Work Text:
You came in out of the night
And there were flowers in your hands.
Now you will come out of a confusion of people,
Out of a turmoil of speech about you.I, who have seen you amid the primal things,
Was angry when they spoke your name
In ordinary places.
I would that the cool waves might flow over my mind,
And that the world should dry as a dead leaf,
Or as a dandelion seed-pod and be swept away,
So that I might find you again,
Alone.
"Francesca," Ezra Pound
Blood ebbed in a slow flourish away from the shirt in Eren's hands. The inside of one cuff had been stained with it, and an examination of the other revealed a similar mark.
Beside him, Mikasa didn't look up, diligently running a pair of pants over a washboard. He almost didn't hear over the splashing of water when she said, "Levi should have assigned someone else to do this."
"A little water won't kill you," Eren said, holding the shirt between his fingers. A button-down. Didn't Historia usually wear one?
Mikasa stopped scrubbing, tilting her head to let the hair fall out of her eyes as she looked at him. "I meant you."
"What?" Eren asked, dropping his hands with a splash back into the cold water of the basin in front of them. "You think I can't even do simple chores now?"
Mikasa went back to washing, her voice low as she said, "With how hard Hanji's been working you to transform, you shouldn't have to. That's enough of a chore."
Eren grunted in dissent, eyes looking down at the murky depths of the tub in front of them. The water was cloudy with soap and dust and—he remembered suddenly—blood. He looked at the shirt again. "This is Historia's isn't it?" he asked, holding it up for Mikasa's scrutiny.
She peered at it for a quick moment, her eyes scanning the fabric. "It's not cut for a woman," she said.
Eren frowned. "Then—"
"It looks like Armin's," she continued. She was still looking at it, and her sharp gaze quickly skirted from one rolled-back sleeve to the other, and the pink smudges still clear there. She sat up a bit, her hands falling lax against the washboard. "Did he mention anything?"
Eren shook his head, running a thumb across the wet edge of one stain. A little scrubbing and he could get it out, get Armin's shirt back to how it should be. He dropped the shirt to float and sink slowly into the basin, turning to the bag of clothes they still had left to wash. He overturned the white sack and let everything fall to the grass beside him. Mikasa clicked her tongue once against the back of her teeth but didn't try to stop him.
Eren sifted through the clothes, trying to find a small pair of white pants, discarding the first pair he came across as belonging to Connie. He rolled back the waistband of a second pair and saw a dark, uneven stitch along the back: AA. Eren lifted the pants out of the rest of the clothes and inspected them, eyeing down the legs and turning them over. There was the regular smattering of dust and unidentifiable other stains, and then, at the thighs, there were clear impressions of smudged red fingermarks.
"More?" Mikasa asked.
Eren didn't answer, just dumped the pants into the basin as well, letting them bloat and billow and then finally sink down to wave aimlessly with the shirt when Mikasa went back to washing and disturbed the water.
"If it were serious he would have said something," she said evenly.
Eren glanced at her, but she was standing to wring out the jacket she'd been washing. Eren watched her walk it over to the clothesline and pin it up. She still wouldn't look at him when she sank back to kneel beside him.
"Yeah," he said eventually, getting back to it.
They worked in silence, and Eren watched Armin's clothes become more and more indiscernible as the water around them grew steadily murkier. Finally, there was nothing left. Mikasa took his pants and Eren got back to work on his shirt.
Mikasa finished first, carefully draping them over the top of the tub to examine her handiwork in the slowly gathering sunlight. Her face was stoic, but she handled Armin's pants with care, delicately picking them up and wringing them out without her usual steel grip. By the time she'd hung them up and come back to Eren's side, he was still examining the cuffs of Armin's shirt. Against the morning light, a small circle of pink jumped out at him, hardly noticeable from the white of the shirt itself, but then Mikasa's shadow fell across the sleeve, and it disappeared into nothing.
She took the shirt from him and wrung it out as well, then pinned it up beside the pants, straightening out the arms and body so it'd dry evenly. She picked up the empty washing sack while Eren, with a great heave, tipped over the tub. The water whooshed in a gray wave over the edge, a bit slopping back in and churning when Eren dropped the basin back to the ground with a metallic thud.
He and Mikasa watched the stream create a mud river toward the edge of trees surrounding them.
"Asking about it will only upset him," Mikasa said into the silence.
Eren bristled, his back stiffening. "I know that. So don't you say anything to him."
"And he doesn't need any more stress," she went on.
Eren looked at her. "What does that mean? What stress?"
Mikasa looked at him with her usual flat stare that Eren had seen enough to know it meant she was assessing how to tell him something. "They're talking about him again."
Eren grunted, crossed his arms and absently kicked at the dusty ground. "Assholes."
Mikasa was quiet beside him, watching him. "They don't understand."
Eren glanced at her, could tell just how withering his look was by the way her lips turned down noticeably. "Assholes," he repeated with emphasis.
She didn't confirm or deny this, just continued to look at him. They only had a few minutes before they needed to get to work on their other chores, but Eren didn't want to work with anyone who was talking behind Armin's back, who didn't understand him—who thought he was weird.
Eren could feel the anger bubbling up inside, the annoyance. What fucking right did they have to be talking about him? How could they think their three years of knowing him compared to Eren's ten? They had no right. "Was it Jean?" he asked, breath coming out sharp, his next kick starting an ache in his heel that he ignored. "It was Jean, wasn't it? I swear—"
"Not him," Mikasa said. She paused. "Not just him." Her eyes glinted dull and flat when she met Eren's gaze, like sunlight on a dark lake. Then she looked down, the glint faded. "It's everyone."
"It's just like Shiganshina," Eren said. "Those kids—"
"Just don't tell him," Mikasa said. "He probably knows as it is…don't make it worse."
Eren glared at her. "Like I would."
Mikasa shot him a very flat look, but didn't say anything. Eren scowled, but followed her lead as she turned to walk back to the barracks. He hesitated for a moment to look at the clothes fluttering in the cool morning breeze, the long shadows they cast across the ground and the muddy sludge of washing water.
Armin's clothes jumped out at him; shorter and slimmer than the rest, immaculately white and hung pin-straight. The pins at the shoulders of the shirt gave the impression it was shrugging, or curling in on itself, and the sudden thought made Eren frown and look away, slamming the barrack door closed behind him.
The day dawned cool and hazy and everyone spent it doing various chores, but by the time their free afternoon rolled around, the sun had burned away most of the clouds. It was still cool, bordering on chill, but Armin wasn't in their room or in the common room, so that really only left one other place.
Eren could see him when he stood on the front stoop of the barracks. There was Armin, nestled against the old tree stump coated in moss. He didn't look up as Eren walked over, didn't look up until Eren was standing right there, looking down on him.
"Hi," Armin said, following the line of Eren's legs up his torso and then finally settling on his face. Only for a moment though, then he glanced back down, the golden crown of his hair shining. Eren could see, when he took a seat cross-legged across from him, that he was looking at a small black bug that was scuttling across the back of his hand. Every time the bug reached the edge of his hand, Armin would turn his wrist, letting it crawl across his palm.
"Uh…"
Armin looked up, his eyes shining. "It's a beetle," he supplied.
Eren watched as Armin went back to staring at the bug, lifting his left hand to press it side-to-side with his right and create a wider expanse for the beetle to skitter across. "What kind?"
Armin shrugged without looking up, his eyes wide and intent on the little black insect.
Eren swallowed, cleared his throat. "Armin, I have to tell you something."
Armin did look up then, after a slight hesitation where he cupped his palm and let the beetle scoot across it. "What?"
"Have you…" Eren hesitated, "heard anything?"
Armin frowned. The hand holding the beetle went slack against his knee. Eren saw the thing move toward the edge of his palm. "About what?"
"Um, you know." Eren swallowed. "Things…. You…."
Armin continued to look at him blankly. The bug fell right out of his hand and onto his pants, quickly running down his shin until it disappeared into the grass. "Me?" Armin glanced down at his now empty palm, frowning and glancing around, and the tiny line between his eyes felt like a gaping sore in Eren's chest, punching the breath out of him with sudden regret at distracting him.
He blinked quickly, cleared his throat. "Yeah. Just…have you heard anything?"
Armin didn't answer for a long time. He met Eren's eyes and shrugged. "I guess."
"What?"
Armin sighed, tilting his head back to look at the sky. Eren looked at the pale line of his neck, the tiny little scar just below his chin that he'd had since they were kids. Eren didn't remember anymore how he got it, and the realization made him feel like he'd lost something irreplaceable.
"I've heard," Armin said, not looking at him, his eyes reflecting the light from the sky and making them glow blue. "I know they think I'm weird."
Eren wanted to deny it, but knew Armin would see through the lie in a heartbeat. "They're stupid," he finally said.
"We're their friends," Armin said. "What does that say about us?"
Eren moved closer, until he was leaning against the stump next to Armin, side-by-side, their arms pressed together. "That's not our fault. We have to get along."
Armin hummed but didn't say anything else. Eren couldn't stop himself from looking at him, at the upturn of his nose and the hollow of his neck above the open first button of his shirt. His sleeves were unevenly rolled up to his elbows, and there were smudges of dirt on his hands where they rested on his knees. Eren wanted to know what he'd been doing out here all by himself before he'd shown up.
"Why don't you say something to them?" he asked. "Tell them to shut up about you. You've never had a problem with that before."
The edges of Armin's lips twitched. Eren took it as a triumph, couldn't even feel too annoyed when Armin abruptly changed the subject and got to his feet. "Race you back," he said, didn't wait for an answer before he'd started running.
Eren huffed and jumped to his feet, managing to catch up easily, wondered for a brief moment if he should just let him win until Armin made the decision for him. He shoulder-checked Eren with enough force to make him stumble a step to the side. A step to the side where there was a rock in his path that he couldn't dodge quickly enough and ended up tripping over. By the time he'd regained his balance, Armin was already on the first step of the porch. He looked over his shoulder when he reached the door to their sleeping quarters, watching Eren catch up.
"You cheated!" Eren said, eyes tracing over the little flush on Armin's cheeks.
Armin blinked at him, clearly unperturbed, already opening the door to head inside. "Sorry," he said, sounding distinctly not-sorry-at-all. Eren just watched him disappear, trying to muster up some annoyance, found he could only smile a little and follow him in.
Armin helped them take all the clothes down when they were dry that evening. He was the one who found his own shirt and pants and threw them into the laundry sack like it was nothing. Eren wanted to ask, almost did, had opened his mouth just to have Mikasa lean all her weight onto one of his feet with her own. Eren sucked in a breath and glared at her, and by the time Eren turned back to Armin, he had already moved along down the row to Historia's uniform, his hair shining in the evening light.
"I thought you weren't going to say anything," Mikasa muttered.
Eren yanked hard against a pinned pair of pants and heard fabric ripping. He examined them briefly, finding no evidence of a rip and tucking them under his arm. They were Jean's anyway. "Shut up."
Mikasa did shut up, but she also raised an eyebrow and gave him a very significant look that made Eren feel as though she'd still managed to get the last word in. He turned away from her, striding toward Armin with the bundle of fresh clothes, shoving them into the laundry sack at Armin's side.
He hesitated there long enough that Armin looked at him expectantly, and Eren's eyes flicked down to the shirt he was wearing then—another button up, sleeves too long and brushing the backs of his hands. There was no blood on this one that he could see.
"Eren?"
He raised his head, and Armin was just looking at him, a shirt held loosely in his hands that might have been Sasha's. "You missed one," Eren blurted out, pointing to a button at the bottom of Armin's shirt that he'd skipped.
Armin glanced down, and Eren hurriedly grabbed a few more articles of clothing off the line and shoved those into the laundry bag before making his way to Mikasa again.
She managed not to say anything for a good few seconds, then she paused, snorted, gave him a little smirk that was hardly noticeable, but still enough for Eren to snap, "Shut up," at her again, loud enough that Armin glanced over at them.
Eren gritted his teeth and looked away before Mikasa could give him that look again, but she'd already started toward Armin with her own set of laundry, then stayed there helping him with the other clothes, occasionally talking to him in a voice low enough that it didn't carry even in the quiet of the evening. Eren saw Armin nod at her a few times, smile, and then as they moved apart, working in opposite directions to take all the clothes down, Eren watched a frown settle between Armin's eyebrows, watched him flex his hands a few times, as though he were preparing to fight.
He didn't realize how much he'd been staring until Armin and Mikasa were on either side of him, taking down the clothes that he'd stopped caring about.
"Oh," he said, belatedly trying to help, but they'd gathered everything without him.
"Thinking about training?" Armin asked, pulling the strings to tighten the top of the laundry sack.
Eren blinked. "Uh. Yeah."
Armin hesitated, fingers tracing against the cinched top of the bag. "Captain said tomorrow's would be harder than usual."
Sometimes Eren thought Armin wasn't as subtle as he thought he was. Or maybe he'd just known him long enough to see through it. He could see his leading question and said, "They're always hard."
Mikasa was quiet for a moment at Eren's side, then added, "It's nothing you can't handle."
Armin looked toward the tree line, past the empty clotheslines. There was a lock of hair near his ear that was shorter than the rest, cut unevenly, as though he'd messed up when he was trimming it.
"We should get back," Armin said, still not looking at them as he hauled the sack of clothes over his shoulder even when Mikasa stepped forward to take it. She hung back and let him do it, giving Eren an unsure look behind Armin's back that, this time, Eren met.
Eren hadn't lied; training was always hard. Even Mikasa found it taxing—not difficult because she didn't find anything difficult, but at the end of a training day Eren would see her flexing her back, wiping her brow with the back of her hand, breathing heavy. He'd never seen Mikasa so challenged. And if she was hurting, then everyone else definitely was. It wasn't terrible for Eren, or even the others. They struggled, maybe, but they could keep up. It wasn't the same for Armin.
He'd collapse early in bed on training days, face flushed and chest heaving sporadically. Mikasa tried once to make him walk around first and bring his heart rate down slowly, but Eren could see Armin's thighs trembling when he refused, and watched Mikasa's eyes fix on his legs as well as she shut her mouth. They both followed Armin to the barracks, and Eren came in the door just in time to see one of Armin's knees give out a foot away from the bed, and he fell into it unceremoniously, righting himself before Mikasa had cleared the doorway behind him.
Eren found it hard not to say anything. Eren found it hard not to open his mouth to snap back at the Captain when he'd yell at Armin to keep up the pace during exercises, to get better control of himself and his gear. And Armin wasn't bad. He just lacked a certain amount of strength, of natural ability, but Eren found it hard to get angry when Armin was better suited for other things, when the very nature of their exercises worked against him because of who he was.
Eren kept it to himself, kept the nagging edge of unease pushed deep down in his stomach where it stayed hidden, a secret that only he himself indulged in. Until he couldn't keep it down anymore.
Most training sessions started with Armin falling behind. Their gear whirred and whooshed and Eren loved the feeling of cold wind on his face and the near-uncomfortable drop to his stomach whenever he gained height. He didn't look back because he didn't have time to look back when they were training. But the Captain's voice could cut through even the high of being airborne, so when he'd say "Arlert, faster!" Eren had to make a conscious decision not to look behind him.
He always looked anyway. Eventually. And whenever they stopped for a break, Sasha pushing her sweat-damp bangs back from her face, Connie dousing himself in water and shaking his head to spray it on everyone in the vicinity, Eren looked around. Mostly Armin was always there within minutes. The last, but not that far behind. Not as far behind as the Captain always made it seem.
Captain Levi hadn't lied about the next day's training either, and maybe Mikasa had been wrong when she'd said Armin couldn't handle it because it wasn't until they'd stopped for a break that Eren looked around, wandered a bit away from the others only to catch the tail-end of something wet splattering against the ground, and he followed the sound quickly.
Eren pushed through the sparse underbrush with little grace, tripping over himself trying to follow the noises until he finally caught up with Armin. He was bent over, one shaking arm held out to prop himself up as he retched on the ground.
"Armin!"
Armin didn't turn around or even look up. He sagged when Eren hurried up beside him and put a hand on his arm. His back was heaving, his shirt damp with sweat under Eren's hand.
"Are you sick?"
Armin straightened slowly, wiping his mouth with his hand and stepping away from the tree. Eren gripped his arm, helping him walk, determined to shake off Armin's protests, but they never came.
He sank quickly to the ground, his knees thudding when they hit the dry earth. Eren followed him down, passing a hand at a dribble of sick that Armin missed and quickly wiping it away in the grass.
Armin's face flamed red, his cheeks looking rounder than usual and shiny, shiny everywhere with sweat. Eren watched a bead of it slide down his forehead and drip off the tip of his nose. He was still breathing hard, eyes focused flat and blank at the ground, his eyelashes dark and clumped together; wet.
Eren just kept looking at him, keeping one hand on his arm, the other pushing against the thin chest, feeling Armin's heart pound against his palm. The longer they stayed there the more Armin's heart slowed, and the better Eren felt. The Captain had only given them a ten minute break, and Eren judged by the shadows growing slowly longer that it must be ending soon. He didn't say anything though, didn't rush Armin, and soon he was standing in his own time.
Eren almost asked then if he was all right, when the two of them were standing looking at each other, Armin's face somewhat less red, the sweat drying gradually against his forehead and neck. But then Eren heard Captain Levi's voice, and both he and Armin looked toward the sound. Armin still didn't say anything, took a deep breath, then another.
"You don't—" Eren started, then stopped. Armin did have to keep going, had to keep training because he couldn't very well be left out here. Captain Levi wouldn't allow it.
Armin met his gaze, slowly, his eyes wide. His chin trembled just barely, just for a moment, but the force it had on Eren made it feel as though the very Earth had tilted and left him feeling wobbly and uneasy. But it was only a moment, and the Earth realigned when Armin grabbed Eren's hand with his own clammy fingers and began leading them back toward the others.
They made it back to base in one piece, and Armin fell down on his mattress still red-faced and with shaking hands the moment they'd arrived. Eren sat down next to him, removing his gear, watching Armin curl into himself, the brown strap across his back tightening and loosening with every breath. Eren put his gear away in the nearby closet and then stood looking down at Armin, pushing him over onto his back. Armin's eyes opened.
"You should take off your stuff," Eren said, then let his mouth hang dumbly for a moment before clearing his throat. "Your—gear."
Armin blinked slowly, just looking at him. He licked his lips once, then again, frowning and sitting up.
"I forgot," he said, sitting up and undoing the belts around his thighs.
Eren itched to help when he saw how slowly he was moving, but that would only get him a cold shoulder and Armin's averted gaze for the rest of the day so he just moved to sit beside him and watch.
When Armin finally stood in nothing but his shirt and pants, Eren saw him lick his lips again. He took his gear and boots to the closet and pushed them all inside while Eren fished underneath the bed for a minute before pulling out a canteen. He made sure to take a swig when Armin could see him before offering it to him. "Water?"
Eren could see the hesitation, however small, in Armin accepting even this tiny gesture, even when Eren had made it a point to seem as though offering it had been an afterthought rather than the goal.
"Thanks," Armin finally said, taking it from Eren's hand and downing it all in one. "Sorry," he muttered when he handed it back, the cool tip of his forefinger pressing under Eren's thumb for just a second.
Then he fell back to the bed, but his eyes didn't close, and his face was no longer shiny with sweat. The barracks were empty apart from them. Eren tried to find something to say, but all he could focus on was Armin's dead stare, how small he looked curled up on his bed.
Eren had seen him thrive before, had seen him fight and fight well, but sometimes he forgot that Armin could take care of himself—that he could always take care of himself. Sometimes Eren could only look at Armin and see him curled on the bed, his palms resting lax against the mattress, his face still pink from an overexerted flush.
His palms. Eren's eyes focused in on the shallow cuts across the heels of his hands, clearly from breaking a fall or maybe from pushing away from an incoming tree during training. They were already healing, the skin growing back together, and he knew they must be old. He hadn't noticed them at all earlier, too focused on asking Armin if he'd heard the rumors about him, but they were small and normal and undoubtedly the cause of the blood on his shirt and pants. Eren was suddenly glad he'd never asked about it.
He looked back at Armin's face and saw the uneven bit of hair again, falling against his cheek, and said, "I could cut your hair, you know. You butcher it."
Armin's eyes darted down, staring at him from the top of the bed. "You never take off enough," he said. "If I need help I'll ask Mikasa."
Eren reached forward and tugged on the uneven lock, pulling it forward so Armin could see it out of the corner of his eye. "You need help."
He pulled back as Armin turned over and sat up, examining the uneven ends of his hair, his eyes narrowing as he tried to focus. "Who am I trying to impress?" he said, tucking the hair behind his ear and pulling his knees against his chest, wrapping his arms around them.
Eren glanced toward the door. His stomach rumbled, and everyone else was getting food, but the downturned edges of Armin's lips made Eren squint. "Who are you trying to impress?"
Armin's eyes always seemed to get bluer when he was surprised, maybe because they opened wider before he managed to school his expression into something neutral. He rested his chin on his knees, the action making his lips pout a bit. He blinked at Eren a few times, slowly, the little frown line back between his eyebrows; concentrating. "It doesn't matter."
Eren opened his mouth, breath coming out in a little whoosh of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. "So—there's someone?" He thought back to what Mikasa had said, wondered if Armin knew that whoever his someone was, they might possibly be talking about him right now, misunderstanding him.
Armin just continued to blink, mouth firmly closed.
"I won't tell," Eren blurted out, leaning forward just a bit.
After a slight pause, Armin raised his head off his knees, his mouth twisting up into a very real little smile.
Eren frowned even as his stomach leaped. "What?" he said. "I won't!"
Armin just kept looking at him, kept smiling. "Eren…" he said, tone gentle, but still clearly amused. "You can't keep a secret."
"Yes I can," Eren said, leaning back again, hands clenched and resting against his knees. "I keep tons of secrets."
Armin's eyes got condescendingly large and round, faking belief as he nodded. "OK," he said. "Sure."
Eren glowered at him, but Armin seemed unperturbed, his smile even growing a bit when Eren suddenly stood up and said, "Let's eat."
Armin shrugged, the smile disappearing again. "Not hungry." He lay back against his bed, looking up at the underside of Eren's bunk above him.
Eren hesitated just beside him, looking at the bones in his wrists, a cut on one hand that started near his thumb and rounded the curve of his palm, disappearing into the dark space where his hand was pressed to the mattress. Eren swallowed, looked up at Armin's face. "I'm not bringing you back anything,"
Armin glanced at him. "OK. Sure," he said again, seemingly completely unsurprised by that declaration, and he had the same non-reaction when Eren returned a short while later with a small loaf of bread and an apple that he set beside Armin on the bed.
Armin ate them both slowly and without comment, and by the time the others had returned to the barracks, he was breathing slowly, fast asleep.
#
Days later, just when Eren had begun to forget he was being angry at everyone on Armin's behalf, he was forcefully reminded of why he felt the need in the first place. Everything he had been unsuccessful at not thinking about came back when Armin told them the possibilities in their future, when he said, "We're not good people anymore."
The room was full and deathly quiet after that, everyone still. Connie's head was in his hands, staring at the dark wooden table. Armin's chin was leaned against his crossed arms on the tabletop, staring at nothing. Jean was looking at Armin, a frown on his lips, and he started to open up his mouth the moment Armin pushed his chair back and got to his feet.
"Night," he said, rounding the table and heading toward the door. Jean closed his mouth and slumped back in his seat. Mikasa pushed away from her spot on the wall when Armin passed her, walking with him out of the room, bending to talk in his ear.
Eren turned away from their retreating forms and crossed his arms over his chest. Jean was still scowling, and Eren almost got up and left too when he said, "This is shit."
Historia gave him a long look, her expression stoic. Connie was still looking downward, eyes wide, and Eren didn't care what Mikasa had said because it was Jean. Of course it was Jean. Jean was the one doubting that Armin knew best, doubting what they had to do.
"I didn't sign up for this," he muttered.
"Yes you did," Eren said. "This is exactly what you signed up for. If this is what we have to do to gain back our land, to destroy the titans—"
"Kill people?" Jean asked, lip curling up, leaning his elbows against the table. Sasha was looking between them both, eyes wide as Jean went on. "Kill innocent people?"
"Armin didn't say we were going to," Eren said. "It was just a—a comment—he's not stupid." He looked at Jean pointedly. "He knows what we might have to do to get ourselves out of this. Doesn't mean he wants to."
Jean rubbed a hand over his face, and Eren pushed away from the table, chair scraping against the hardwood. Connie jumped and looked up at him. Sasha and Historia both shifted forward, as though waiting for Eren to lunge at Jean, but Eren just turned to leave before he felt the urge, meeting Mikasa in the doorway.
"Where—"
"Back to the barracks," she said. She stepped to the side to block him when he made to move past her. "Let him be alone."
Eren huffed, considered trying to push around her for a brief (brief) moment before sighing. "Fine."
Mikasa exited with him into the evening air. They both paused on the front steps, looking at the woods around them. Then Mikasa nudged him with her elbow, giving him a sidelong glance. "Sasha's been hiding pastries in a cupboard in the kitchen."
Eren just stared at her for a moment, finally cracking a smile when she raised an eyebrow at him. "Where?"
She stepped off the porch steps and turned toward the kitchen. "Come on."
Sasha's stash was hidden away in a corner cabinet, small enough that he and Mikasa both managed to clear through half of the stale sweets in a matter of minutes before Mikasa said that was enough.
"She won't even notice," Eren said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the other reaching for another small pastry.
Mikasa nudged him out of the way and pressed the cabinet door firmly closed. Eren gave her a dirty look and snatched his hand back before his fingers could get caught in the crossfire.
They made their slow way back to the dorms afterward. Night was falling quickly and no one was around as they walked back. Mikasa said goodbye at the girls' dorm and Eren continued on. His nerves were jittering, the empty air setting him on edge. There was too much tension in the Corps recently, too many things to worry about. It was this that made him slow as he got closer to the barracks, made him try to get himself together before he faced the others.
He could hear Connie laughing as he got closer, and something about the familiar sound set his teeth on edge even more. He mounted the steps, the tension ratcheting up inside him, and then he could hear Jean, clear as day through the open window beside the door.
"I still think he's snapped."
"Eren said he's always been like that," Connie said. "I think this situation has just gotten to everyone."
Jean made a noise, something in his throat, maybe conceding. But then he said, "None of us are making plans to kill people."
"He wasn't…making plans, though," Connie said, hesitant. Eren could hear the blood rushing in his ears, his heart starting to beat faster. "He was just saying…it might come to that."
Jean started speaking again, but Eren was done listening. He pushed the door open with too much force, making it bounce against the wall and swing back toward him. He let it hang open behind him, glaring at Connie and Jean sitting on one of the empty beds. Connie had the grace to look embarrassed. Jean just looked at him. A quick glance toward Armin's bed showed it was empty.
"What's your problem?" Jean said.
"Who were you talking about?" Eren asked.
Connie swallowed, ran a hand across the buzz of his hair.
"Armin," Jean said, always too fucking honest for his own good.
"Well shut up about him," he said. "You don't know anything."
Jean stood, and immediately Connie stood up too, looking between the two of them. "Look," Connie said. "It was nothing. Just—I mean, even Sasha—" He stopped.
"What?" Eren asked, looking away from Jean. "I know you've all been talking about him."
"Well no one else is making plans to kill civilians, or thought any of the other weird stuff he's said." Jean said. "Why wouldn't we talk about—"
"Shut the fuck up," Eren snapped, grabbing the front of Jean's shirt. It'd been a while since they'd done this, long enough that Connie was looking at his hand clenched in Jean's shirt in something like surprise.
"Hey, Eren, come on. We're sorry—"
"I'm not," Jean said. "Get off me, Eren."
"Don't talk about him," Eren said. "Don't—just—don't—you don't know anything—"
Jean snorted, rolled his eyes, and he was such an asshole, they all were, everyone, pretending that they knew Armin better than he did after knowing him for three years, after knowing him in no other setting than this shithole they called military service. They didn't know anything, they didn't know anything—
Jean broke free, pushing Eren back, and Eren didn't think before he grabbed at him again with one hand and sank a fist into his face with another.
One thing Eren always forgot about fighting in the heat of the moment was that it hurt. Even if he was the one hitting, his knuckles ached, his muscles strained, and for a moment he could only feel the hurt he'd inflicted on himself, but Jean had never been one to back down from a fight, so within moments the pain he felt was from Jean's fist in his stomach, Jean's boot against his shins, and they were tussling in earnest, grabbing at each other, ripping fabric, and Eren could hear Connie saying something, flashes of him trying to pull them apart, but Eren couldn't focus on anything but Jean and Jean's dumb fucking face and big fucking mouth and how stupid he was—
Then they were apart. He blinked and saw a head of dark hair in front of him, the tail of a black scarf, and felt warm breath right in his ear, felt two thin arms under his armpits, hands behind Eren's head, keeping his arms immobilized and out to the side. Armin, he thought because no one else would hold him like that, in a way that didn't require the holder to be stronger than Eren to keep him still. Jean was picking himself up off the ground in front of him. Eren lunged forward, and Armin gasped right in his ear, grunted with the effort of leveraging his weight against Eren's. He must have overcompensated because before he knew it, they were both going down. They hit the floor in a tangle, and Armin said "oof!" with enough force that Eren choked on a laugh as he landed on top of him.
"What the hell is going on?" asked a cold voice from the doorway, and everyone looked toward it to see the Captain standing on the threshold with Historia at his side.
No one said anything. Eren could feel blood on his face—under his nose and at the corner of his mouth, and the way Levi curled his lip at the sight of him told him he wasn't pleased with the view.
"You three," he said, eyes flicking between Mikasa standing in the middle of the room to Eren and Armin on the floor, "take a walk."
Armin wriggled out from under Eren at once, getting to his feet. He and Mikasa grabbed both of Eren's arms and hauled him up before hauling him out, past Levi and Historia and outside where night had fallen, leaving the clear sky a dark indigo.
"What happened?" Mikasa asked as Eren began dabbing at his nose with his sleeve.
"Jean," he said.
They began walking away from the sleeping quarters, heading towards the girls' bunks. "Did he say something?"
Eren stopped dabbing to look up. Armin was watching him closely, the sort of look that raised the hair on the back of Eren's neck, that made him feel like any move he made would be the wrong one. "He's always saying something," he said eventually.
He could see Armin's eyebrows twitch inward for just the barest moment before he looked away. Eren had a feeling he hadn't gotten away with that line.
They hesitated when they reached the steps to the girls' quarters. Mikasa said, "I'll get some water," before heading toward the kitchen.
Eren watched her go until even her faint shadow disappeared behind the corner of a building.
Armin was quiet for a long enough moment that Eren thought he might be off the hook. The two of them sat down on the bottom step leading up to the girls' dorm side-by-side. Eren continued to wipe at his face, Armin occasionally guiding his hand to reach places along his cheek and chin that he'd missed.
Eren had just began to unwind, to feel relieved, when Armin said, "You shouldn't fight about me."
Eren jerked back, scowling, mouth opening to tell him off for thinking that it was about him, but lying to Armin was always a lot more difficult than lying to anyone else, not least of all because it wasn't easy to pull the wool over Armin's eyes, and because Eren always felt like shit for trying to do it in the first place.
"They shouldn't have been saying shit about you, then," he said. He could feel Armin's eyes on him, watching him, but Eren didn't look up, focusing instead on the splotches of blood on his shirt. He'd have to wash it early this week.
"Eren, I don't care what they say."
"Well I do," Eren said. "They're just like those assholes who always messed with you when we were kids. They don't get to talk about you like that—and you used to agree with me."
Armin frowned just a little bit, looking genuinely confused. "They're nothing like those kids."
Eren let go of his shirt, suddenly feeling about as confused as Armin looked. "What—yes, they are—they're saying you snapped just like those assholes used to call you a heretic, used to—"
Armin shook his head, eyes wide, and Eren broke off. "Those boys when we were kids…they didn't know me. They weren't my friends."
"But—"
"Eren, everyone here is my friend. We've been together for years."
"Some friends," Eren snapped. "They shouldn't be talking about you—"
"It doesn't matter," he said, shrugging. "They care about me."
And Eren hated it because it was true but a part of him wanted to just grab Armin's shoulders and say, Not like I do, never like I do, never as much I do, but he didn't know how. He kept quiet instead, mulling over Armin's words.
"They'll find something else to talk about soon," Armin said, maybe sensing Eren's doubt. He nudged Eren's shoulder with his own and added lightly, "Maybe about how Jean kicked your butt so badly."
Eren squawked indignantly, clenching his fists against his knees. "He did not—I got him way worse than he got me."
Armin didn't say anything, and Eren almost turned to look at him, to tell him to take it back, but a warm pressure against his shoulder made him pause. He glanced down slowly, keeping still. Armin had leaned to the side to rest his temple against Eren's shoulder, exhaling slowly against Eren's arm.
Eren could feel his cheeks warming just a bit.
And how could Eren say what he wanted when he didn't even know what exactly that was, how he thought a lot about the way he thought a lot about that uneven part of Armin's hair, or the way it looked when he woke up in the morning, the way his palms looked covered in scratches, how the sight made Eren feel the ache too, the way he scrunched his toes when he was cold, the way his face got all serious and intent when he was thinking of something important. He didn't know what any of it meant, what he was supposed to feel and think about Armin after being with him for so long, knowing him for so long, loving him for so long.
"I hate it—" when you're sad, when you're hurt, when I can't protect you, when you don't want me to protect you, when—
"Eren."
He looked down. Armin's lips brushed at the corner of his mouth and then he pulled back. There was enough light for Eren to see him flushing, could feel his own face growing even hotter.
He cleared his throat, wiped at his face again, hoping there was no more blood.
Armin was just looking at him. After a moment, he said, "Interesting."
"What?" Eren said, gaze flicking down to settle on Armin's mouth.
Armin didn't answer, but Eren got to see him smile up-close, got to watch him lean closer again, then Armin kissed him again, lip to lip and Eren closed his eyes, leaned forward just as Armin pulled back again.
Armin wasn't smiling then, but his eyes were intent on Eren's face, his expression soft. A cool breeze blew toward them and Armin's hair pushed in front of his face for a moment, sticking to his cheeks. He gave his head a little shake to settle it back in place. He said, "That someone…from before…."
Eren swallowed, meeting Armin's eyes. Then Armin looked off toward the side, and Eren looked down, said, "Yeah. Uh. Me too."
Armin was quiet for a long while, and Eren kept his head tilted downward, his gaze on the scrapes on Armin's palms. Finally he glanced up. Armin was just looking at him, his lips rounded in a little 'o.'
"Can I kiss you again?" Eren asked, face and neck growing hot at how loud he was, how Armin's eyes got impossible larger at the request.
Armin's Adam's apple bobbed just before he said, "Yeah."
So Eren kissed him, or started to kiss him. Eren put both his palms around Armin's face and got distracted for a minute with how Armin's lips puckered up, at how his cheeks got round and childish when he added a little pressure. A frown creased Armin's forehead, which only made the sight cuter, but Eren kept his mouth shut and strived to remember everything about the sight instead since Armin always seemed to know what Eren was thinking, and Eren was certain he'd never be able to do this again.
"You're not very good at kissing," Armin said, his words a bit distorted around his puckered lips.
Eren relaxed his grip and Armin's face returned to normal. "Funny," he said, was about to lean forward again when movement out of the corner of his eye had him sliding back from Armin at once.
Mikasa had returned with the water, her eyes darting between the two of them. She held out the canteen to Eren wordlessly, eyebrows raised.
"Thanks," Eren said, pouring some water on his fingers and wiping at his face again. The cold water came as a shock against his flushed skin. Armin and Mikasa watched in heavy silence, until finally Armin stood up from the stoop and took a few steps back.
He gestured behind him, toward where they'd all come from. "I should…go. They probably want to apologize."
Eren stopped dabbing at his face. "What?"
"Jean and Connie and the others…" Armin said. "I was going to the bathroom when they were going back to the dorms, I heard them talking about me. Jean always likes to apologize when I catch him."
Eren's mouth was hanging open, he could feel it, cold air drying out his tongue. "When…" he trailed off. "How many times have you heard them?"
Armin shrugged.
Eren looked toward Mikasa, who had her arms crossed and was leaning back against the railing of the stairs. She was looking at Armin, her mouth curled up in a little smile. When her eyes glanced down to Eren, she just shrugged.
Eren felt the water drip off his face and suddenly felt very stupid. Then his head snapped up, looking at Armin. "What about…the other thing…." he said evasively, incredibly aware of Mikasa just beside him.
Armin touched his face, just below his mouth, and Eren's throat made a little clicking sound when he swallowed.
Mikasa made an amused noise through her nose. Armin glanced at her and blinked quickly, said, "We can—later." He hesitated, raising up onto his toes, before turning and walking quickly away.
Eren watched until he disappeared, the canteen hanging loosely in his hand, his face dripping wet. The step creaked when Mikasa sat down beside him.
"Here," she said, poking at a spot on his cheek. Eren reached up absently and wiped at it with his wet fingers.
The night was quiet. Both of them were silent for so long, unmoving, that when Eren muttered to himself, "What do I do now?" he was startled by anyone answering him.
"Eren," Mikasa said, ruffling a hand through his hair and ignoring his halfhearted attempts to bat her away. She took the canteen from his hands and stood up. Eren followed her lead without really thinking about it.
"Go," she said, pointing toward the boys' bunks. Eren glanced that way then back at her. He wiped the residual dampness off his face with his sleeve, his heart beginning to beat a little faster. Later, Armin had said.
"OK," Eren said, starting to walk away, then hesitating to look back at her.
"Go," she said again, and Eren nodded, starting off once more. This time when he turned back, Mikasa was disappearing inside the girls' dorms, one dark eye just barely meeting his gaze before the door closed and obscured her.
Then Eren was alone in the dark, but there was a light flickering on up ahead, drawing him forward. Armin was waiting for him on the porch of their dorms, bathed in lamplight. He smiled and stood when Eren got closer, holding out a hand that Eren took at once, pressing the cut skin of his palm to Eren's and guiding him inside.