Chapter Text
Eren’s good mood doesn’t last into the morning. He’s back to being surly and incorrigible by breakfast, although Armin, together with Mikasa, sticks close to his side regardless—it’s pleasantly surreal having him back at all, even when he’s like this. And Eren’s fluctuating moods are familiar, at least. He’s less now like the stranger he’d been the night before and more just Eren—Armin’s best friend and the angry boy he’s known all his life.
It’s easier this way, too, to ignore that anything out of the ordinary had passed between the two of them the previous night. Eren hasn’t mentioned it and Armin won’t either; he's happy to let the entire incident fade into distant memory if it’s what Eren wants; if it means he won’t turn that dark mood around on Armin, if Armin is indeed the cause of it. Eren had been understandably exhausted after his ordeal—possibly delirious, too—and Armin knows it would be unwise to read anything else into it. He’s unwilling to let it come between them. But when Eren gets up from the table and storms out of the mess without so much as a backwards glance, Armin has cause to wonder if it already has.
“He’s afraid,” Mikasa says once he’s gone, startling Armin so that he drops his spoon.
“I can tell,” he agrees after a short pause. He watches the open doorway should Eren appear in it once more, and absently stirs his lukewarm mug of tea. “He doesn’t have anything to worry about, though. Does he?” A tiny thread of panic tugs at him when he meets Mikasa’s eyes. She looks as uncertain as Armin feels.
“Not if he tells them the truth. All he can do is tell them the truth. And if they refuse to trust him again then we'll figure things out from there.”
Armin silently agrees, though it doesn’t help his nerves any. He wishes he could be in there with Eren as he’s being questioned. He knows he can’t offer him much in the way of protection, though he could at least attempt to prevent Eren’s temper getting the best of him, discourage him from saying anything unwise which might push their superiors to make a hasty decision. The last thing Armin wants is to have Eren in chains again like an animal—or worse, put down like one. But he reasons he’ll just have to trust Eren will keep his temper out of this; that he’ll be rational, as scared and uncertain as he undoubtedly is.
Armin gets up from the table when Mikasa does and follows her out into the courtyard. He hasn’t felt this useless, aimless or without direction in months. It’s begun to drizzle; the cobblestone underfoot is slick with rain, and Armin, failing now to pay much attention to his surroundings, slips and loses his footing. Mikasa’s too quick to let him fall—her arm shoots out and she grabs his wrist, rights him and takes his hand in hers. She doesn’t let go once he’s steady on his feet again, and they hold hands as they wander back to the camp in silence.
He doesn’t see Eren again until late that afternoon and even then, it’s Armin who must seek him out. Eren’s avoiding them, hiding out in the forest for whatever reason, and Armin decides it’s as good a time as any to find out what had happened during the questioning. Giving him the space to be angry on his own is no longer an option—not when the fates of all three of them hang on what was decided for Eren during that meeting.
He’s as deep into the forest as their boundaries permit by the time Armin finds him. He doesn’t turn around when Armin approaches, though he’s surely noticed his presence. Armin stands there for a little while, rests his shoulder against the trunk of a tree and watches him. He’s sitting on a fallen log, shoulders hunched and head bent, stabbing at the damp earth with a stick. Armin can hear him sniffling, muttering to himself, and presumes he’s probably crying.
“Eren.” Armin announces his presence as gently as he can, slowly approaches and stands behind him, a safe distance away. When Eren won’t acknowledge him, Armin sighs and steps over the log to sit down beside him, rests his chin in his palm and watches for a few minutes as Eren continues to viciously stab at the earth.
“You can’t kill it, you know,” he points out, looking pointedly at the stick.
“I wish it was his face,” Eren spits, and Armin frowns.
“Whose? Corporal Levi’s?” Armin can’t think of anyone else who might have inspired this reaction in Eren, someone who commands enough of his respect to have reduced him to angry tears.
“Yeah,” Eren says, and wipes his nose with his sleeve. He rubs at his eyes, too; leaves the skin around them red and blotchy. Armin notices a developing bruise on the right side of his face and quickly deduces at least part of what’s likely taken place.
“You don’t mean that, Eren.”
“Yeah I do!” Eren bristles. “You weren’t there, Armin. You don’t know what he did.”
Armin bites his lip and hesitantly touches Eren’s forearm. “So tell me.” He’s relieved when Eren doesn’t jerk away from his touch.
“I overheard some of them talking after the interrogation,” Eren starts, and it troubles Armin that he phrases it this way, though he refrains from commenting on it just yet. “One of them said— They said I’m a liability. That maybe the pros don’t outweigh the cons and perhaps they should hand me over to the Military Police after all. And all the time he didn’t say a word; he just sat there. He doesn’t care whether I live or die, Armin. He’ll probably sign my execution warrant himself, the little bastard.”
“Oh, Eren…” Armin squeezes Eren’s arm, isn't sure what else he can say that’ll comfort him. Eren looks up to the Corporal, and Armin is aware how deeply this must have hurt him, even if he’ll never admit it. He asks, “Well what then? Did you speak to him at all?”
Eren starts stabbing the ground again. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “I caught up to him once everyone else had left. I asked him.”
“You mean you yelled at him.”
“I asked him,” Eren repeats, though his voice is rising even now, “if he’s going to just sit back like a coward and let them sell me out! He knows how important I am—he knows how much they need me!”
“And what then?” Armin asks in a small voice, though he’s fairly sure he doesn't need the answer.
“And then nothing,” Eren mutters. “He wouldn’t give me a straight answer. He just called me an entitled little shit and told me to mind my own business; to let him handle it. And then he hit me.”
“He hit you?” Armin feels an unwelcome surge of anger on behalf of his friend—Corporal Levi’s methods of ‘disciplining’ Eren have never sat particularly well with him.
“Yeah, but who cares.”
“I care,” Armin says.
Eren pulls his arm out from under Armin’s hold and takes his hand instead. “Yeah, I know,” he says. He brushes his thumb back and forth across Armin’s knuckles. He sounds defeated now, too exhausted to stay angry.
“Will you come back to camp with me?” Armin asks hopefully.
“No. Not yet. I don’t want to run into him again.”
“You’ll have to talk to him sooner or later, Eren. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but next time you might want to try a different approach with him…?” He's reluctant to tell Eren what to do and yet forces himself because he knows it's what Eren needs to hear. Eren trusts him to always give him the truth.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what I mean, Eren. Perhaps try being a little less hostile?”
“After he sat back and agreed to let them do whatever they want with me?” Eren yells. “After everything? He was the one who took responsibility for me, Armin, but the minute it doesn’t suit him—”
“You need to trust him, Eren,” Armin softly interrupts. Eren closes his mouth but continues breathing heavily through his nose. “I do,” Armin continues. “I don’t think he wants to sell you out. You’ll just have to trust he’ll do what’s best for you, and that whatever he said or did—it had a purpose behind it. Can you do that?”
“No. I don’t trust anyone apart from you. And Mikasa.”
“Well that’s foolish, Eren. You need to trust him, too. He’s only ever done what’s best for you. If any of us want to get out of this alive, we’re going to need him.”
“Blind faith is for idiots."
“Eren…”
“Fine,” Eren snaps.
Armin supresses a triumphant little smile and shifts over on the log then, until their knees are pressed together. He leans heavily into Eren’s side and rests his temple against Eren’s shoulder, closing his eyes and releasing a slow breath when Eren’s warm lips press against his forehead. For the first time since the day had begun, he feels as if he’s finally stopped to catch his breath.
“Hey,” Eren says. He nudges Armin’s leg.
When Armin lifts his head to look at him, Eren surprises him with another kiss. He holds Armin’s head in place with a hand cupping his cheek, coaxes his mouth open with his tongue and chuckles when Armin’s cheek grows hot against the palm of his hand.
“You’re embarrassed,” he remarks when they part. He stares at Armin’s lips then and smirks, and Armin tells himself he’d be annoyed if Eren didn’t look so stupidly fond of him.
“Yes,” he admits. His breath hitches in his chest and he swallows hard.
“Why? It’s only me.”
“It’s because it’s you.” Armin folds his arms against the cold and looks down at the dirt. He isn’t sure how to explain to Eren that he wants this at the same time he’s afraid of it.
“You don’t see me that way,” Eren guesses after a few moments.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what is it?”
“I…” Armin sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Today, I… I thought you were upset about what happened. Last night, I mean. I wasn’t going to mention it again until I was sure you weren’t, but… I don’t want to have to worry about that, Eren. We’ve got enough to concern ourselves with, don’t you think?”
“I wasn’t upset about that,” Eren says. He picks up the stick and starts poking at the ground again. “I’m sorry if you thought I was. I just… I had a lot on my mind, Armin.”
“I know that. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I understand what you’re saying. In the scheme of things, you don’t think it’s worth it. You don’t have the time for it.”
Armin opens and closes his mouth but can’t form the words, flustered and exasperated at being so horribly misunderstood. “Eren, I didn’t… I never said I didn’t have the time,” he tries. “I just meant that I don’t want it to be an added source of stress for either of us. I want to know for sure we’ll be alright. I can’t lose you.” His voice weakens at this, and Eren lifts a hand to brush the hair out of his eyes.
“Of course we’ll be alright,” he says gently. “We’ll always be alright. Nothing can come between us, I promise.”
This time when Eren kisses him, Armin relaxes into it, allows himself the privilege of actually enjoying it. He’s clumsy with inexperience but attempts to return Eren’s kiss with everything he’s got, lets his eager lips and hands show Eren how much he really does want it, even if a part of him remains convinced that getting even closer to Eren is a mistake; that it won’t end well for either one of them. He doesn't want to think about that. He lets Eren bundle him into his arms, pull him onto his lap, and decides then—with his lips on Eren’s, his hands tangled in his hair—that if they're going to do this, he'll need to keep thinking well out of the equation.