Chapter Text
The burden is too much for a man to carry.
And yet, Erwin tried. Erwin does. He carries the burden of decisions, deaths. Truths and lies, tightly bound together over his shoulders. Ideas, illuminations. Tears and pains – guilt. He carries it all, like it weighs nothing. Or at least, that’s what people believe. Someone crushed by their burden wouldn’t stand so straight, seem so strong – look so harsh. Erwin is nothing like Sisyphus, no – he’s Icarus, flying high and aiming for the sun. His wings are no burden, they’re freedom. At least, that’s what people think. They don’t see that the wings are made of lead-feathers, they don’t see the golden hues are only reflects of his hair. They don’t think freedom has a cost, not for the men seeking it. They don’t see that Icarus straining under his hopeful, painful burden. They don’t see that Sisyphus pushing his burden up, and up, and up, without ever reaching the top.
They don’t see the sweat he wipes from his brow, the sleepless nights. They don’t hear the screams of terror at night, they don’t see the hands shaking from the blood staining them. They don’t see that rigid spine bent over tactics and plans. They don’t see the burden, nor the man straining under it. They see a monster, and he doesn’t bother to deny it. There’s no point in doing so, after all. He intends to carry this peculiar burden alone, whatever it means for him.
But the burden is too much for one man to carry, and this Sisyphus pants and groans under his too heavy burden.
The burden is too much for one man to carry – but if he were to be helped by a second, it wouldn’t be so much. And one day, Sisyphus looks up from his burden to the top of the mountain – to his ultimate goal, to truth and freedom – and what he sees leaves him breathless. Another kind of Icarus is there, soaring in the sky above him. His wings are broken and misshapen, not enough to truly carry him – but if Erwin were to share his lead-feathered wings with him, he would rise above humanity and fly into the sun. He would reach that freedom that seems to be just at his hand, and yet so far away.
And so Levi takes on heavy wings – wings meant for freedom that can fly so much higher than his own previously could, and flies straight into the sun. He doesn’t listen, drunk on the sensation. And, like Icarus, he falls down. Crashes hard at Sisyphus’ feet, the boulder shielding him from the sun – masking his freedom. And for the first time, Levi truly looks at Sisyphus’ face. He sees how heavy his burden is; he sees it, ready to collapse. And so he reaches up, his shoulders taking some of the weight. Not everything, no. But carrying the burden with Erwin, helping as he can. He means only to see the sun once more, and Erwin is the only way.
He doesn’t mean for the Fated wind to push him flush against him – doesn’t mean to feel the muscles shifting, chiselled and strained from years of carrying this too-heavy burden. Doesn’t mean to look into too-blue eyes; doesn’t mean his heart to beat faster. But he finds himself doing so, and finds the burden a bit lighter this way. Too much for one man, but it can be carried by two.
And when his lips finally press against Erwin’s, he feels invincible – and he could carry the world, he could, if Erwin would just ask. But Erwin doesn’t – because together they are stronger, together, they are Atlas, and they carry the sky. They share their strength into sleepless nights, into screaming nightmares. They share stolen kisses and the heated comfort of skin, and Erwin seem to grow stronger and stronger, no longer Sisyphus – no, Erwin becomes Atlas more and more.
And one day, he’ll carry the sky by himself, and watch as his own Icarus takes off and flies above him. After all, he gave Levi the wings that carry him into the cloudless sky – freedom is worth that.