around him, holding tighter than I ever had before. I don't want to cry, but tears flood my eyes anyway, and I bury my face into his shoulder to hide them. He's stiff for a minute. Eventually, though, I feel his arms find their way around my torso, too, and his fists curl around my shirt beneath the cloak.

My knees do finally buckle, then, and we both go down without ever letting each other go. I'm gasping, trying my hardest not to sob into his shoulder, but it's hard. So hard. I'm so happy, but so confused at the same time.

"H-how?" I manage. My muscles are beginning to ache with how tightly I'm holding him, but I don't care.

"You," he answers simply. And his voice, oh god, his voice. I revel in it - so smooth and deep, and I swear it's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.

The big black wing attached to his left shoulder blade catches my attention. Swallowing, I slowly lift my hand to it and brush my fingertips over the top of it, gently. It's surprisingly soft, and even warmer than his skin.

"I...I don't understand," I whisper.

He pushes me back gently, hands on my shoulders. Our eyes lock, and an overwhelming yet familiar wave of warmth and adoration floods through me. Nothing about it is the way I remembered, for it's so much more potent and pierces me deeper, so much deeper. It's addictive, and I wonder how the hell I ever survived without it.

"You pulled me back, Eren," he says.

"That doesn't make any sense..."

His thumbs brush over my cheeks, catching my tears. "It shouldn't," he says. "It doesn't to me, either. All I know is that you did, and that's why I'm physically here."

None of this makes sense, and the longer I look at him, the longer I feel him in my arms, feel his warmth and hear his voice, the more I'm beginning to doubt myself. To doubt my memories and whether or not he'd actually passed away in my arms that day. Or to doubt my own mental stability, thinking I'm still hallucinating and it's a damn realistic one. Or that perhaps that I never woke up in his bed and found the drawing - which is now resting on the top of the wall beside me - and that I, too, passed away in my sleep and have found him in the afterlife.

"Don't blank out," he commands, pressing his palms closer to my cheeks. "Stay with me, Eren. I'm here. I know it's hard to believe, but I am."

Blank out. How does he know that? "How do you know that? Blank out..."

"You've never really been alone, Eren." He keeps saying my name, talking to me like he's missed the way it feels coming off his tongue. And I've missed the way it sounds in his voice. Nothing, nothing, nothing makes sense.

"You...you've been here?" I stammer, my fingers curling into fists on his shoulders.

He nods but offers no further explanation. I wanna shake it out of him, but at the same time I don't want to know. If he's been here, if I've 'never really been alone', he must have seen so much - the way I've been acting like a baby for the past few years, some of my meltdowns, if not all of them, yelling at Thomas, blanking out, drawing, talking to him.

But I suddenly don't care about that. I just care about the fact that he's here, that I'm seeing him, whether this is some fucked up illusion or I'm dead or what. This is all I've wanted since the moment his heart stopped, and I've finally gotten it.

"If..if this is real," I begin, my voice finally a bit more even now that the tears have stopped, "then how?" Because I need an explanation for at least that.

"It is," he tells me. Steady and certain. "Because you couldn't let go, I couldn't move on. Because your emotions were so strong, it gave me something to hold onto while I've watched you spiral downward...and eventually it pulled me back and the next thing I knew, I had a body again." He glances down at himself; I follow his eyes and I suddenly realize what he's wearing.

It should come as no surprise he's dressed in the same thing he was when he died - the customary uniform for the Survey Corps with the Wings of Freedom pinned over his chest and on his shoulders as they always had been, the same button-up white shirt down to the cravat hanging from his collar. The clothing has been ripped in the back, though. A result of the wings, I think.

But his pants are incomplete. Where they'd normally be white, strapped up, and disappearing below boots, there's nothing from his thighs down. They're ripped, in fact, several inches or maybe a foot beneath his belt, and then there's nothing but his pale legs. Like me, his calves and feet are tucked beneath him - a result of the fall. And just below the end of his shredded bottoms are scars. One on each thigh that stretch seemingly all the way around. Darker than the rest of his skin, from what I can see in the moonlight, and strangely puckered.

I remove a hand from his shoulder and shakily lower it to his left leg. My fingers quiver, but that doesn't stop me from gently brushing the tips over the scars. The skin's smooth but ridged.

The reality of it sets in, then. That this is real. He's real. His death and everything I was doubting is true.

I lift my eyes back to his. He's watching me carefully with his mouth pressed in a straight line, brows drawn together just a bit.

"This is crazy," I mutter. As if that wasn't obvious. I want to tell him I missed him so much, but something tells me he knows. If he's been here, if he's seen me, he knows. And I don't know how I would be able to form the words. All I can do is cling to him like he's the very thing keeping my heart beating.

"I know," he responds. Knows it's crazy, knows I missed him.

I pick up the drawing once again, sitting back just a bit and never letting go of him. "So then...you sent me this," I say. "You knew I was in your room and you found this...you opened the window and gave it to me so I'd know to come up here...and you waited for me." I have to say it all out loud to make my own sense of it. For some reason, verbalizing it makes it seem more real. Levi says nothing; he simply lets me work it all out in my head.

I glance back up, panic beginning to rise. "Are you gonna leave again?" I ask, trying to hide the worry but feeling it's a fruitless effort.

"I don't know." His hands move from my face and he pulls the cape tighter around my shoulders just before a cool breeze passes through, like he knew it was coming. "I can, I suppose, if you wanted--"

"No!" I've said it too quickly, too eagerly. But it earns one of his classic snorts.

"I figured you'd say that."

"But...can you stay?"

"What do you mean?"

My hand flutters back down to one of the scars. His eyes follow, and we both remember what it means - that he did pass away, and that while he's here, something inside myself, at least, tells me this isn't just a second chance at life for him, or a second chance at love for either of us. He's here because of me, but that doesn't mean he's...alive.

"I'll only disappear if you let go," he explains. "If you make peace with my death."

It's my turn to snort. I lean forward and press my face into his shoulder, breathe him in. His scent is...the same, but different. I can't explain it.

"If I haven't managed to get over it in the past several years, what the hell makes you think I'll be able to after you've appeared right in front of me like some kind of freaking angel?"

I feel Levi's fingers tangle themselves through my hair, proving some things about him haven't changed. The other hand finds my side, rests on my hip. His head leans down against mine.

"I'm anything but an angel," he scoffs.

"Then why do you have giant black wings?"

"No idea."

I slide my arms around his waist and hold tight, never wanting to let him go. Normally by now he'd be telling me this is wrong, that we shouldn't be so close, but he's not, and I'm already having to remind myself the thing he was trying to protect us from back then has already happened.

"You need to get back," he says after a while. "Before everyone else wakes up and finds you missing."

"Hmph, I don't care if they do," I mutter.

I can practically feel him roll his eyes. "Don't be stubborn and just go."

"Come with me."

"I never said I wasn't going to."

For the first time in forever, I feel myself smile a bit. I lift my head to look at him again. He doesn't return the smile, but gives me that semi-annoyed, 'you're a brat but you're my brat' stare. And I am his brat.

He pulls himself out of my arms and stands up, taking one of my hands and pulling me to my feet as well. I gaze down at him, a part of me still in utter disbelief.

I don't let go of his hand as he tugs me in the direction of the way I came. I make sure to snatch the unfolded plane and stick it back under the cloak. We retrace my steps back to Wall Rose, and by the time we're there, the stars are beginning to fade away as the sky grows lighter toward the east.

My stomach flutters as headquarters comes back into view. Anticipation. Nerves. Confusion. A little excitement. I don't know what this means, don't know if it's just some way the universe has decided to torture me more or what the outcome will be. All I can be certain of is how happy I am to be holding Levi's hand again.

---

I've had, like, almost zero inspiration lately so sorry if this is bad. I tried my best without that mojo, but idk. Dx But I hope you enjoyed it anyway.