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“When are you going to bring that boy over for dinner Jeany?”
This wasn’t the first time he’d been asked this!
“I, I don’t know, Mom, I keep telling you he’s really busy! An’ he doesn’t like being in the car for a long time, so.”
Excuses often varied, all of which usually started out the same way.
“It’s been a whole year! Are you making him up-- Is he just a friend of yours you take fake pictures with?”
Jean would’ve been laughing so hard his lungs might collapse, because the idea of fake-dating one of his friends for any amount of time just to appease his grandchild-wanting mother was ridiculous. But, Jean realized that it had almost been a full year.
“Do you even have his house key?”
An odd, startling question.
“Why would I even need that!? He doesn’t have my house key.”
Sasha’s eyes narrowed, but she poured him another glass of wine anyway.
“Have you tried to give him a copy before?”
“...No.”
“Why not!? It’s not like you have a roommate anymore!”
Jean just shook his head and took a long gulp of his drink, hoping this little game of hers would end soon.
The truth was; Armin never asked.
“What are your plans for your anniversary?”
Grimacing, Jean made an extra long, messy stroke of his brush on the canvas. Why was everyone suddenly so concerned with his relationship?
“We’ll do what we always do.”
Marco laughed at him, grabbing another heap of clay from the pile to slap onto the table next to him.
“What’s so funny ?!” Jean snapped, tossing his paintbrush on the table and whipping around to shoot him a glare.
They were supposed to be best friends, but he would be the last on that long list of people who claimed to care about him, just to chastise the way he handled his relationship.
Marco went wide eyed, “ Jean , relax! This is supposed to be relaxing !”
This was something they did together at least once a month, creating things without any aim or skill involved. Messily creating art regardless of whether or not it was actually good.
Jean’s canvas was especially messy this time, but it wasn’t his fault, really!
“All week everybody’s been bugging me about Armin and it, it’s pissing me off!”
Marco frowned, wiping the thicker bits of clay off on his apron.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize everyone was pushing your buttons so much. Why didn’t you just tell me? We can talk about something else.”
But Jean gave a sigh, pulling out a stool to join Marco at the table.
“No… it’s just… I’ve never really had any doubts about Armin before, y’know? He’s been fucking fantastic , and now it’s like… everyone wants proof.”
Armin was a scientist, the kind that was good at math and dedicated to his work. He never let Jean interrupt his work for frivolous things like double dates and impromptu vacation plans. But at the same time, Armin was just as meticulous and dedicated where Jean was involved, just not in ways everyone understood or could see.
Where Jean painted sprawling artworks, serenaded, and made elaborate date plans for nights out on the town, Armin had a more subtle approach to ‘impressing’ him. He bought Jean old special edition discs of films Jean loved from the 2000’s. When Jean stressed, Armin would cook him dinner at home, and just… listen. Listen to anything Jean had to say. Hell, he’d even managed to somehow score himself and Jean seats to a broadway screening of an old musical Jean loved!
Their relationship was often on the quiet side, because that’s just how Armin was. They didn’t have to make announcements about how they felt about each other, or what they were going to do to ‘prove’ they enjoyed each other’s company.
“...But?”
Marco really did know how to get under Jean’s skin and pop open all his insecurities.
“ But , I… guess everyone kinda has a point, y’know? We don’t do things the same way everyone else does. I mean we go out on dates, and we have sex sometimes, and we listen to each other, and we share our work all the time even if we don’t really get it , and, and….”
Jean closed his eyes and let out a loud groan.
“You haven’t told him you love him yet, have you?” There was humor in Marco’s voice, and Jean hated how effortlessly he seemed to sum up Jean’s anxieties.
“No. And I don’t even know if we’re actually… dating!”
Marco was silent for a moment, but quickly returned to his laughter from earlier, “What do you mean you don’t know !?”
Jean gave him a half-lidded stare, exasperated. “I don’t think we’ve ever called each other ‘my boyfriend’ in front of each other before.”
It was the truth, and it only made Marco laugh harder.
Today was the day, the one year anniversary since their first date. As Jean had already mentioned, they were doing what they always did together. With this time, Armin spending the night after work at Jean’s place.
All day, nearly every day, Armin worked from his laptop at the cafe Sasha worked at. It was her who’d introduced them to each other, who’d watched them do their awkward little social dance, trying to figure out how to get the other’s undivided attention.
Jean didn’t very much enjoy cooking, but art wasn’t something that gave him much side money for ordering in all the time. But he knew that Armin wasn’t very picky, and would eat anything that Jean made, regardless of how mundane it might be.
“So, uhhm,” Jean set the plates down on the island counter, a sudden embarrassment taking over him. “I, I know we don’t really, you know, explicitly talk about some stuff. And I like that! I like that, about us….”
Armin looked attentive, not even grabbing for his fork or knife to begin eating with.
Jean pulled his chair out from the other side, but only half lowered himself onto it as he tried to keep explaining. “I just…. Today’s our one year anniversary. Since that first date we went on, in the park.”
“Mhmm.” Armin confirmed, though it wasn’t like Jean really needed him to.
“And I know you probably don’t, need me to say it, but… I love you, an- erhmm , and I don’t know if that’s too soon for you or where you want our relationship to go from here or-or--”
“ Jean .”
Stunned, Jean froze with silence. Armin had never interrupted him before, always waiting until Jean had finished before commenting.
Armin got out of his chair, and he moved slowly to stand beside Jean on the other side of the counter. Unsure of how to respond, Jean finally let his legs rest, plopping down in his seat. They looked at each other in the eyes, with Armin just slightly taller now that Jean was sitting down.
“I thought we didn’t have to spell these things out?” Armin brought a hand up to rest on Jean’s shoulder, closing some of the space between them.
Jean’s gaze wavered, a new layer of worry coming to him. It was true, and they’d talked about it before, how they enjoyed that they never had to go into grueling detail about their thoughts and feelings for each other. They let their actions take care of that, and their words explain the other things in their lives.
Now, Armin’s other hand was raised, landing on Jean’s cheek to caress it gently. “Of course I love you, Jean.”
Jean was speechless, motionless.
Armin leaned down, giving a soft, warm kiss to Jean’s forehead. And then another, on his cheek, and then--
“I-I’m sorry I…!” Jean leaned away, dodging the third kiss, cheeks flushed and heart pounding.
He turned back to Armin, who looked a little concerned now, eyebrows pointed upward and mouth parted.
“I, I thought that, I thought I felt that too, but, everyone had me second guessing. I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry.”
Armin closed his eyes and leaned in anyway, one leg slightly raised back to help him lean further without completely falling over. Right before their lips pushed together, Jean let his own eyelids fall shut, ready to melt into it completely.
However, the warmth was short lived, and Armin pulled away barely a moment after it started.
“We’re not… mind readers, Jean. It’s okay, to… to ask things, okay?” He moved back over to his side of the island, sliding back into his chair.
Jean looked at him, soft eyed, yearning. So Armin wasn’t mad at him, and he did, love him, too…?
Giving a little smile before picking up his fork to start eating, Armin’s almost nonchalant behavior was most certainly being used to put Jean at ease.
“So,” Armin asked after his first swallow, “What’s everyone making you worry about?”
Jean let his body relax, now that his mind was at ease. He looked down at his plate, grabbed his fork, and stabbed it into a potato wedge.
“Well... do you want to swap house keys?”