Chapter Text
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• Constellations - Duster •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|•
Two years ago…
His favourite colour was army green. You remembered why, too. It was never about the fact that he found it appealing. It was about giving grace to his position in the military. It was about giving grace to his fallen comrades, forever carrying a piece of them within the fabric dye. It was about dedicating his heart to the oath he had sworn himself to uphold. You never crossed your mind that this was a bad thing; you felt proud that your father was a man of such honour.
Your pride had dispersed completely when you swung your oak door back and saw Captain Ackermann at your doorstep, wearing the somber expression that you had nightmares about. The look that you had prayed to every God out there that would never find its destination in your eyes.
“Daughter of Lieutenant Commander Erwin Smith,
Stop. Stop talking.
“I came to inform you that”
I know what you’re going to say. Please. Don’t.
“Your father has”
Don’t say it.
“passed”
No. No.
“away.”
You stared at him. You never understood the saying “my heart jumped up to my throat,” but in this moment, you truly felt like it was hand-crafted, chiseled to be imparted to you.
You couldn’t remember a single word from your exchange with Captain Levi Ackermann after he had departed the worst 17 words you had ever had the curse of hearing and processing. The faint memory you could extract was of the door's hinges creaking as you shut away the last connection you had to your father, and through the silver of the door crack, you could see a tear trailing down Levi Ackermann’s unshakeable, porcelain face.
It was funny. If you were to go up to the next squirrel you saw and repeat the catalyst of your downfall to it, it would make incomprehensible chirps at you, not understanding jackshit. Even someone who couldn’t comprehend a lick of English would only be able to identify the fact that something was wrong based on body language. Those 17 words felt like you were Atlas holding up the weight of the sky, but to any other ordinary individual, it was just another Tuesday.
You walked to the green armchair, where your father always sat. You just had the biggest bomb dropped on you, more destructive than the ones your dad has used in battle, yet, at the same time, everything felt so anticlimactic.
You felt the sobs threatening to release, and you let it happen. There was no one to hide them from anymore. You were never in jeopardy because you felt like showing a glimpse of emotion. At least, in this house, you weren’t. Your years in foster care had taught you a whole other handful of life lessons regarding feelings. Running around and being shipped to different homes like cargo was, in all its horrendousness, a good way to toughen you up. Close you off, too.
You wanted to scream, kick, and thrash. Let free every feeling that was slowly eating you from the inside out. You sat there for who knows how long, hugging your knees to your chest, and staring at the house filled with the decorations your father had cherry-picked to his liking.
But you didn’t. Despite the names crawling back into your brain from your precedent foster siblings, you did not make a single movement. Did not allow a single nerve receptor to send any signal to your brain to unleash your fury and grief.
Still, you could make out their voices.
Fucking crashout.
What the hell is wrong with her…insane bastard.
Christ, get her out of here.
Mom, I’m scared of New Sissy.
That one stung the most. Even the most innocent of humanity couldn’t bear being in your vicinity. Your presence induced irritability, stress, and even fear.
It was like some fucked up game of hot potato, except the potato was an explosive waiting for someone to even dare prod close enough that it would ignite everything nearby into flames, and that bomb was you.
That was until Erwin Smith. The only man you had ever weighed the idea of calling a father. He was the only man in your life by far who had stepped up to shine, well, any kind of light in your life.
You could still remember when you first saw him. The social worker had brought you out, but you’d been through the process so many times that anything she was saying was going through one ear and out the other.
The way he held himself with such poise and confidence. He was wearing one of his multiple army green shirts, and it was the day you learned this was one of his only off-duty outfits. His eyes landed on you, and he spoke his first words to you, the ones that you learned to memorize down to the bone.
“What have you dedicated your heart to?”
Confusion flickered on your face.
“What?”
“What have you dedicated your heart to?”
What? What’s he on about? Who asks this of the damn kid they’re trying to adopt?
His inquiry was mystifying to you, but there was something about the way he said it, the true curiosity and determination that you could pick out from the core of his eyes.
“Nothing. There is nothing for me to ‘dedicate my heart’ to.” You look down at your fingernails with boredom.
“Then make something. You cannot live life with no purpose, nothing you want to pursue,” he said with something of an edge in his voice.
You narrowed your eyes, feeling the familiar, easily prompted irritated bubbling.
Oh my fucking god, why is he here then? And is “dedicate your heart” the only thing he knows how to say?
You couldn’t bite your tongue in time.
“Then leave. I’m not the one you’re looking for,” you spat. You were annoyed, yes, but you still felt the twinge of guilt that clawed at your brain every time you had these kinds of moments.
To your surprise, he did not react, but the corners of his mouth turned up to form a smile.
“You mistake me, you are exactly who I am looking for.”
Your eyebrow arches, and he keeps going.
“You’re denying the question, protesting the fact that you have nothing to fight for. Yet I can see the spark in your eyes. What you’re fighting for. What you’ve dedicated your heart to.”
“And that is?”
“Life.”
This caught you off guard. You swung your head up to look at him.
“You have dedicated your heart to the concept of life. Of survival. Of staying alive to achieve your deepest desires.”
Your mouth parted, wanting to get a retort in, but Erwin Smith interrupted again.
“Come, we’re going home,” he ended the conversation right there.
Sienna, the social worker, nudged you in his direction. There was no room for discussion.
The walk to his car was one filled with silence. Inside the car was worse with the awkwardness rose. You couldn’t stand it, and against your better judgment—
“What have you dedicated your heart to?” you blurted out.
For fucks sake.
“My oath.”
“What oath?”
“The one I took when I swore to protect this country.”
“You’re in the military?”
He nodded his head in response.
You were never good at holding up a conversation, so you failed to say something back to his lackluster answer.
You turned your head to the window, peering at the pavement the vehicle was cruising on. Ever since you were a kid, you’ve carried the impulsive thought of launching yourself through a moving car. With the predicament you were currently sitting in, it didn’t sound like too bad of an idea.
“I used to be like you,” he suspended your train of thought.
“Huh?”
“I used to care about myself and my well-being only. I had no concern for those around me.”
“Are you saying I’m selfish?”
“No. It’s only natural to want to preserve your own needs and wants. What I’m trying to say is that I learned what it means to want to prolong everyone’s happiness and incorporate it into your own.”
You didn’t say anything. You were over his righteousness and indirect jabs.
It will be years after that you learned his vows held.
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▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• Something About You - Eyedress •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|•
Present
Watching the liquid in your cup slowly go down was your only distraction.
The rest of your friend group was chatting with Armin over the formalities. It had felt like they’d already accepted him.
Even if he didn’t resemble your dad, you were finding it difficult to welcome him with open arms. New people were always a wild card, and paired with your atrocious luck and distrust of pretty much everyone, there was no chance that this was going to go well.
That, along with the fact that he was so pretty you couldn’t bear to look at him in fear of being blinded.
There has to be something wrong with him. Why is he so enthusiastic? Nobody is that happy unless they’re trying to hide something. There came your defenses.
A shoulder bumped yours, the type that meant they wanted your attention. You let your eyes move to the corner to see Marco.
“Are you doing okay, Y/N? You haven’t spoken much since Armin arrived.”
“Yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry,” you said, a little too fast. You hoped he wouldn’t notice. You gave a smile and prayed that it was enough to mask your obvious lie.
He gave his soft smile in return. “Okay, I was just making sure.”
You could still hear the chatter when you saw someone drawing near from your peripheral vision. You let out a sigh of relief once you realized who it was.
“Oh, guys, look! It’s Jean!” Historia said, being the first to announce his arrival.
“Hey.” Even with his closest friends, he kept up his “nonchalant” exterior.
The group, just like they did with Armin, ushered him into the booth. He walked over to the edge and slid in beside you, nodding his head to say hello.
Jean scanned the group before he landed on Armin, and his brows furrowed.
“Who’s this guy?”
Armin’s pale skin went slightly red.
Oh, he’s one of those guys, the ones who get flustered and turn bright red at literally anything.
It was strange, though. Usually, this would bother you, as almost everything did, but for some reason, there was no snark in your inner monologue.
“Oh, hi! My name’s Armin, and I’m Eren and Mikasa’s childhood friend. I just moved here this semester because I was staying with my parents before. Your name’s Jean, right? I heard everyone say it,” he quickly blurted out a condensed version of his former introduction.
“Yeah, that’s me. Nice to meet you,” he said rather bluntly. Jean was never that good with meeting new people, either.
Armin blinked but seemed not to mind his response.
“It’s nice to meet you too…and you?”
It took a second before you realized he meant you. You mimicked the blink he did with Jean’s answer and prompted him with your name.
He repeated what he said to Jean, and thankfully, went back to the conversation that was happening before.
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• Bambi - Clairo •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|•
You couldn’t be bothered to indulge in whatever they were talking about.
It’s not like they’d care for my input anyway.
You diverted your gaze back to your phone and clicked around on it, the classic move you pulled when you knew you were insignificant. As good a strategy as it was, you were now unaware of the group's focus drifting to you. You hear murmuring in the background, but didn’t pick up on it until Jean nudged you back to the real world.
You looked up from your screen and at him, and followed his eyes to everyone else staring back at you, too.
“So, what’s your answer?” Jean asked.
“Huh?”
He clicked his tongue. “Are you serious? Were you not paying attention?”
“No, sorry that you’re not entertaining enough to listen to.” A normal retort of yours.
You heard him mumble your catchphrase of for fuck’s sake and see the gears grinding in his head, debating whether to let you know what they were all looking at you for or not.
Eren was the one to speak up. “He’s going to go on such a long tangent. Jean’s having a party at his place, we’re all invited, and so is half the school. You know the drill.”
Your eyes roll. “That’s it? Then what’s he being so dramatic for?”
Eren’s lips curl upwards. “You know how he is.”
“And you want to know if I’m going or not,” you guess.
“Wow, Sherlock, aren’t you brilliant?” Jean spoke up, clearly trying to make up for the damage you and Eren did to his fragile ego.
Usually, parties weren’t your thing. You never found them fun or riveting. All it was to you was sore feet, the smell of alcohol, and throwing up. Despite one of your best friends being a heavy party-goer and host, you never showed up.
There’s nothing I’d rather do less, Jean, master of frats.
“Everyone’s going, even Armin,” Mikasa told you.
Armin? No offence to him, but… he doesn’t look the type.
You could tell he was more of the geeky kind and not one who seemed too big on large parties where there was way too much going on. He looked like the type to rather be nestled up with his book, which you could relate to.
You took the risk of looking over to him and saw a weird sort of hopefulness. There was something about it that was tempting.
“It’ll be a good way for me to get to know the rest of you, plus the rest of the school. I think it’d be nice if you came, too, Y/N.” Armin coaxed. You never fell for bait, especially not from anyone else doing a shitty attempt at trying to convince you to do something. It wasn’t even a solid try; he half-assed it over the guise of being polite. Armin would be the last person on your list to be able to make you go to this fucking party.
“Yeah sure, I'll come,” you said.
“Oh shit?” Jean’s eyes widened.
“Sure, why not. Worse comes to worst, I’ll just hide in your room and stay the night like I usually do,” you say casually.
Armin narrowed his eyebrows ever so slightly, so little that nobody noticed the change.
“Fucking finally! Y/N’s making an appearance to the legendary—” Connie began, about to go into the spiel of how great the events were. He was a resident guest in almost every part of the campus.
“Shut up or I won’t go.” You threatened, which worked, and he stopped in his tracks.
After providing them with the confirmation of your attendance, the discussion went back to its usual array of random topics floating around.
You and your friends sat for a little while longer before Jean’s break was up, and he returned to behind the counter to continue serving customers. The rest of the group took this as the cue to begin heading out.
Eren, Mikasa, and Armin lingered in the back. From the corner of your eye, you could see them go up to the counter, probably wanting something to go.
Armin seemed to feel someone watching, and his eyes landed on you for a brief moment. He smiles his smile, and you see his dimples poke out when he does.
As if Sunshine couldn’t get any brighter.
You didn’t know why you didn’t return the smile, but you didn’t. You just turned your head back, leaving Armin with nothing but the jingle of the Sanrio bell as you opened the door to leave.
☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ Armin’s POV ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆
The childhood friend’s trio had made it to the start of the line. Eren was the first to order, Mikasa second, and Armin last. This had always been the order they had done things.
“What’re you gonna order, Armin? Are you still a black coffee fiend?” Eren joked.
Armin chuckled. “Surprised you still remember that. Yeah, I am, but I kinda want to order something different right now.”
The cashier waited expectantly for Armin’s answer. Unfortunately for them, it wasn’t Jean.
Armin’s mind flashes with the label that was stuck to your coffee cup. He told the guy working what drink he had decided to switch up his regular for.
“Can I have an iced vanilla latte? Three pumps, please.”