A/N: Okay. I'm sad so I started writing and this happened and it's probably FULL of mistakes and OOC stuff and whatnot. Oh well, have another helping of angst bc that seems to be what I'm best at writing for these idiots.

Really, I swear I want to write about them being domestic. I could write a ten page essay about their cuddle habits. I just never do.

He wonders what happened.

He wonders about the trampled flowers, the torn branches and shredded bark, the matted grass and the clumps of soil tossed about, ripped out of the ground by mindlessly rampaging oversized feet. He wonders about the red that seems to stain every rock, every root, every divot in the ground, and every blade of grass. The crimson liquid pooled around every body strewn thoughtlessly around him. He wonders about the disembodied limbs and the broken blades and the tattered, bloodied cloaks that lie everywhere.

The wind rustles in the trees high above and moves like the waves he's never seen through the grass. He looks up at the sky through the leaves and vaguely wonders why it's suddenly so quiet, because the last thing he remembers is screaming and roaring and the metallic clashing of blades and the whirring of wires and blood and so much pain, so much noise…

There's no steam rising from his body. He can feel slickness soaking his left side and arm, and knows without lifting his head that it's blood, fresh and flowing. He once read in a book somewhere, sometime long ago and in a nice place far, very far from here, that blood could be called 'the water of life'. But for all his short life, after all he'd seen, blood sure didn't seem to fit that title. Where there was blood, there was death.

Whose book had that been? His mind strains to recall what feels like a distant memory.

He turns his head to the right. Lying not too far away, there's a heap of mangled bodies. There's wrecked bodies everywhere, some of them destroyed beyond recognition, but from this heap he can pick out a few names. Hange...Armin...Armin. Armin. Armin's book. Armin. He thinks his heart could break if it wasn't already physically failing him. He can feel it thudding painfully in his chest.

He struggles to sit up, slowly. His head spins and he feels like puking, but there's nothing but acid and jumbled bones and blood inside him. Ahead of him, more people. Sasha. A red cloth? Mik...Mikasa's scarf. Something tells him that all his comrades are dead, their corpses here or in titans' stomachs.

He slowly, painfully, turns to his left. There, there lying there, not five feet away, the Captain, Captain Levi. Lying in a pool of blood. Humanity's Strongest lying dead on the cold, unforgiving ground.

Except he's not dead, not yet. His eyes are moving. Eren groans and forces, drags himself along. Pulls himself with his uninjured arm until he's made it across the five thousand foot distance to Levi. Collapses at his side. Touches his arm with a shaking hand.

"Eren," he croaks. His voice is faint, barely there and wavering precariously. "You there? I," he pauses for a long moment, struggling to breathe properly. "I can't see."

Eren wills his voice to work. It comes out scratchy and rough and he tastes iron blood. "I'm here." He traces his cold fingers across Levi's colder cheek. "I'm here."

Levi's hand twitches. "Eren," he sighs, sighs the name like a feeble prayer. "Eren. Sorry. So sorry."

Eren shuffles so his other hand, the one soaked in his own blood, can hold Levi's, despite the filth. Their fingers slot together, but don't close. Eren's arm feels dead and Levi probably can't move. "Don't say that." He doesn't want to hear how pained he sounds. He wants to forget everything but Levi's face when he's not dying, but of course that doesn't happen.

He feels cold metal on his chest. The key. The key that was supposed to solve all their problems once they got to his basement. They never got to the fucking basement. All that work, all the death for nothing. And it makes Eren so angry, but there's nothing he can do about it now.

Levi sucks in a breath. "Everyone…"

"Dead," he replies bitterly. "All dead. In vain." Levi laughs humorlessly, painfully.

"Figures. We're joining them."

"Be glad…" Eren coughs and whimpers at the pain in his chest. How many broken ribs can one have at one time? "That you can't see this."

There's a short pause and for a dizzying moment, Eren wonders if Levi has gone before he can say anything of actual importance (as if words ever held any importance anyway).

Then he says, "I wish I could see you. One last time." He laughs again, wheezing. "Sentimental fool." He's referring to himself, Eren knows.

"Levi," Eren says, as urgently as he can manage. Their time is limited. "Fuck this world. Another life, that's what we'll have. O...kay. Okay? I know you don't believe that stuff, but...We'll meet again."

Another pause, and then Levi says, so quietly, "I hope so." He wants what Eren wants, Eren knows. And what Eren wants is a life where they actually have chance- a chance to live as real humans, a chance to make real relationships without fear of losing everything within a day. A chance to really care for themselves and other people, and chance to really live, a chance to love each other. A chance to say 'I love you'. A chance to live without constant fear, stress and sadness, to lead a life of emotions and freedoms. Eren wants to see the world. Eren wants his friends. Eren wants Levi.

And he knows Levi wants that too.

So maybe they can't say it now, even as they're taking their last breaths of sick tasting air in this cruel, twisted world, but someday, somehow, they will have their chance. In a world that's beautiful like this one may have once been.

"Don't cry," Levi whispers. Eren didn't even realize he was. He threads his fingers through Levi's hair and rests his head on his chest, listening as his heart stutters. It's reminiscent of the nights they spent together.

The other's breathing is growing more and more ragged, and Eren's eyes feel heavier and heavier. But Levi's going to go first, Eren knows. He lifts his head, wanting to commit his face to the very core of his memory, so that a thousand or more years from now he can pick him out in any crowd. Levi's skin is pale, splattered with blood, and his eyes are glassy, but it's still him. Eren presses a gentle kiss to his chin- a goodnight kiss, really- and returns his head to his chest.

Levi makes a soft noise like he's trying to speak and Eren moves his hand to brush his thumb over his pale lips. "Shh." His heart is failing, Eren can hear it. They both know that these are his last breaths. Levi takes a rasping breath, another, shudders. His heart thuds once. Twice.

He lies still.

Eren closes his eyes for him. Goodnight, Captain. He payed his duty to humanity and more. He deserves to rest.

Eren lays there listening to a dead heart until he succumbs to the pull of the darkness, letting his eyes slip shut and his consciousness fade.

Next time, they'll have a chance.

He wonders what will happen.

But really, he doesn't care.

Because when they make eye contact in the middle of the street on a drizzly Saturday afternoon, Eren drops the bag of groceries he just spent the last of the previous month's paycheck on.

Levi grabs his face as if to see if he's real, to check if he's really there, and holds him. Hold him close and tight and long and he doesn't let go as people pass around them because it's been so, so long and now, and after all this time, they're here.

Here together in a world that just might suit them this time around.

This is their chance.

I love you, Levi.