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An estate the size of the Jaeger’s never truly slept. Life was always bustling in some corner, some fuss, some commotion commencing even in the dead of the night - maids striding silently down long corridors to finish their duties, whispering to each other and giggling; a fire burning in the quarters of a guest; a stable boy tending to unruly horses, his breath fogging in cold air.
Armin Arlert thought himself lucky to know his last name on the account that he had never met his parents, and even luckier to be working as the valet to Eren Jaeger, the master of the house since his father had died. The man seemed to appreciate something in Armin’s character, and blessed him with work and pay Armin thought he was undeserving of, but he never left his role.
Almost every waking moment he spent with the young master - he let the sunlight into his room in the morning, shaved him and ran his baths and dressed him and told him all of the news for that particular day, arranged his things as he liked them and made sure he was content. Armin was pleased with that, for his mind could wander like the mind did when in a place of comfort and safety. As a child, he dreamt of riches and exploration, of discovering what the world was like beyond the walls of the run-down orphanage where he spent his days. He had taught himself to read and devoured any books he could find, teaching himself foriegn languages and about exotic lands. Armin enjoyed telling stories of the things he had learned, and his shyness faded when the excitement of an epic retelling gripped him. Perhaps that was the source of the strange fondness Eren held, why he offered to Armin something almost akin to friendship along with the promotion to his personal servant at the passing of his father.
Certain freedoms could be enjoyed while Eren slept. Although Armin knew he should have been sleeping too, he could never seem to help himself from indulging in these late-night visits to secret locations. It was dishonest and sly, and Armin knew he should be thrown out for what he was doing but he could not stop. He made his way through the halls, the other maids not questioning his business - he was the master’s valet, after all.
“What kept you?” A voice hissed into the silence when Armin slipped into the predetermined room, locking it behind him with a click.
“I was pre-occupied consulting with the linen maker,” Armin responded quietly, setting his lamp down on the table and turning to look at the man he was meeting.
Jean Kirstein was a member of the kitchen staff, just as his father had been, and his father’s father at that. He was tall and lean, and he walked with purpose, his shoulders always slightly hunched forward, and he wore a scowl which had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion. Armin let his eyes linger, longer than he would ever allow himself to should anyone else be around, taking in the sight of his angular body and the way he held himself.
“The linen maker could have been made to wait,” Jean said, his disdain written clearly on his face with the way he frowned and rolled his eyes.
“He could not,” Armin said, amusement in his tone. He walked to Jean, reaching out to take his hand, soft and rough skin meeting. Just this touch was enough to keep Armin coming back almost every night, was why he put his livelihood in jeopardy. “But trust me; I was all but counting the seconds until I could come to you.”
“I would not have been surprised if you had just been tending to your precious Mr Jaeger,” Jean said, making a point to look away, but still rubbing his thumb along the back of Armin’s small hand.
“How much convincing will it take before you believe that I feel nothing of the sort for him?” Armin asked, trying to hold back the exasperation. “Do you truly think I would be coming here to see you every night if you were not precious to me? I could be reading, or sleeping. But I am here.”
“I-”
“You would do well to hold back some of your distaste,” Armin interrupted, not letting the man speak. “It will surely get you sent away from here someday. I am almost surprised it has not already.”
Jean blew his breath out through his teeth in a way that most would deem unsightly, but Armin found endearing.
“You would find it just as distasteful if I was undressing another man,” he said. He was jealous. “Or shaving his face, or running his baths.”
“It is my job,” Armin replied. “Those actions are but a means to an end. I never touch him like this.”
He took Jean’s hand in both of his, tracing the lines and the patterns on his skin from all the years of work, the small burn on his ring finger and the scar on his thumb.
“I should hope not,” Jean murmured, pink spread across his cheeks that darkened when Armin pressed his lips to the back of Jean’s hand, lingering for a moment that felt eternal yet over as soon as it began. “One day, I shall leave here and be richer than Mr Jaeger.”
“Oh, shall you? And how will you manage that, might I ask?”
“I will run to Paris, and apprentice for a pastry chef, and once I have saved enough to open my own bakery, that is exactly what I shall do, and it will be the best in Paris - no, in France . The whole globe!”
The corners of Armin’s mouth twitched and he let out a small laugh that rang out in the quiet. “I think you underestimate quite how wealthy Mr Jaeger is.”
Jean waved his hand. “No matter. When I am rich, I will pay double what he pays you, and you may work as my valet, so you might do well to imagine what it would be like to undress me.”
“I already do,” Armin admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “Every morning. And every night. If I am honest, sometimes it is the only thing on my mind, and I can barely focus on my tasks, and end up ruining them horribly…”
Jean turned his hand, gesturing to the small burn mark on his finger. “I could say the same.”
Armin shook his head, trying to push those thoughts from his mind before he found himself getting carried away by them.
“I find it funny,” he said, having to change the subject, “that in this fantasy where you are some rich nobleman chef, I am still just a servant to you.”
“You could be an esteemed guest,” Jean suggested, the light from the lamp glimmering in his eyes. “But then I should have to hire some other man to do those intimate things, so you might know how it feels.”
“I could not bear it,” Armin breathed, his chest contracting at simply the thought. He pushed his hair back out of his eyes so he could see more clearly in the low light. “I suppose I should rather become your servant than see somebody else touch you in those ways.”
“Imagine my suffering, then! This is what I have to live through, every day, knowing you are touching his body and not mine...”
Armin did not speak but allowed himself to move a little closer to him, his heart feeling like it was ready to burst just from his proximity. His hand reached up to his collar, teasing at the fabric, and dared to look up at Jean’s face. Gone was that scowl, replaced by a different look that Armin felt privileged to be able to see - he knew he was the only person that got to witness this softness, to hear his shaky breaths.
To feel his lips against his own.
Their embraces were usually hasty like this, fueled by the secrecy of it all and the desperation after a long day of work and thinking of each other. Armin always shivered when Jean’s hands found his waist and pulled him against his body.
“Armin,” Jean murmured breathily between kisses, “when - when I leave, you should join me. You were meant for more than this life.”
Armin pulled away a fraction; he was breathing quickly and his face was flushed.
“This life is already more than someone like me could ever hope for,” Armin breathed, thinking of his childhood. “It would not do to test my luck and ask for more.”
Jean pulled him in for another kiss, holding his face in his hands, wanting to be closer to him.
“I never took you for the type to trust in luck,” Jean said. “Consider it, won’t you? I want to be able to see you whenever I like, not like… this. I hate these restrictions.”
“As do I,” Armin said, “but we must abide by them.”
Jean sighed, relented. “It is better than not being able to see you at all, I suppose.”
“You only suppose?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
Armin twisted the fabric of Jean’s collar again, fiddling with it somewhat, desiring nothing but to be able to undo those buttons and see what was underneath.
“You know I cannot so much look at Mr Jaeger without thinking of how much I wish he were you,” Armin said.
A small hum came from Jean at that, seemingly satisfied by his words, his grumpiness tamed.
“I should hope so,” he said.
For a little while longer they enjoyed each other’s company until it came time for them to part - it never did well for either of them to be overly tired while they worked, not to mention the suspicion it raised. Armin hated saying goodbye more than anything, but the seed Jean had planted in his mind about escaping away to the city and being together eased the pain. Thinking about such an adventure helped him get through the night and the next day until they could meet in secret again, and he dreamed for a day which it could happen, as much as he appreciated the life he got to live now.
As realistic as Armin was, as practical as he was, he could not help but think that if anyone could make it in the outside world, it was Jean.
And if the day ever came when Jean could extend Armin the invitation he had promised, Armin knew he would accept in an instant.