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He knows everyone's only hard on him because he's weak. He knows it's supposed to encourage him, supposed to push him farther so he can get stronger and so he can be up there with the top ten. Top twenty, top anything. God, just anywhere near the top. He knows that getting in the top ten is guaranteed impossible, so he doesn't even know why Eren keeps on trying to push him like this.
There's a lot of things he doesn't know, really, but the one thing he does know, is that he's absolutely hopeless.
Useless.
Unnecessary.
And plenty other words that are degrading and belittling, and he fists his hands in the dirt when he looks up and sees a calloused hand in front of his face, palm up, inviting.
Armin lets his eyes stray further, and when he locks eyes with bright, encouraging green ones, Armin lets out a quiet noise and pushes himself up on his own. He stumbles a little, his knee having been bruised when he was thrown to the ground during combat training, and when he stumbles, Eren's hand shoots out to steady him. Armin jerks away, glares half-heartedly, and when Eren's eyes glisten with hurt, Armin just stalks away, a slight limp in his left leg as he leaves the training grounds.
Why the hell does Eren keep trying? Keep encouraging? He's a lost cause. Why can't he just see that?
Armin finds a secluded tree a little aways from their sleeping quarters, and he drags himself over, slumping down and letting his head fall back and rest against the rough bark. He rubs at his eyes roughly, until they sting and burn and turn red from the assault. He knows he should just let himself cry. Eren's told him multiple times its okay to cry, it doesn't make you any less of a person, and Armin believed him. He can't count how many times he shamelessly collapsed into Eren's chest and cried like a goddamned baby.
But not this time. He never wants to shed another fucking tear again. He'd rather die.
Armin clenches his eyes shut, his body trembling with held back sobs, but his cheeks remain dry, and he only jumps a little bit when he hears footsteps shuffling towards him. He's prepared to tell whoever it is (probably Eren) to fuck off, that he's not in the mood, that he's finally done, but when he looks up and sees dark eyes instead of soft green, his words fail him.
Jean's eyes widen, as if he didn't even notice Armin sitting there, and when the blonde boy lets his eyes wander, he sees a half eaten orange in Jean's right hand. The juice is dripping down his fingers and forearm, and they both freeze as they stare at eachother, both caught in the act of something disciplinary. (Armin supposes his self loathing isn't really discipline worthy, but he kind of wishes it was.)
Armin opens his mouth to say something, but Jean's already fumbling with excuses over him,
"Don't tell anyone," he manages, clutching the half eaten orange tighter, more juices dripping down his arm and onto the grass right in front of Armin. "I... I saw the wagon carrying the food to the Corporal's quarters, and there was a bag of oranges just... just sitting there,and.... I only took one, I swear."
Jean continues to ramble, and when he waves his arms, a drop of juice lands on Armin's cheek. He flinches, but then reaches up to swipe at it with his thumb before licking it off his finger. The shockingly tart but sweet liquid causes his eyes to widen, and it's been a damn long time since he had something so refreshing.
Jean's still talking, but his words die when Armin finally blinks up at him, blue eyes dull and tired as he mutters, "I don't care. You better finish it though, before anyone else sees you."
Though Armin is book smart, he's no tattletale. And besides, he has other things on his mind than Jean and his stolen fruit, and he turns his gaze back to his knees, picking at a thread on his pants and feeling his lip quiver again as stupid horrid thoughts flood his mind again.
He expected Jean to stuff the fruit in his mouth and scurry away, so Armin jumps slightly when the taller male plops down in the grass next to him, and their shoulders are almost touching. The sweet scent from the orange fills Armin's nose, and when he opens his eyes and turns his head, Jean is holding his hand out, dripping fruit just inches from Armin's face.
"Do you.... do you want some?"
His voice is hesitant, and Armin rolls his eyes, because he knows Jean is just offering it to him so he'll keep quiet.
"I already told you I'm not going to tell anyone. I don't need your fucking charity, Jean."
He spits the last few words, and when he locks eyes with the older boy, he realizes how he probably looks right now; hostile, small, trembling, eyes red from the constant friction of his balled up fists.
Armin swallows and ducks his head again, crossing his arms over his knees and resting his chin on them, hoping that Jean will just leave him alone. He's never really talked to the other teen, a few words here and there, but nothing more. Jean usually hangs around Marco most of the time, or out patronizing Eren and starting petty fights. Armin doesn't really have an opinion on Jean, but at the moment, all he wants is to be alone.
"Your eyes are red."
The statement makes Armin let out a slightly hysterical huff of laughter.
"Go away, Jean. Please."
Jean rolls his eyes and settles himself more comfortably, stretching his legs out. "Just eat the goddamned orange, Armin."
Armin blinks, slightly taken aback, and when he lifts his eyes, Jean's eyes are aimed at the horizon in front of him, but his hand is holding out the fruit again, and Armin watches hungrily as the juice dripdripdrips onto the grass. He licks his lips, feeling his cheeks burn just slightly, and thinks, fuck it, as he reaches out a tentative hand to grab the orange.
It's slightly warm from being clutched in Jean's hand, soft and sticky, and when Armin brings the half eaten fruit to his lips, taking a tentative bite, he almost moans as the juice explodes over his tongue. He must've let out some sort of noise, because when he looks up, Jean is staring at him, a slight smile on his face. Armin blushes darkly as he lets himself swallow.
"You, uh," Jean says quietly, pointing up to his own face."You got a little juice here."
Armin flushes even darker as he hastily wipes at his chin, cleaning off the stupid sticky sweet liquid, and when Jean smiles at him, wide and friendly and warm, Armin feels his own lips twitch unconsciously, threatening to smile for the first time all week.
--
Armin’s chest hurts with the realization of a lot of things. The future, the past, even the fucking present, and how it’s just a prelude to his own death. It unsettles him, and he tries not to wince when the sore muscle in his leg jolts as he dodges a quick attack from Connie.
The other boy notices the wash of discomfort though, and he relaxes his stance for a moment, says, “Hey, you okay?”
Armin wipes his arm across his brow, shoves his hair out of his face and glowers slightly, not even trying to hide the lines of pain streaked over his features. “M’fine, c’mon, there’s still a good fifteen minutes left of hands-on training.”
Connie looks reluctant, opens his mouth to protest most likely, and Armin clenches his teeth as he finally spits out,
“If you aren’t going to fight me, then go get someone who fucking will!”
His outburst gets the attention of a few other trainees nearby, and Armin feels his face heat up, in rage, in embarrassment, he’s not exactly sure. Lately he’s felt on the brink of breaking into a million pieces, and he knows it’s selfish because the burden he carries is nothing compared to Eren’s, or even Mikasa’s, because though her past haunts her, she still stays strong and diligent, two things that Armin seems to not even grasp at.
When no one makes a move to step forward, out of fear or…. or most likely, out of pity, Armin lets his shoulders sag and takes a deep breath, so close, so close to sliding down onto the dirt and curling up to just die here and now. At least then, he wouldn’t be a burden to anyone else.
He startles a bit when a pair of hands grab him by the shoulders and steer him away from the training grounds, and he stumbles a bit with the persistent pushing against his back as he’s led towards the same tree he huddled beneath last week. He’s almost expecting Eren, when he turns around, so when he sees Jean’s face instead, he blinks dumbly for a second. He opens his mouth to speak, but Jean is already spewing out a string of words,
“You’re a soldier now, Armin,” he says, and he’s still gripping the shorter boy’s shoulders, calloused fingers digging in roughly, and when Armin flinches just slightly, Jean gets an apologetic look on his face and withdraws his hands. “This is the real deal. You have to…. you have to keep yourself under control. They’ll never send you out in battle if - ”
“They’re not going to send me out in battle, period, Jean!” Armin interrupts, finally glaring up at the taller teen and clenching his fists at his sides. “Whether I have a hot temper or whether I’m cool as a fucking cucumber.”
Jean blinks, startled, but only for a moment, because he shakes his head in the next and says, “Armin - ”
“I’m weak, Jean!” Armin hisses out, voice unusually low and quiet, and he stares, stares at the wide plane of shoulders in front of him, trails his eyes down to the slightly exposed collarbone, clenching his fists tighter. When Jean fails to say anything more, Armin finally lets himself slump back against the trunk of the tree, sliding down until he can hug his knees, seated on the dirty ground. “I have no….. I….. god, I feel like I’m just waiting to die.”
The air goes quiet, and Armin squeezes his eyes shut, because he’s not going to cry, he’s not.
A body slumps down next to him, a warm arm wraps itself around his shoulders, and a strong, calloused hand rakes through Armin’s hair, jerky but still soothing nonetheless. Armin blinks, startled. “Jean, wh - ”
“Shh,” Jean mumbles, and he sounds unsure of himself, but hopeful, and Armin swallows as he carefully lets his head rest against Jean’s shoulder, letting out a slow, audible breath as Jean continues, “You’re not weak, okay?”
Armin wants to protest, but he stays quiet for once, letting Jean talk. His voice is oddly soothing, a little raspy but deep and soft, his breath warm against the crown of Armin’s head.
“I don’t…. I don’t want to tell you things you don’t want to hear, but it’s true. You’re not weak, Armin,” and then he chuckles, just slightly, as he says, “If I’m honest with myself, you’re probably one of the strongest…”
He trails off when he feels the head lift from his shoulder, and when bright, slightly hopefully blue eyes looks up at him, Jean swallows, tries not to avert his eyes as he gives Armin’s hair a gentle tug. “You’ve just gotta believe in yourself like everybody else believes in you.”
Armin’s still staring, and Jean’s hand finally stills from it’s motions of combing through the soft blonde locks. Armin feels his lips twitch, feels a weird, bubbling sensation in his stomach, something he hasn’t felt in a while, and Jean is warm pressed against him. Warm and full of life and determination and he… he believes in him.
Armin blinks quickly, watches as the corner of Jean’s mouth quirks up in amusement as the blonde boy continues to stare unabashedly, and when a bright blush rises high on Armin’s cheeks, Jean can’t help it when he darts forward to press a quick, shaky kiss to a warm cheek.
Armin breathes out a quiet, “oh,” and then he’s shakily wrapping his arms around Jean’s neck, tugging the taller boy down once again to slot their mouths together fully, off center and sloppy and inexperienced, and when Jean grins into the kiss, bringing a hand around to press against the small of Armin’s back, the blonde boy tries to swallow down that weird fluttery feeling he’s not used to yet. He can’t really place his finger on it, but it’s a feeling of newness, a feeling of nervousness, a feeling of….
God... a feeling of hope.