Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The port in the morning told a thousand tales. A new city was being born, growing in size with each passing day, and as the sun rose above the sea, life had no time to rest. The docks brought both prosperity and life. Hundreds of people were making their way on and off boats, carrying cargo, trading, or shouting to be heard over the waves of noise. Traders, fishermen, sailors, Naval officers, even men in search of gold - they were all gathered where the land met the water for some purpose or another. The merchants called out to each passerby, competing for business by shouting about whatever fur or hot meal they were selling. Groups of sailors wearing their white uniforms and blue ties walked together, large and imposing but laughing and enjoying their time on land all the while. The smell of the sea was fresh in the air as the fishing boats hauled their morning catch ashore, overwhelming to those who weren’t yet used to it. Horses led carts of goods from foreign lands out to the morning markets. Perhaps there wasn’t a place in the world as diverse as this, with so many different languages being spoken, so many cultures combined. 

For most there, it was just routine - but for Armin, that morning marked the beginning of a new chapter in his life, one he hoped would be even more thrilling than all the bustle and chaos around him. With his shirt tucked in and his hair tied back, Armin navigated through the crowds of people. It was hard not to get distracted - with so many fascinating things to catch his attention, Armin kept stopping to admire the sheer life of all that surrounded him. The ocean was so blue, stretching on forever behind the ships, and Armin stared out at the reflections of light on the gentle waves. Trying to make his way to the very edge of the docks, Armin planned to find someone who might tell him where the boats were headed.

He was in search of a ship sailing to Asia - specifically, to Japan. Through word of mouth, Armin had recently been made aware that the country was in need of bright minds from all around the world to aid in its industrialisation, calling for geologists to engineers. It was a sign - Armin was certain the world was finally pushing him towards the adventure that ran in his blood. 

The night before, he made it to the city after a long journey from his hometown, travelling by cart, then walking a fair way too - his legs still ached terribly, but the view and excitement were more than enough to revitalise him. Even the heavy suitcase he carried felt lighter when he looked out at all the liveliness of the port city. He didn’t want to leave his belongings at the small room he was renting - instead, he carried them with him just in case he had to jump onto a ship at a moment’s notice. Armin wanted to be prepared for everything.

Out across the water, the masts of ships stood in rows, on and on, going so far back it was a wonder that each boat could navigate its way out. Those further back had their sails up, ready for the wind to carry them out to sea. Each ship had the endless potential for adventure, the ability to traverse the entire globe. It made Armin ache when he thought of it; the whole world was out there waiting, lands that he’d never seen, languages he’d never heard. He only knew the outside world through tales, but now it was within his reach - this port was the door and it was wide open.

All he had to do was find a boat to Japan.

Too nervous to talk to a group of burly-looking sailors unprompted, Armin searched for a man alone, anyone who he thought might take his request seriously. Where did he even start? Wherever he looked, everyone was busy, working too hard to spare any attention for him. Nobody was sitting idly, awaiting a conversation.

“Excuse me,” he said, trying to catch the attention of a fisherman, walking along beside him, having to take two steps to keep up with just one of the man’s long strides. 

“You alright, kid?” the fisherman asked. He didn’t slow down; Armin broke into a light jog. 

“I was just wondering if you know of any boats headed to Asia?” Armin asked, brushing off the kid comment - he’d always looked young and got mistaken for a teenager even at twenty-three. 

“Asia? Don’t know. Asking the wrong guy there,” the man replied. 

“How can I find out?”

“Find someone else!” he called, but Armin just sighed and slowed to a walk, letting him go on. He was panting for breath, so much so that he had to bend over double - he had never been particularly fit, despite his fondness for long walks. 

After catching his breath, Armin bit his lip and stood up straight again, thinking as he took a look out at the ships. The vessel, he figured, would have to be carrying some kind of cargo, and enough of it to make the long trip across the Pacific profitable, so it would have to be quite large. Any of the smaller boats wouldn’t do, and he ignored the naval ones for then, too. He wanted to avoid the Navy if he could help it - he’d heard many stories about meagre rations and brutal violence on board. Armin could pick out a few ships that seemed suitable, so he swallowed his fear and walked onwards. 

Smaller rowboats were used to transport the sailors from the ship to land, so Armin sat and studied those coming in, noting the shape and size of the vessels they came from. It was far too easy to lose those sailors as soon as they reached shore, though - it was so chaotically busy he could barely keep track of where he was sitting. 

The first ship he asked about was headed south, as was the second. The third would take him halfway, going to Hawaii, but Armin didn’t want to take the risk of being stranded there. The fourth was going south, too. He had known it was a slim chance to find exactly what he was looking for on the first day of searching, but it was hard to not feel disheartened. 

“It was never going to be simple,” he murmured to himself, trying to be encouraging. “Keep going.”

So he did. Getting up from his spot, Armin walked alongside the crowds of people, listening as intently as he could to the languages he could understand, hoping that he might find a lead. He walked all the way from one end of the docks to the other, and even after stopping to ask another few times, still, he had nothing. Above, the late spring sun was beating down on him as it rose higher into the sky, and Armin was getting frustrated. As he turned around to walk down again, wondering if he should just shout to the ships themselves, he caught sight of a tall, brown-haired sailor standing completely alone, looking out to sea. He was wearing a uniform that wasn’t like those Naval ones, though still had the familiar blue tie, just without any of the insignia. 

“Excuse me,” Armin asked, walking over, trying to ignore the nerves he always felt when speaking to people he didn’t know. 

When the sailor turned to look at him, Armin felt the disdain in his gaze, disapproval so intense that Armin had to take a step back, enough to make his stomach clench. Just the sight of that man’s scowl and narrowed eyes made him regret opening his mouth. Armin felt horribly seen when the sailor looked him up and down as if assessing him.

“What do you want?” he asked. His voice was deep and it cut through the busy noise of the docks. Armin wanted to run, but he steeled himself.

“Do you know of any ships headed for Japan?”

“I do not.” 

“Are - are you sure?” Armin pressed, knowing he was pushing his luck, but figuring he might as well persist. “Not even just for Asia? I’m quite willing to pay, or work, or -”

“I said no,” the man snapped, with such finality that Armin knew better than to ask again. 

Armin sighed, wondering if there was any use to this endeavour after all. Above, the late spring sun was beating down on him as it rose higher into the sky, and Armin was getting frustrated. He had a rather nasty habit of giving up much too quickly when he fell at the first hurdle - his grandfather had told him that often - but Armin didn’t want to give in easily this time. 

“Thank you for your time,” he mumbled, then tipped his hat and went on his way, following the thinning crowd of people back down the docks, parallel to the sea.

That evening, Armin retired to the small room he was renting, exhausted, disheartened, and thoroughly anxious. Though he’d searched for as long as he could, Armin had no luck finding a suitable boat. Before leaving, he had organised this trip with extreme detail, and though he hadn’t deviated from the plan yet, desperation was right around the corner and he could feel it. What would he do if there were no ships to Japan? Stay until he found one, no matter how many weeks it took, or make the days-long trip back to the Midwestern town he had been so excited to finally move on from? What money he had would run out eventually - he left behind his steady source of work to embark on this adventure. 

A tiny glimpse of the ocean was visible from his window. Armin stared out at it, watching the sunset, and sighed, dejected. 

“I wish you were here,” he mumbled, thinking of his late grandfather, the man who had raised him, whose final words had pushed Armin to make this trip. It had been a year since his passing, but Armin missed his company, his wisdom, and his encouragement every single day. They were the only family the other had for a very long time, and being left alone was hard for Armin. 

The first time he was abandoned was at just five years old. With a suitcase and wide smiles, his parents left Armin with his grandfather, taking off to travel, and never came home - what first was meant to be temporary quickly turned into a permanent trip. For years, they travelled the globe, writing home once in a blue moon to tell of their adventures, detailing all the exciting things Armin never had the chance to experience in his small country home. When each letter came Armin would pour over it, vividly imagining the places his parents spoke of, drawing pictures and his own little maps, dreaming that one day, he would get to join them or follow in their footsteps. He had many fond memories of reading those letters and his own stories aloud to his grandfather, who by then had gone blind. 

Shortly after his twelfth birthday, the letters stopped coming. 

Armin spent his teenage years breezing through his studies, earning a degree in geography at the age of seventeen, then going on to study cartography, all whilst caring for his grandfather who aided him greatly in return by funding it all. He was a gentle, kind man, clever in a way Armin admired, and loved to tell stories of this youth and his own trip across the Atlantic. It crushed Armin when he passed, but he pressed onwards, wanting to honour his grandfather’s final request that he one day see the world for himself. 

As a cartographer, Armin spent his working days collecting information from the adventures of others and compiling that data into maps. He took measurements and estimates and accounts and created a replica of the land on paper, ready to be used by men other than him who wished to seek out those places. It was wistful work that exercised both his mind and imagination, but still, it was not as fulfilling as he once hoped, which was why Armin sought out the opportunity to take his profession into his own hands and travel to Japan where he could collect his own data and explore a land he’d never seen before. 

But of course, none of that would be of any use at all if he couldn’t find a ship to take him there.

The next morning, Armin woke before the sun and walked down to the docks again, watching the new boats as they came in. All the hustle and bustle was more chaotic than even the day before, the port teeming with people going about their business. It was hard to make sense of it all, though Armin quite enjoyed being a part of it. After some rest, a good meal, and some self-encouragement, his spirits were higher than they had been the previous evening. Determined to trust in his own plan for once, Armin started the search. 

The motivation quickly ran out. Armin was told rather rudely more than once to head back to where he came from, and still, he had absolutely no luck - not even with the Navy ships, which he’d decided to go after as well. One moment of hope came when he spoke to the captain of a ship headed for China, which would at least get him across the Pacific - but he was told in less-than-friendly terms that by no means would he be allowed on board. Facing rejection after rejection was quite exhausting. Every time he was told to look somewhere else, Armin felt his determination falter, and by noon he was again quite dejected, ready to give up and come back the next morning with his spirits anew. 

Armin found a place to sit down and feel sorry for himself for a little while, thinking of his home and his grandfather, worrying that he was making a mistake by being so dead-set on making it to Japan. He’d always found adaptability something that was just out of his reach - he was too rigid, obsessed with sticking to his own plan as he doubted his judgement in the moment. When things didn’t work as he expected them to, it made him panic.

Just as he was about to give up for the day and go home, Armin looked up to see two strong-looking sailors walking directly over to him. Both men towered over him, and Armin tried not to panic - but what could they possibly want? Armin recognised their blue ties as different from the Naval ones and supposed they worked on a private boat. Was that good or bad? He didn’t know. Armin just held on tightly to his suitcase, hoping he might be able to persuade them not to hurt him. 

“You look lost,” the shorter, burlier of the two sailors said. He had short blonde hair and arms that looked thicker than Armin’s thighs. Though he wasn’t as tall as his friend, he still dwarfed Armin. Despite his size, however,  and now that Armin really looked at him, he didn’t come across as intimidating - in fact, his expression was quite friendly, almost concerned like he was looking after a younger brother. It eased Armin’s nerves a little, but he didn’t let his guard down.

“In what sense?” Armin asked. He felt it would be hard to find a definition of the word ‘lost’ that didn’t apply to him at that moment. 

“Like you haven’t the first clue what you’re doing here,” the blonde chuckled. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t be disturbing him, Reiner,” the taller sailor said. He was shyer, it seemed - Armin recognised the way he stood with his hands clasped in front of him, as he did the same when he was nervous. 

“Are we disturbing you?” the first man - Reiner - said. Armin paused for a second and thought it should be okay to talk to someone for a while. At least the pair didn’t seem to find him a nuisance as everyone else had over the past two days.

“No, not at all,” he sighed, standing up and running his hands through his long hair. 

“That’s great, then,” the blonde sailor said, then stuck out his hand. “Reiner Braun.”

Armin shook his hand and felt like all the bones in his fingers were about to break. Reiner’s grip was crushing, and it didn’t even seem like he was aware of just how strong he was. 

“Armin Arlert,” Armin replied, nursing his hand subtly when he pulled it back. 

“Arlert, eh? Nice to meet you. It’s not often we get to make conversation with people off the ship. I like to make the most of it when we’re on land.”

“Good to meet you,” said the other man, and he held out his hand too. HIs handshake was a lot less intense. “I’m Bertholdt Hoover.”

He and Reiner looked close, Armin thought - he could tell by the way they stood next to each other, Bertholdt leaning a little into Reiner’s side. 

“It’s good to meet you both, too,” Armin said, smiling nervously. This was the first time someone had spoken to him nicely in a while. It was quite a relief. 

“What do you do?” Reiner asked. “You looking for work down here? You don’t look like a sailor.”

“I’m a cartographer,” Armin said, a little amused by the blank expression on Reiner’s face. “I make maps. And yes, I’m here for work.”

“That’s interesting,” Bertholdt said. He seemed to come out of his shell a little, though Armin was very much still in his. Despite the fine conversation, he was really missing his room. He gripped the handle of his case tightly and nodded. 

“It’s stimulating work,” he agreed. 

“Why does it bring you down here?” Reiner inquired. “Are you making a map of the docks?”

“No,” Armin said, shaking his head. “I’m looking for a boat headed to Asia, to try and find good work in Japan… you don’t happen to know of any, do you?” 

Reiner gave Bertholdt a look that Armin couldn’t decipher, but in response, Bertholdt nodded. They were definitely close. 

“It must be fate,” Reiner chuckled, clapping Armin on the shoulder so hard he nearly tumbled over. “We’re headed for Japan this afternoon.”

Armin just stared at them, wondering how on earth he’d gotten both so lucky and unlucky - after two days of searching, why had what he wanted just landed into his lap? 

“You’re not joking with me, are you?” he asked. 

“No,” Bertholdt confirmed. “You’ll have to work, though. We’re not a passenger ship.”

There was a pause. The port was still bustling with people, so if these two men were lying, and wanted to get him to follow them towards some shady destination where they would rob him, he was sure he’d have enough time to escape into the crowd before they could. He’d take the risk; it seemed like the best thing to do. 

“Can you take me there? I’d like to speak to your captain,” Armin said. 

“We were just about to return,” Reiner said. “Follow us.”

Having to walk twice as fast just to keep up, Armin was out of breath as he followed Bertholdt and Reiner. The three of them made their way down towards the docks, and Armin felt much more secure when he saw they really were leading him towards and not off to some back alley, but even still he kept a tight grip on his suitcase. 

“You’re really headed for Japan?” he asked curiously. “How long will the journey take? Have you made it before? Are you a cargo ship?”

“Stick to one question,” Reiner laughed, and only when he turned around did he see just how much Armin was struggling to keep up with his long strides. “Sorry. But yes, we’re headed for Japan, and we are a cargo ship. We’re taking railway materials.”

“I heard about the railways being built there,” Armin nodded, a little out of breath. It seems like a true period of change is taking place as we breathe.”

“Whole world’s changing,” Reiner said. 

“As for the journey,” Bertholdt added, answering Armin’s other question, “there’s no way of being sure, as we haven’t made it before, but Captain said it might take around two months.”

Armin took a deep breath, suddenly nervous. Two months might not seem like a long time, but trapped on a boat, he was certainly sure it would feel that way… 

“Thank you,” he said, and bit his lip. 

“It’s not too late to back out!” Reiner laughed, clapping him on the back again, almost knocking Armin’s suitcase out of his hand. 

“I want to talk about it with your captain, first,” he said. Despite his desperation, Armin wanted to at least have the most basic information before making a decision, especially since he’d have to make it quickly and with a forced commitment to whatever he chose. 

“Right this way, then,” Reiner said, gesturing down a set of stone steps that led right into the water. At the bottom, there was a small, wooden rowing boat that barely looked big enough to fit the three of them inside. 

“Will that be alright?” Armin asked nervously. 

“Of course it will!” Reiner laughed. “If you’re scared of a little rowboat, maybe a ship isn’t the best place for you.”

Not wanting to appear weak, Armin stepped in after Reiner and Bertholdt, feeling the boat dip under his weight, and sat down, wobbling and unsteady. He tried not to think about falling in, especially since he’d never been able to swim. 

“Do you get seasick?” Bertholdt asked as Reiner took the job of rowing them to the ship. 

“I suppose I’ll find out,” Armin murmured, feeling the strange sensation of crossing the water. “This is my first time in a boat…”

“Let’s hope for your sake that you don’t suffer from nausea, then,” Reiner said. “It’ll render you useless, it’s awful until you get used to it.”

“Perfect,” Armin murmured.

When they arrived at the ship, its sailors peered over the edge of the deck, apparently eager to discover who he was. As dozens of curious eyes looked down at him, Armin felt the weight of his choice, knowing that once he climbed aboard there would be no turning back. 

The intense gaze of one man was stronger than all the rest, somehow - Armin had no idea how it was possible, but when he looked up and met his stare, his stomach twisted up and he felt twice as sick. The sailor was tall, with sandy hair and narrow eyes - suddenly, Armin realised he’d already met him. He was the man from the day before, the one who had rudely dismissed him in favour of staring out at the ocean, the one who had told him he knew of not one boat heading to his destination. He recognised that hostility, he could feel it. He couldn’t make out much more from the boat below, but still, they looked at one another - at least until a very loud voice snapped Armin out of his trance. 

“It is about time you two returned!” 

From just a glance, Armin could tell that this was the captain. They were a tall, slender person, quite unusual-looking, with long, chestnut hair tied back behind their hat and an eyepatch secured over their left eye behind their glasses. Seeming to speak with a smile, their presence certainly wasn’t as intimidating as the man’s beside them - presumably the first mate. He was short with dark hair and a stern glare that pierced Armin like a dagger, but even still didn’t feel as intense as that look from the man he recognised from the docks. 

“Apologies, Captain Zoe!” Reiner called, his booming voice making Armin flinch. “We found someone ashore who wants to make the journey with us!”

“I can clearly see,” they replied. “And who might he be?”

“Introduce yourself,” Bertholdt said, giving Armin an encouraging look. 

Armin stared up at all of the sailors peering down at him, expecting an answer, and suddenly felt very sick. Never in his life had he enjoyed being looked at, especially when having to speak, and he was almost tempted to jump right out of the small rowboat and swim back to shore where he could go back to his boring but secure life, living in his old home, making maps and dreaming safely while looking out the window at the familiar view. 

He turned for a second, then, looking out at the water rather than the faces of the men, and saw its endless blue stretching out into the distance, opportunity and adventure waiting beyond the horizon. It made his heart race - he couldn’t ignore it, and like a calling, his grandfather’s last words came back to Armin as strong as they always did when he was doubtful, as if the man was still alive and cheering him on.

Do not waste your time on this earth by restricting yourself to just one part of it. 

Despite all his fears, as Armin looked up at the captain, he was certain. 

“My name is Armin Arlert!” he called, voice wavering just once. “I’m a cartographer looking for passage to Japan!” 

“Are you a hard worker?” the captain called. Their voice was clear and loud enough to carry over to Armin easily. 

“I am!” Armin replied, having to shout a lot louder. He wasn’t used to being so assertive about himself, but now he was sure, there was no way he was going to let this opportunity slip between his fingers - he would have said anything. 

“And are you a quick learner?” 

“I am!” Armin called again. That, at least, was something he was sure of. 

“Then climb aboard!” called the Captain, “and join the ranks of Ship Sina.”

Chapter Text

“Berner!” Captain Zoe called, waving over to a man standing a ways off from them. “Pull the boat up, will you?”

The man named Berner must be the steward, Armin thought, based on his clothing - before embarking, he had studied the ranks on board various ships, wanting to be sure he didn’t act disrespectfully in any manner. The steward’s job, he knew, was to assist the captain with whatever they needed. Ropes were thrown down, Reiner and Bertholdt attached them both to metal rings on each end of the rowing boat, and then they were lifted into the air by a pulley mechanism. Armin had never felt so weightless, so unsteady - it was as if he was standing at the very edge of a cliff, only now there was no ground beneath his feet. Clinging to his suitcase, he felt nausea stirring in his stomach, a bad omen. But there was no turning back. 

Once Armin had both feet on the deck the situation felt all the more surreal. There was a strange feeling in his legs as the boat gently moved on the water, one that made Armin feel as if he were about to fall over. He looked back to the docks for one brief moment and saw the whole view of the city at work, all the hustle and bustle and chaos and land, everything he had ever known. In the other direction, there was nothing but the vast blue of the ocean, the thin line where the sea met the sky, and all the uncertainty of a life not yet lived, one he would have to discover by swallowing his fear and sailing into it. 

The captain approached Armin, holding out their hand. Armin took it, bracing himself for yet another handshake that would crush his fingers, but their grip was thankfully just firm and not too strong.

“Captain Hange Zoe,” they said, introducing themselves again, while the ship’s sailors looked on. Some were up on the rigging, perched on the ropes, while others stood on the deck. No doubt there were men below, too. Armin kept his focus on the captain, but it was as if he could hear the sailors assessing him. Whether it was a part of his imagination or not, Armin felt horribly seen - so much so that he didn’t want to speak, even though he had to. 

“Armin Arlert,” he said again, embarrassed by his own uncertainty. 

“Welcome aboard,” they said with a smile. “Now. Please know I’d love to fill you in on your duties here as I do with the rest of the crew - I find that very important - but time is short and we’re setting sail very soon! You really were lucky, you know, much longer and you would have had to find another ship, and I can’t imagine any young man wanting to sail on any vessel but this one. But, yes, your duties. Your bunkmate will be able to help you with everything you need to know. It won’t be easy, but you’re a hard worker, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, Captain,” Armin said, trying not to think about how worried he was. This would be fine - it had to be. Two months. That was how long Bertholdt had estimated that the journey would take. He had waited his whole life for this adventure, and he only had to endure those two months until he could finally begin his life anew. Perhaps they would be difficult, but they would pass nonetheless. And it wasn’t as if things were completely hopeless - at the very least he knew two kind men aboard and he could stick to them if he were lucky. 

“Kirstein,” Captain Zoe said, turning behind themselves to address one of their men. “Can I trust you to supervise and instruct our newest sailor?” 

To Armin’s horror, the man who spoke next was the same sailor who had so rudely dismissed him the day before - the same sailor who stared at him from above, whose intense glare had sent shivers down Armin’s spine, the man with the sharp eyes and sandy brown hair. Their eyes, just for a second, met again - instantly, Armin felt both his heartbeat and nausea increase tenfold as if the ship was traversing through a storm rather than docked safely at port. Armin didn’t understand what he could have done to incite such disdain from someone he’d barely spoken to, but it was written clear as day upon his face that he didn’t like Armin at all.

“Captain, I think it would be better if-” the man started, but he was cut off. 

“Nonsense!” the captain exclaimed. “You want to man your own ship someday, don’t you? Then this will be good practise for you.”

“But-”

“Watch your tongue,” snapped the first mate, the short man with dark hair. It was clear the men were afraid of him, as the sailor seemed to recoil when he spoke. 

“Yes, sir.”

Behind him, Armin could hear Reiner snickering. 

“Arlert, this is Jean Kirstein. As your captain, I trust in him to show you aptly how my crew keeps this ship sailing smoothly. If you have questions, direct them to him. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Perfect!” they exclaimed, then clapped once, and smiled joyfully before addressing the entire ship’s crew with a booming voice. “An hour more at port, then we’ll prepare to set sail!” 

“Yes Captain!” the crew shouted back, though neither Armin nor Jean said a word. 

Another excruciating moment passed as the ship sprang back into action but Jean stayed still, watching Armin intensely until finally, he walked towards him. Unlike everyone else Armin had met that day, Jean did not shake his hand - for which he was grateful, because certainly if he had, his hand would be sore for the next week. 

“Follow me,” Jean said, lacking in any of the friendliness he’d been shown by Bertholdt and Reiner. Armin searched for them as he followed behind Jean, and saw the pair talking to the first mate. Reiner shot him an apologetic look as if he were sorry Armin had to go with Jean, and Armin gave a small wave back, smiling, trying to reassure both Reiner and himself that this would be fine. 

On the deck, there were three hatches that led down into the ship’s belly. It was quite a struggle to climb down the ladder with his suitcase, but he managed after some difficulty. Jean didn’t offer any help - he just watched, and seemed both amused and annoyed by him. Armin found himself beginning to dislike him quite a lot, even though they’d hardly spoken. He considered himself a good judge of character, and it was easy to tell that Jean wasn’t a kind man, nor was he a patient one. 

“Finally,” he muttered. “You’ll have to get used to climbing around here. Weak people don’t last.”

It stung. Armin hated having to rely on anything but his mind - unlike his brain, Armin’s body tired quickly and had little strength. Becoming smarter was a lot less tiring than becoming stronger, too. 

“I’ll bear that in mind,” was all he said, though. Being rude in return would not do him any favours. Putting his personal feelings aside would be worth it if it meant Jean didn’t leave him to fend for himself. 

Below deck, the ship was claustrophobic, with ceilings that were low even for Armin’s short frame, and narrow passages leading this way and that. From what he could tell the closed-off rooms were exceedingly small, and there were many of them. Jean led him from one end to the other, giving off-hand comments about what each area was - the bunks, where they ate, where they washed, and the places that were off-limits like the pantry and infirmary. Armin made internal notes about it all, though at the forefront of his mind was his own discomfort and queasiness. The fact that this would be his home for the next two months hadn’t yet sunk in, even as Jean led him to one of the tiny rooms and they both stepped inside. 

It was barely wide enough to fit both of them in. There was one small, circular window that looked out to the sea, two hammocks, and two wooden chests which each had their own locks. Jean sat down on one of the chests, looking thoroughly annoyed, and took off his hat. 

“I didn’t realise there would be separate rooms,” Armin commented, having expected that all the sailors would sleep together in a single space. 

“I used to have this one for myself,” Jean muttered. “Keep your things in your suitcase. I use both of the chests.”

“Oh,” Armin murmured. “I-”

“And don’t expect me to coddle you, either. If you can’t adapt, you don’t deserve to be here.”

“I can adapt,” Armin insisted defensively. Even if he wasn’t completely sure, he didn’t like the way Jean assumed without any evidence that he was utterly useless. 

“You’ve never even stepped foot on a boat before, have you?” 

“Surely that was true for you once.”

“Not in my memory.”

Armin set his suitcase down. Jean’s utter dismissal of him was incredibly frustrating, especially as he hadn’t been given a single chance to prove himself yet. The child in him wanted to cry, but he held himself back. It seemed that would be giving Jean what he wanted, or at the very least, be proving him right. Being smart about the situation would give him an advantage - Armin always thought before acting.

“What will my duties be?” he asked. 

Jean sighed as if even just hearing Armin speak was bothersome. The thought occurred to Armin that these two months might be the longest of his life. 

“There are two groups of sailors, the larboard and the starboard. One’s led by the first mate and the other by the second mate. You’ll be part of the larboard with me,” Jean muttered. “We were short a man before you got here. Time on deck during the night is four hours on, four hours off, split up into three shifts. The group that ends up with two shifts alternates every night. Do you get it? I’m not going to repeat myself.”

“I understand,” Armin said. He got it, alright, but by no means was it going to be easy. Working through the night… he wasn’t looking forward to it. 

“Good. All hands are on deck from midday to four in the afternoon, and then it’s free time until eight in the evening when the watches start. Sundays are for rest, too, besides what work is necessary.”

“And what does the work entail?”

“You’ll find out.”

Armin swallowed. The more Jean spoke, the more he disliked him. What made him so awfully stubborn? Was life onboard so harsh as to make a man as rude as Jean? Still, Armin had questions. 

“How many of us are in the larboard?”

“Eight, including the first mate.”

“And-” 

“Enough. Go and talk to the steward and get your uniform,” Jean interrupted.  Armin let out a little frustrated huff, but he turned to do so, figuring he’d have to find the steward by himself - and then, Jean interrupted him again . “Wait.”

“What is it?” Armin wanted to snap, but he spoke softly, restraining himself. 

It was just then that Armin really looked at Jean’s face. His traitorous body reacted, noticing his handsomeness, the sharpness of his jaw and the way those eyes stared at him. He had a scar over one eyebrow, and another by the corner of his lip which tugged his scowl down slightly more on one side. His brows were full and dark and stayed furrowed, only furthering his intensity. 

And he was tall. Almost a whole head taller than Armin, and by the way he stood, he knew that very well. 

“What is it?” Armin asked. 

“If you notice things on this ship,” Jean said, his deep voice slow and deliberate, “that you find strange, or that you wouldn’t expect to see on land, I’d advise you keep your mouth shut. Because if you cause trouble for anyone, or treat them wrongly for who they are, I won’t hesitate to throw you overboard myself.”

Armin paused, truly flummoxed. He had no idea what that could possibly mean, but despite his burning curiosity, he didn’t feel it was a wise idea to question him. His heart was pounding, stomach in knots, and for a few moments - ones that stretched on forever like the ocean out the porthole behind them - they just looked at each other. 

“I’ll get my uniform,” Armin said quietly, then nodded and left, shutting the door behind him, barely able to catch his breath.

It was too big. Armin had to roll up his sleeves and the bottoms of his trousers just so they didn’t drag on the floor when he walked. With the white shirt and blue necktie, he felt silly, like a child playing dress-up - it reminded him of when he’d pretend to be an adventurer exploring the world just like his parents. Before his grandfather went blind, Armin would put on little shows for him, dreaming of this very moment. He wasn’t a child anymore, but it still felt like he was pretending. 

Maybe, he assured himself, that was because it hadn’t quite sunk in yet - but one glance from Jean when made him feel as small as his eight-year-old self again. 

“You need to fix that,” Jean said. “Go and get a needle and thread and sort out your uniform before the first mate sees you and I take the blame.”

Armin resisted the urge to tell him he needed to fix his manners. Kneeling down, he opened his suitcase, wondering how on earth he was going to fit in his spare set of clothes when he had already filled it close to bursting with all the things he couldn’t bear to leave behind. He folded his spare clothes and wished he had access to the chest. 

“Are you listening to me?” Jean went on, peering over Armin’s shoulder into his luggage. “Why do you have so many books?”

The case shut with a slam. Armin didn’t mean to lash out, but that disdain struck a nerve with him, and his body reacted before his mind. 

“I’m sorry,” he said shakily, wondering if Jean would hit him, tensing up, the old reactions to years of bullying coming back to protect him. The silence was so thick that Armin didn’t even dare to breathe, and just as it became unbearable, Jean spoke. 

“Go and fix your uniform,” he murmured. 

Armin didn’t need to be told twice. 

Trying to make sense of both Jean and the chaos below deck, Armin took a moment to breathe, organising his thoughts as he leaned against the other side of the wooden door to his cabin. There was no time to try and rationalise the irrational - Jean’s behaviour seemed to be a mystery because he wanted it to be, and Armin wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of getting all torn up over it when there were things to be done. 

He was on the way back to see Berner, the steward, when a short blonde woman grabbed his attention, poking him twice on the shoulder. She had big eyes and hair tied back under her cap, and her expression was kind enough that Armin felt relief wash over him.

“Can I help you?” he asked her. 

“No, but I think I can help you,” she replied, pointing to his rolled-up sleeves. “You’ll get in trouble looking like that, it’s not safe. You could fall off the rigging. Want me to sew them up for you? I had to do it myself when I joined, too.”

Armin looked down at her uniform and saw the neatly stitched sleeves. 

“It would be wonderful if you could,” he said, and then awkwardly realised he hadn’t introduced himself. “I’m-”

“Arlert, I know,” she interrupted, grinning as she shook his hand. Her grip was surprisingly firm for someone of her size. “I’m Historia Reiss.”

“Good to meet you,” Armin said. It really was - knowing there were at least three friendly faces on board was his only solace. 

“You too,” she said, then took him by the sleeve and led him to one of the other small cabins, just a few down from the one he shared with Jean. 

This one was just as cramped as the rest and identical in every way besides the mess on one of the hammocks. On one of the chests sat a tall, freckled woman, shuffling a pack of cards - she barely raised an eyebrow when Historia brought Armin in, and the small amount of worry Armin had managed to swallow came rising back up his throat. 

“It’s the new boy,” the woman said, not looking up from her cards. 

“Ymir, be nice to him,” Historia scolded, though she did it with a bit of a grin. “He has to bunk with Jean, he’s suffered enough.”

Ymir snorted. “Fair. How was he, Arlert? Did he snap at you?” 

“He did,” Armin replied as Historia fussed over him, sitting him down and taking off his jacket to sew those sleeves first. 

“Don’t pay him any attention, he’s an ass,” Ymir said. “Just because he’s been on this ship longer than even the first mate, he thinks he owns it. He’s got no more rank than the rest of us.”

“If you have questions, just ask us,” Historia told him. “Though we’re not on the same watch if you’re with Jean, we’ll see you at mealtimes.”

“Thank you, really,” Armin said. “I just hope the journey will pass by quickly.”

“What takes you to Japan, anyway?” Ymir asked. She had put down her pack of cards, and was looking at him skeptically, one eyebrow raised. “You’re a cartographer?”

“Yes, I make maps,” Armin said. “I plan on finding work there.”

“Strange. Did you not have any here?”

“I did, but… it wasn’t fulfilling, I suppose.”

“Well,” Ymir said, “I wish you luck, then.”

Historia was a quick seamstress, and just twenty minutes passed before she was done. Armin redressed in his uniform - which was still a little baggy, but at least taken in enough at the waist and the correct length for his arms and legs, so he didn’t look ridiculous. He left his second set of clothes with her, promised some of his rations in return for her help - something Ymir seemed more than a little excited about - and thanked her over and over before regretfully heading back to his cabin to tell Jean that he was suitably dressed. 

Before he could make it there, a shout from above stopped him and all the other sailors in their tracks. 

“All hands on deck!” came the voice of the first mate, loud enough to make Armin’s ears hurt. That included him, there was no doubt, so he followed the rest of the sailors, climbing back up the ladder and out into the bright afternoon, blinded by the sun. 

Soon, the entire ship’s crew was there, and Armin found his place beside Jean, who gave him a cursory glance and then a brief nod - seemingly the extent of his approval. It was better than being snapped at, that was definite. 

At the ship’s helm stood Captain Zoe, grinning gleefully down at their crew, looking over all the sailors like a parent proud of their children. 

“We are due to set sail!” they cried, quite unceremoniously, not at all similar to the captains Armin had read about before leaving home. “We shall work hard, drink plenty, and let the wind carry us eastwards!”

The sailors cheered - Armin felt as if he ought to be joining in, but he kept his mouth shut, and stared past the captain out at the open ocean, even as he felt Jean’s gaze fix on him again. It was truly beginning, this limbo between his old and new lives - two months of uncertainty, and he could finally say goodbye to who he once was and start again. 

“I’m doing it, Grandfather,” he whispered, tears forming in his eyes, blinking them back before they could fall. 

Captain Zoe instructed those already on the rigging to climb up and unfurl the sails, and Armin watched with fascination as they scaled the ropes like there was no danger at all - it seemed effortless, and Armin was in awe of it. 

The sails were magnificent, billowing out with a gust of wind, full enough to cast shadows over the deck, and as the ship began its journey from the docks. Armin found himself yearning to be up there at the very top of the mast, clinging on to see the world from the wind’s point of view. 

Chapter Text

As the port grew smaller and smaller behind them, Armin was enraptured, completely taken by the wonder of the ship he stood on and the ocean that sprawled out ahead. The boat was like its own lifeform, the sailors part of it, dangling from the masts and rigging to direct the sails. The wind was blowing favourably, from what Armin could tell, breathing life into the sails and propelling them all forwards. Peering over the edge, Armin watched the ship cutting through the water. Behind them, the sun cast long beams of light on the waves, tinting their tips a bright white like the water was dancing. Despite shivering a little when he thought about falling overboard, Armin was enthralled, leaning a little further over the edge to try and get a better view - but was suddenly yanked backwards by the back of his shirt and found himself staring up at Jean. 

“Get back from there,” he snapped, glaring darkly. Armin felt a chill down his spine, the sensation of an impending storm. He was bright red in the face - was it from anger? “Are you stupid?”

“I was under the impression I’d be doing you a favour if I fell,” Armin said. He was put off by having his spell broken - annoyed, even.

“No, you would not,” Jean said. “What were you even doing?”

“I was just looking.”

“Well, you’ve looked enough. We have work to do, I hope you’re aware.”

Armin held back his sigh and nodded. It wouldn’t do him any good to make Jean dislike him any more than he already did, though from the way he spoke it seemed like that wasn’t possible.

“What will we be doing?”

“I spoke to the captain,” Jean told him. “They told me we’ll both be excused from usual duties while I teach you the basics.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Armin saw Reiner and Bertholdt on the opposite end of the deck, deep in laughter and conversation as they worked. He wished he was with them instead of Jean, having a good, easy-going time instead of having to watch his every move and word, constantly worrying that he was going to incite even more anger from his bunkmate. 

Jean was looking at him, and Armin couldn’t breathe as he took his arm, inspecting his sleeve closely. He was certainly not at all that shy about reaching out to touch him like it was nothing - Armin wasn’t used to that at all, and found himself feeling more than a little nervous to have another man’s hands on him. 

“Are they okay?” he asked nervously. “Historia helped me…”

“I can see that. They should be fine. Won’t catch on the rigging, at least… come on. We’re going to climb it.”

“What?!” Armin asked, pulling back with wide eyes. He looked up at the ropes, thinking there was no way he would be able to make it up without falling. 

“Don’t question me,” Jean replied. “You agreed to board this ship; you will perform its duties. Now come on.”

“But - what if I fall?”

“Hold on, and you won’t.” 

“And if I lose my grip?” 

“Then you’d best hope you land on the deck and don’t break too many bones.”

Armin swallowed. He wanted to protest - how could he be expected to put himself in such danger? - but he had agreed to the terms. He had boarded this ship with the knowledge that he would be expected to act like a sailor, to be a sailor, and he couldn’t just hide away now because he was scared. He swallowed. What would his grandfather say? No doubt, he’d tell him to act like his mother - fearless until the end. 

“I’m ready,” Armin said. He hoped that feigning confidence would eventually lead to convincing himself. Jean raised an eyebrow at him; Armin had no idea what it meant. 

“I won’t catch you.” 

“I won’t need you to.”

“Then come here,” Jean said, walking to the side of the deck where the rigging started and led to the masts, then hopped up, gripping onto the ropes easily. Armin felt his legs starting to shake. Looking down on the world from above… it was something he knew would be beautiful, yet being up there, so tall - it was terrifying. “Your turn.”

Armin held his breath as he reached up, focusing intensely, trying to figure out the best way to make it up while minimising the risk of falling. For Jean, it seemed as natural as breathing, like the rigging was a second home. He trusted his movement implicitly - Armin watched Jean’s strong hands reach out to grip the ropes without even looking, certain that when he clasped his fingers there would be something to grasp. Armin couldn’t help but find it marvellous - Jean’s ease , the natural movements of his body, those strong arms of his. 

They were nothing alike. As soon as Armin’s feet left the ground he felt like a flightless bird in the air, completely out of his element. While Jean was comfortable to the point of indifference, Armin was terrified yet thrilled, clinging onto the ropes with the excitement and fear of a young child like he was taking his first steps. It wasn’t like climbing a ladder as there was no steadiness at all - the rigging shifted and swayed with the ship. It was all he could do to reach up and grasp the next rope, and after that Armin couldn’t force his body to move at all. 

“What are you doing?” Jean called down, standing on the small platform halfway up the main mast. His pose, his ease - Jean looked like a painting up there. 

“It’s difficult!” Armin replied. He could feel the eyes of the other sailors on him, watching, no doubt judging him for his lack of ability. Jean was right - Armin didn’t belong on the ship at all, but even still he could only hope that Captain Hange wouldn’t see his inability and turn the ship back around to take him back to port. 

The fear of that happening motivated him enough to bring his second hand up a few rungs, but it was like his legs were frozen. He had barely left the ground at all, but looking down, the ocean looked less like a guiding hand and more like a mouth that was ready to swallow him at the first mistake, hungry and merciless. 

“Stop looking down,” Jean called again. 

“But how else will I know where to put my feet?” Armin asked. He could hear in his own voice just how humiliatingly afraid he was. 

“Feel with them first. You have to trust the ropes.” 

“They’re moving!”

“Then move with them!” 

Armin wanted to ask what on earth that meant, but bit his tongue and tried to just go with it, wanting desperately to adapt even though he struggled with it so much. He took a deep breath and looked up again, wanting to climb the ropes, trying hard not to think about the bottomless depths of the ocean below. He lifted his left leg, his stomach twisting with nerves, and gingerly felt out for the next rung upwards, breathing a nervous sigh of relief when he made contact and slowly started to make his way up the rigging. What little progress he made was suddenly halted when the boat dipped and the rigging swayed violently. Armin cried out, making the mistake of looking down and seeing the wave roll beneath the ship, and felt his stomach turn with fear, knowing that one slip up would result in him either hitting the ship deck or plummeting into the water. 

“I can’t - I can’t go any further!” Armin gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. “Jean, please!”

“What do you want me to do?” Jean replied. 

“I - I don’t know, I - I think I’m going to fall!”

“Don’t, then.”

“It’s not that simple!” 

“Yes, it is. Not falling is your only option. You just need to keep holding on, and then move.”

Armin wanted to cry, but he held it back. Every challenge he’d faced until then was something he could solve, something that had a concrete answer, a solution. Being forced to rely on his body felt wrong; there was no reason to it. The rigging stretched on upwards, the criss-cross pattern of ropes leading to the platform he needed to reach. Jean was waiting there, and Armin knew he was frustrated by his incompetence, but couldn’t Jean see he was trying as hard as he could? 

His hands moved. Then his legs, and he was climbing, looking at the platform as it grew closer. As Jean said, climbing was his only option - so he did, and eventually he felt a floor beneath his feet again. Clinging to the mast with his eyes squeezed tight shut, Armin fought the urge to throw up, his legs shaking violently. He didn’t dare look down. 

“And I was sure you’d fall,” Jean hummed from beside him. 

“Why would let me do it if you were so certain? I thought you said that would be an inconvenience for you?” Armin replied. 

“Not as inconvenient as a sailor who can’t do their work.”

“Right… of course. How silly of me to think you had any regard for my life…”

“Just open your eyes so I can show you the sails from here.” 

Of course it wasn’t over. Trying not to think about how high up he was, Armin cracked his eyes open, intending to do as Jean said, but then he caught a glimpse of the view and everything else fell away. 

The port had completely disappeared from view. Not even the land was visible any longer - there was just endless blue in every direction, stretching out so far Armin was sure he could see the curve of the earth at the horizon. The sky above was so clear, so bright, so beautiful. Birds flew above, searching for fish that jumped from the water, diving down for their meal. It was strange to see the ocean without hearing the gentle washing of its waves against the shore. All that could be heard were the shouts from sailors and the seabirds, the wind in the sails, and the creaking of the ship’s old wooden bones as it rocked atop the water. 

They were going somewhere. The journey was underway, and Armin had made it over more than one hurdle. He’d proven to himself that what he thought was impossible was in fact not. The solid floor beneath his feet, the view from halfway up the mast, the triumph he felt - it proved himself wrong. Just don’t fall . Maybe he would say that to himself more often. 

Beaming, Armin turned to Jean, about to exclaim about the sheer simplicity of the beauty and how much it meant, but the words on his tongue died when he saw Jean looking at him with an unreadable expression. Jean’s lips were slightly parted, brows furrowed, those piercing eyes staring right at him. The spell the view of the ocean had put Armin under was broken, and immediately, his legs reminded him just how high up he was. There was a sudden rush in his stomach, throat closing up, though Armin wasn’t sure the sensations were entirely from vertigo. What had Jean been thinking? It was impossible to tell as now his expression had turned back into that usual glare.

“Are you finished staring?” Jean asked. “We have work to do, or you’ll never learn.”

“Yes, I - I’m sorry.”

“Good. Now let’s get started.”

It was exhausting. Jean told him time and time again that the work they were doing was just simple training, but Armin could barely keep up. His arms and legs were aching from climbing up and down the rigging - Jean forced him over and over until he was satisfied by how quickly Armin was able to reach the small platform halfway up the middle mast. Though he snapped and complained, Jean wasn’t that terrible - or perhaps, Armin thought, he was improving at not letting the sharp-eyed sailor get under his skin. He swallowed his nausea and the desire to ask questions, as his curiosity irritated Jean, and just went about memorising every single detail of his instructions. Armin might not have had the physical aptitude to perform every task he was assigned, but at least he would never forget a step or a method. 

By the time dinner came around, Armin was so drained of energy that he could barely stand. The swaying of the ship under him was making his stomach churn, seasickness frothing in his gut, feeling like his insides were being pulled with the tide. He sat next to Jean at the long benches below deck, his meal of salted meat and potatoes so unappealing he had no problem parting with the half he’d promised to Historia. The smell of the hot food and alcohol passed around between the sailors only made his nausea worsen with each breath he took in. 

Distraction was his only option. Armin observed the sailors, especially those he knew to be a part of the same watch as him. Reiner and Bertholdt were, thankfully - as was Ymir. Armin hadn’t met the other two yet, though - in his futile attempt to ignore the awful sickness he felt, he sat quietly and observed them, wanting to learn more about the people he would spend the next two months of his life with. The first was Marlowe. He was a tall, dark-haired man with an unfortunate haircut and serious nature which softened a little when he spoke about his wife and young son. Onyankopon was the second, much softer than Marlowe was, and he smiled twice as much. They shared the same worldview - when Onyankopon declared how excited he was to see what Japan would be like and what sort of people they might meet there, Armin knew he liked him. 

They all talked and sang amongst themselves, cheerful and excited to embark on a new journey. It was clear that they had all known each other for years, that they all considered this ship their home and its sailors their family. Ymir ate with one arm slung over Historia’s shoulders, and even kissed her on the cheek more than once, which made Armin turn away quickly, nervous that he was encroaching on something between them. Jean met his eye for just a second after that, so fast that Armin wasn’t sure if he imagined it. Reiner drank the most and sang the loudest, earning himself more than one swift slap across the back of the head from the first mate, none of which seemed to bother him in the slightest. Everyone was smiling - Armin wondered if that spirit would last all the way across the ocean, or if the sentiment onboard would sour the more time went on. He hoped at the very least that he wouldn’t experience a more disagreeable mood from Jean, but something told Armin that he hadn’t quite seen the worst of him yet. Looking to his right, he saw Jean glaring at him. 

“If you’re not going to eat, give your food to someone else,” he snapped. 

“You can have it,” Armin groaned. “I feel sick…”

Jean took Armin’s plate without a second thought, and Armin rested his head in his hands. Even with his eyes closed, it felt like the boat was spinning, going in circles, up and down and up again. The nausea was so bad that he had to keep his mouth shut firmly, terrified that he’d empty his stomach in front of everyone if he so much as breathed too deeply. 

“Armin,” came a voice from across the table - Armin was pretty sure it was Reiner, but he felt so awful he couldn’t be certain. “You should really eat.”

“I can’t,” Armin muttered. “I’ll vomit.”

“You’re seasick, eh?”

“Something like that.”

“It won’t last forever,” Bertholdt assured him. “You’ll get used to it eventually.”

“How long will that take?” 

“It lasts a couple days for most.”

“Unless you’re unlucky,” Jean said from beside him, “I’ve known some men who never shake it off.”

The ship dipped, then, and Armin was suddenly out of his seat, heading blindly for the top deck. It took everything he had to hold it, but he knew there was no making it up the ladder, so he grabbed the bucket Onaynkopon thrust at him and emptied his stomach into it. 

“Gross,” Ymir murmured. “Go do it over the deck so you don’t make a mess.” 

Armin heard her yelp as Historia elbowed her in the ribs, but everything was muffled as his head span. The others were arguing, he thought. Armin felt too awful to tell, his nausea somehow ringing in his ears. His throat was burning, chest too tight - and then he felt a hand on his back and he was being led up to the top deck. 

“Come on,” Reiner said. “The fresh air will do you some good.”

He was somewhat right. Armin spent what felt like an hour over the side of the ship, having the worst time of his life. In his twenty-three years, he couldn’t once remember feeling as ill as he did then, but the salty air was at least better than the ship’s stuffy, cramped underbelly. He still felt awful when the worst of it was over. It was pitch dark outside, the clear sky guiding their way. The ocean was black and deep and Armin didn’t even want to think about it. Reiner was kind enough to give him some water with a slice of ginger and sit next to him while he caught his breath. 

“Thank you,” Armin murmured. He was exhausted, but closing his eyes made him feel worse. 

“You’re fine,” Reiner replied. “Everyone goes through this in the beginning; you’ll get used to it.”

“Everyone?”

“Pretty much. I was sick for days when I first boarded.”

Armin sighed. “I bet Jean never did.”

“Jean talks a big game, but he’s no better than the rest of us,” Reiner chuckled, patting Armin on the shoulder.

“Tell that to him.”

“Trust me, we all have,” he said. “Don’t worry - you’ll get used to him.”

“Just like the seasickness?” 

“Yeah, just like that,” Reiner laughed, and at least for a moment, Armin found himself able to smile. 

“Do we have to go on watch now?” 

“No, we’re on middle watch tonight,” Reiner said. “Midnight until four. So you’d better go get your rest while you can.”

“If I can,” Armin murmured. 

“You will.”

They made their way back down into the belly of the ship. Dinner had been cleared away, and things were much quieter. Again, Armin wished he could bunk with Reiner or Bertholdt or really, anyone other than Jean, but he wasn’t so lucky, and eventually, he had to go back to their small cabin. Armin thanked Reiner and said goodbye, pausing for a second at the door before entering. 

Jean was in his hammock, facing the wall, but he rolled over when Armin came in. 

“If you’re sick in here, you’ll be the one cleaning it up.”

“I don’t have anything left in my stomach,” Armin murmured. His hands ached as he unbuttoned his shirt - Armin was quite sure there was not a part of his body that didn’t hurt in some way. He wanted to curl up in his grandfather’s favourite armchair with a cup of tea, reading a book by candlelight, relaxed and content - but he was stuck on this boat for the first night of many. 

“I cannot wait until this is over,” he murmured, untying his hair. 

“Then you shouldn’t have boarded,” Jean snapped. 

Armin wanted to retort and say that perhaps he wouldn’t have been having such an awful time if he had a more agreeable mentor and bunkmate, but he held his tongue, too tired to argue. 

“I apologise for being such an inconvenience to you,” he said quietly. 

“Your apology doesn’t change anything. We’re up in four hours. Rest.”

“I will,” Armin sighed. 

As if his day hadn’t been hard and exhausting enough, getting into the hammock was extremely difficult. Every time Armin tried to lift himself up into it, either his arms gave out or the hammock swung out of the way. It was so frustrating that when he heard Jean trying not to laugh, tears formed in his eyes and he wanted to go home. He really was acting like a child - he knew he was - but everything was so overwhelmingly hard that this one simple task he couldn’t achieve was breaking his spirit.

“Get your leg up first,” said Jean, surprising Armin. 

“Why are you helping me?” 

“Because you’re keeping me up.”

“Right. Of course.”

Jean was right, though. Armin managed to get into the hammock by weighing it down with his leg first, and though it swung nauseatingly, it was such a relief to rest that Armin was asleep almost instantly, closing his eyes and drifting off with Jean’s gaze still pointed in his direction.

Chapter Text

Despite passing out as soon as he lay down, Armin got perhaps the worst four hours of sleep of his entire life. He felt like he woke every few minutes, never quite slipping under after the first time. The swaying of the ship made his hammock swing in a horrible, nauseating counterrhythm, but Armin was too tired to do anything but lay there and focus on it, every horrible detail. After climbing the rigging over and over again at Jean’s demand, his bones hurt right down to the core, aching from the inside out. His mind was racing, alive with worry, stopping him from falling back asleep even though he so desperately wanted to. 

Yet it felt like barely any time at all had passed before a bell was ringing and it was their turn to rise to the deck to take watch. 

Armin could barely make his fingers work well enough to fasten the buttons of his shirt. Jean didn’t say a word to him, just waited, holding their lamp and looking irritated like he normally did. The orange light emanating from the flame cast shadows up Jean’s face. He had very angular cheekbones, Armin noticed. They suited him, he thought. It was fitting that such a sharp man would have a face to match. Neither of them spoke a word to the other as they followed the other men of the larboard up to the deck where they would spend the next four hours. 

The sky and sea were so dark it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Armin was used to seeing the ocean lit up by port beside it, by tall lanterns that cast orange beams over the black waves. All they had to see by were the small oil burners they held in their hands, glowing dull, brightness swallowed by the night’s gaping mouth. The moon was barely glowing, half-obscured by grey clouds. Armin felt small. He wasn’t sure which frightened him more - the sky or the sea. The sky was so horribly open, nothing stretching on and on. It was a terrifying kind of emptiness, a fear completely opposite to the unknown depths of the ocean, where anything could lurk out of sight. Even the large ship with its billowing sails and imposing masts felt delicate and precarious atop the water. 

And it was undeniably thrilling. 

Despite his nausea, exhaustion, and the cold bite of the incoming wind, Armin felt alive when he looked outwards. He’d never known himself to be the kind of person who chased after fear for excitement, but the endlessness of it all sparked something in him. There was no doubt that his parents had seen this view. Had his mother smiled the first time she saw the black ocean, or was she afraid?

At the end, Armin knew she must have been. But he wondered if she still found it beautiful. 

“Come on,” Jean said from beside him. “Your job now is to stand and watch. Don’t fall asleep, or you’ll topple off the edge.”

“Just standing and watching?”

“I can ask the first mate to give you more work if you’ll be so bored,” Jean said dryly. 

“No, that’s fine,” Armin replied, holding his hands up. 

“Thought so. Follow me.”

Armin did as Jean said, walking behind him to the edge of the ship. The waves of nausea in his stomach weren’t as strong as they had been the night before, but were still present and refusing to be ignored. All Armin could do was bear it, he supposed, and feel grateful he didn’t have to climb the swinging rigging over and over like the evening before. Not twelve hours had passed since Armin boarded the Sina, but the idea of solid ground beneath his feet was surreal. Armin took that as a sign - that it really meant something, signalling the closure of the life he left behind. He could only hope this steady in between was as kind to him as it could be. 

The first mate insisted that they weren’t to talk when on watch, but that was a rule poorly enforced when it was hard to hear much past the whistling of the wind and the old creaking ship. Everyone stood in pairs except for the first mate and Ymir who took opposite ends of the ship. Reiner was with Bertholdt, and Marlowe with Onyankopon - Armin wished he were with anyone other than Jean so he might join in with a conversation. Jean was frosty and cold and he stared out at the ocean like he was expecting to see anything other than water stretching for miles. Armin was so curious to know more about him, but he knew Jean would only tell him to shut up if he asked. 

A half-hour passed in silence. It was uncomfortable, but not truly awful. Armin was beginning to learn that silence was a good sign when it came to Jean - it meant he had nothing to complain at him about. 

“Regretting it yet?” Jean asked eventually, making Armin jump. Neither of them took their eyes off the ocean. Armin thought about his question, wondering what Jean wanted to hear. He couldn’t tell, so he thought he might as well be honest. 

“No,” he replied. “No, I’m not regretting it. If you mean boarding the ship, that is.”

“I’m not sure what else I would have meant,” Jean said, sounding as unimpressed as ever.

“I believe the destination will be worth the journey, even if I spend every moment as seasick as I was last night.” Armin knew he was trying to convince himself of that more than Jean, but he was desperate for a way to tolerate this place. He was only on the first night of at least sixty, and all he had was his own force of will to make it through. “I just have to endure.”

“This is our way of life, you know,” Jean snapped. “This boat isn’t just some stain on a journey for us. So show the way we live some respect.”

Armin swallowed and just looked at Jean for a second, saw the dislike in his eyes and felt a wave of uncharacteristic anger surge in his own chest, too. What did it matter? Armin was just trying to adjust in his own way while Jean tried to make it as hard and miserable for him as he could. Why on earth did he expect him to hold reverence for this ship when the person showing him around it was so disrespectful, so rude? Of course he didn’t feel welcome. Jean had hated him from the moment their eyes met, even with their feet planted firmly on the ground, before a ship had been mentioned. He was told he didn’t belong, he’d been frightened and sick, and he was tired. It was only the nature of the sky and sea around him that kept Armin clinging on, and they truly were the only reasons he could imagine anyone would want to become a sailor for life. 

But he wouldn’t say any of that to Jean. It would do him no good to argue and protest over what was already done, and besides, Jean wouldn’t listen - he seemed to have already made up his mind about Armin, just as Armin had about him. Letting his feelings show would prove to be fruitless, so he held them back, took a breath, and tried to see things from Jean’s point of view. 

“My apologies,” he murmured. 

Jean didn’t say anything in return. Armin hadn’t expected him to.

Armin spent the next hours tired and nauseous, trying to focus on the watch. Every time he felt like he was about to fall asleep standing, a wave of sickness came over him so powerful that it woke him right back up. It was exhausting, and Armin dreaded having to do it over and over, every night until they arrived in Japan. By the time the first mate told them it was time to head back to their bunks for another few precious hours of sleep, Armin was ready to pass out for the next two days. Or, he thought, it would be wonderful if he could rest until they arrived on the shore of Japan. 

Getting into his hammock was even harder when he was half-asleep, and though Armin heard Jean laughing at him he didn’t let him see the tears of frustration that fell from his eyes as a result. It was pitiful, he thought, but at least he wasn’t giving Jean the satisfaction of seeing him cry, and that was all he could do.

There was a small silver lining - Armin slept through the next three and a half hours without waking up once, giving him precious energy to fight through the next day with. It wasn’t enough, but it was something, and Armin considered himself lucky to have any energy at all when he opened his eyes to the sound of the breakfast bell at seven-thirty. Just the morning before he had watched the sun rising behind rows of masts, surrounded by busy people and exotic goods and all manner of things. It felt like a year ago. Maybe he would be an old man by the time he arrived in Japan, he thought. Maybe he would have forgotten how to make maps at all. 

At breakfast, food seemed just as unappealing to Armin as it had the night before. He stared down at his cup of black coffee and portion of dry biscuits, hoping they would stay in his stomach, and jumped when he heard someone say his name. 

“How was your first watch, Armin?” Onyankopon asked with a friendly smile. He didn’t look tired at all - Armin was really in awe of him for being able to face the morning cheerfully and wished they were more alike. 

“It passed,” Armin said, offering a tired smile of his own. He ached. “It was quite exciting to see the ocean at night.”

“We’ll get to see the sun rise and set as we’re on first and last watch tonight,” Onyankopon said. “Just wait; it’s really something.”

“I look forward to it,” Armin said, surprised that he really was. Looking out at the ocean in all of its forms was the only thing that gave Armin any joy on this boat. 

“You’ll get used to life here, you know,” said Marlowe. “I’m sure half the ship took it just as hard as you when they first came aboard.”

“Hardly,” Jean muttered. 

Across the table, Ymir rolled her eyes, and it made Armin laugh just a little bit, though he hid his smile behind his hand, not wanting Jean to see. 

“Do you get tired of being so sour, Jean?” she asked. “Isn’t it boring?”

Jean glared at her, but Ymir wasn’t phased in the slightest, laughing it off. Armin wished he could be like that, but he’d always taken things too personally, cared too much about how he was perceived. Being teased for every quirk and interest of his when he was a child was damaging even fifteen years later. It wasn’t that Jean reminded him of his bullies - after all, he hadn’t outright attacked him - but the looks and comments made Armin feel like he was eight years old again. 

Despite the complaints of his stomach, Armin managed to eat, hoping it would make him feel better in the long term. He didn’t like the taste of black coffee but he drank it anyway, knowing he’d be a fool to refuse anything that could give him the energy to make it through the day. As he picked slowly at his food, taking one small bite at a time, he listened to the crew as they talked about their lives. 

“How do you think your wife is managing?” Onyankopon asked Marlowe. Armin glanced over, a little curious. 

“Normally Hitch would still be sound asleep at this hour,” Marlowe said, “but I assume she’s up with the baby. I hope she’ll be alright…”

“She’ll be fine,” Historia agreed, yawning behind her hand. As she was on a separate watch to them, she must have not been able to sleep much at all, Armin realised. That would be him tomorrow - he dreaded it. 

“I hope so.”

“She will. Don’t worry so much, have some faith in her! She already birthed him, didn’t she?”

“She did,” Marlowe said. “And she’s stronger than I am for getting through it.”

“Damn right she is,” Ymir agreed. “So trust your wife. She’ll be fine.”

“Are you married, Armin?” Onyankopon asked, causing Armin to jump and turn bright red. 

Marriage? He hadn’t even considered it. As far as he was concerned he was married to his work and had no need for romance - he knew he had nothing to offer to a woman and that there wasn’t much a woman could offer him, either. 

“No, I’m not,” Armin said. “Are you?” 

“No. Out of all of us, Marlowe is the only one who is,” Onyankopon said, smiling at his friend. 

“I pity any sailor with a wife,” Reiner said. “How you stand being away from your lover for so long is beyond me.”

Next to him, Bertholdt turned slightly pink. Armin pretended not to notice as he felt Jean’s glare burning into him, and went back to his food. After all, it wasn’t his business.

Armin spent the morning on his knees, scrubbing the deck with soapy water. It was gruelling, tiring, and nauseating - especially as the first mate was so strict about the standard of cleanliness on board. His bucket kept spilling as the ship bobbed up and down atop the waves, his knees hurt, and his seasickness had hardly lessened at all, but Armin kept going - he wouldn’t be a burden. After all, he had told Captain Hange the day before that he was a hard worker, and he intended to keep that promise. 

The other sailors sang as they worked. Onyankopon led each shanty with a huge smile on his face, his voice clear and carrying from one end of the ship to the other. The songs they sang told of adventure, of what awaited them on land, and asked for clear weather with strong winds. Even Jean joined in, Armin noticed. He was capable of smiling, it seemed, just not in his direction. Despite all the things the crew had to say about Jean, it was clear they all loved him in their own way, laughing and joking and poking fun. It made Armin feel terribly lonely. Was it his place to join in? He didn’t know the words, and he wasn’t much of a singer, either. 

He kept quiet and did his work. 

Not even the view was solace. Sometime that morning the sky had turned light grey with clouds, tinting the ocean that same dull colour. There might be rain, Marlowe mentioned between songs, but that was nothing to worry about. The clouds weren’t thick or menacing enough to carry the threat of a storm but might bring stronger winds, which were always a blessing. Days spent bobbing atop the ocean with no wind to carry were the worst of all, Marlowe said. Armin silently prayed there would be nothing like that on their journey. He couldn’t stand the idea of this voyage lasting a single second longer than it needed to. 

The work was exhausting but it passed the time much faster than leaning over the side of the ship being sick - even being yelled at by the first mate was preferable to that. First Mate Ackerman was strict about the sailors’ conduct and the standard to which they worked. There was always work to be done, he said, even if that only entailed cleaning that which had been cleaned three times that day already. He was intimidating to say the least, and Armin hoped he would never be on his bad side. Even Jean obeyed him without question, which led Armin to believe he had definitely faced punishment from the first mate more than once. Knowing that Jean had been on board the ship longer than all the crew but Hange, Armin couldn’t imagine him taking kindly to new men with a higher rank than his own. Or perhaps, Armin thought, Jean was perfectly fine with them and just hated him specifically- that wouldn’t have been all too surprising. 

At lunch, Armin was able to eat a little more, and he listened to Onyankopon telling stories about life on board. They were tales that no doubt everyone knew the ending to or had even been a part of, but they still listened like enraptured schoolchildren. Onyankopon was so charming, Armin thought, and he had a way of telling stories that reminded him so much of his grandfather. It gave him some cheer to hear tales of seeing whales and dolphins swimming alongside the ship, of his accounts of the different kinds of people he had met and the cultures he got to experience. It kept Armin clinging on.

When it came time for the sailors to take their break before dinner and the first watch, their precious two hours of leisure, Armin headed straight for his cabin when everyone else sat atop the deck. He didn’t want to join in with their laughing and joking - he desperately needed some time alone. It had been a full day since he boarded the ship, now, and he wasn’t even close to being accustomed to it yet. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach that he never would be. 

With Jean above deck, Armin sat down on one of the chests, becoming annoyed all over again that Jean wouldn’t let him use the one assigned to him. Sighing, he opened his suitcase and took a moment to breathe, smelling the scent of home rather than salty air and rum. Only it wasn’t home anymore - once again, he had to remind himself that while stuck in this purgatory, he had no home. Still, seeing his books was comforting. Armin took his oldest journal, the one he had used to document all of the stories his grandfather told him, both true and fantasy, and with difficulty climbed up into his hammock. 

Slowly turning through the pages, Armin found himself getting emotional. Losing his grandfather was something he hadn’t recovered from yet - when it happened he hadn’t felt ready at all, though he supposed there never was a right time to lose somebody you dearly loved. The old stories gave him comfort, just as they had when first hearing them and all the times after that. He didn’t want to cry, but when Armin thought of never being able to tell his grandfather about the adventure he was embarking on, he couldn’t help but shed a few tears. More than anything, he hoped that his family would be proud of him for this. He would keep trying for them, even if none of them were there to see it. 

Needed sleep came to him as he lay in his hammock reading. Armin drifted off like the gentle tide, still holding his book in his hands as above, the first drops of rain started to fall. 

Chapter Text

Waking up to darkness was always strange, but waking up and not being alone was even stranger. After spending so much time in solitude, Armin found it hard to adjust to other people being around, especially when it was Jean who didn’t seem to care for him in the slightest. Armin opened his eyes to Jean shaking him awake and gave himself a few seconds to shake off his fatigue before looking at him. At least, he thought, he was an early riser and easy to wake. 

Jean was holding a lantern in one hand and Armin’s journal in the other. Just the sight of his treasured possession in someone else’s hand was enough to make him panic to the point of falling out of the hammock. 

“Well, you’re awake,” Jean said, looking down at him. The lantern cast shadows up Jean’s face and made Armin feel small. He scrambled to his feet. 

“Give that back,” he demanded, sounding like a child, feeling like a child. 

“Why should I?” Jean asked. Armin tried to grab it, but Jean held the book above his head out of his reach. 

Jean laughed and Armin was five years old again, and his parents were gone, and he was being teased endlessly by the awful children in the village who took delight in hurting him and saying all kinds of nasty things to make him cry. Armin took a deep breath. Rationally, he knew he wasn’t there. He wasn’t a child, and he wasn’t in his village. He was on a boat away from all of them, just like his parents eighteen years before. He was on the way, he was making his grandfather proud. And there was no way he could break and give Jean what he wanted - to see him weak. Being rational and calm now was the best he could do.  Crying would come later, Armin was sure, if he ever got a moment of privacy. 

“Because it doesn’t belong to you,” Armin said, fighting to keep his voice calm, but it still wobbled. “And it’s important to me.”

“I’m just curious,” Jean said, opening the book, and Armin felt his stomach drop. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Jean got to read what was so personal to him. That was something he’d dreamed of giving someday, something he wanted to share, not be taken away by a person who didn’t care at all. 

“Just… stop, please,” Armin said quietly. “It’s private.”

To Armin’s surprise, Jean actually did what he asked, and thrust the book back at him so hard that Armin staggered backwards when he took it. He had a look on his face, something unreadable that Armin felt a sudden desperation to decipher. It was almost like shame, but that was impossible. 

“It’s time for dinner,” Jean said, turning away. The light held out in front of him made his figure a dark silhouette against the orange glow. “Then it’s first watch, so I suggest you hurry up.” 

“Okay,” Armin breathed, holding his book close to his.

He didn’t notice how hard his heart was beating until Jean left.

The beautiful sunset that Onyankopon promised was obscured by thick, dark clouds. The wind was blowing hard behind them, propelling the ship to cut quickly through the water, and it brought the rain down with it at an angle that left Armin soaked through within just a few minutes. He and Jean climbed the rigging in the downpour, sitting on the platform on the middle of the mast to guide the sails. The others took the other platforms and fought with the rain to make sure the ship was going in the right direction. Looking out at the grey ocean was less than appealing, and made Armin feel even sicker than he already was, though its grandeur was still every bit intact. The waves were taller, stronger, and Armin found himself terrified of falling off or being sick on Jean. He didn’t know which would have a worse consequence. 

At first, they didn’t speak a word to each other beside Jean telling him what to do, and really, that was fine with Armin. While he would have loved to share stories with Onyankopon or Reiner or any of the others, silence with Jean was probably the best he could have asked for, especially considering their last conversation. Armin couldn’t stop thinking about how Jean had looked for the briefest of moments and found himself sneaking glances at him whenever possible, just to try and catch a glimpse of that same expression on his face. Jean didn’t seem bothered by the cold in the slightest. While Armin shivered and felt quite miserable in his wet clothes, Jean was no doubt entirely used to the way his white shirt clung to his chest. Armin couldn’t look at the outline of his body for more than a few seconds, but his eyes kept wandering there anyway. He chastised himself for it, but still, his gaze fell there as he wondered how long he’d been aboard to get quite so strong. 

“Will this turn into a storm?” he asked breathlessly, hoping to distract his own mind a little. He could only pray Jean wouldn’t snap at him. 

“No,” Jean said, looking upwards. 

“How can you tell?”

“The clouds are moving fast overhead,” he said. Armin looked up - so they were. He felt silly for not being able to tell that himself, and frowned. 

“Of course,” he said, mumbling to himself a little. 

“What?” Jean snapped. 

“Nothing!” Armin insisted. His heart began to race when Jean spoke to him like that, the sharp tone of his voice cutting right through him. “I was just… it just - I figured you were right.”

“You figured I was right? Of course I’m right. Do you think I’m stupid?” he continued, moving closer to Armin until he was towering over him. One rogue wave and he’d be off the edge, but Armin thought he’d take his chances. The way Jean looked at him was downright murderous. 

“I don’t think you’re stupid!” Armin exclaimed, shocked that Jean would suggest it - what kind of person did he take him for?

“Right, of course you don’t,” Jean spat. “With your books , and your dreams , and your hatred of this boat. Talk with the others all you want, but I can tell how you feel about us.”

“I don’t understand,” Armin pleaded. “Whatever you think about me isn’t true. I’m trying! And I know I don’t belong here, and it’s not easy, but I’m trying, and it seems that I’m doing so against your best wishes!” 

The rain poured down. Armin looked up at Jean, forcing himself not to break the intense eye contact, looking at the way he breathed heavily and how his hair stuck to his face, the slight surprise in his expression. Jean didn’t say a word. 

“I’m struggling,” Armin said, ashamed to be choking on his words, starting to cry. He was so tired and so exhausted that he couldn’t hold anything back anymore. “I knew this wouldn’t be easy and yet I was still naive to how hard it would be. I’m not like you. I’m weak, and this doesn’t come naturally to me, but I’m… I promise I’m trying my hardest, and I - I know it is not good enough, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“Climb down,” Jean said. His face was stone cold; it didn’t look like he was feeling anything at all. “Go and watch with Ymir.”

“But -”

“ Go.”

Not knowing what else to do, feeling like he was going to choke on all his emotions, Armin did. -

They did not speak to each other. Not when their watch ended and they changed out of their soaking clothes, having to waste precious hours of sleep by hanging them up to dry. Not as Armin struggled again to get into his hammock, not when they woke four hours later for their next watch, and not as they spent the morning watching the clouds turn from black to white as the sun rose behind them. The rain had stopped, just like Jean said it would - that was the only solace of the morning watch as Armin stood with Ymir, cold and exhausted and nauseous. Even at breakfast, he was miserable, not wanting to join in with the conversation at all. 

As the crew scrubbed and swabbed the decks during their first shift, the clouds hung low and thick in the sky, threatening rain at any moment. Armin knew better than to ask Jean how he thought the weather would change within the hour, and instead tried his hand at figuring it out himself with what basic knowledge he had. From what he deducted, he was half-sure it would be fine, and when the rain held off for another few hours he felt a little satisfied with himself. 

During all of this Armin avoided everyone, especially Jean. The only person he seemed to be pleasing was First Mate Ackerman, who gave him a cursory nod when he saw the work he was doing in silence. Before lunch, he bathed then washed his clothes, then while he ate he stared down at his food and didn’t say a word. He couldn’t get Jean out of his mind. Why had he accused him of thinking such things about the crew? Had he somehow offended them? None of it made any sense to Armin’s poor, racing mind. When their free time came, he was sure to avoid Jean. It was clear neither of them wanted to look at the other, albeit for different reasons. 

Just as Armin was about to escape below deck to spend some precious time alone, hiding in a book, pretending he was anywhere else, a voice called out to him. 

“Armin!” It was Reiner. 

“Reiner,” Armin said, forcing a smile. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Help? No, not during our free time. Don’t look so worried - I was only going to ask if you wanted to have a game of chess with us.”

“Chess?” Armin asked. He paused. As much as he wanted to hide away and cry alone where he couldn’t be bothered he was so fond of chess that he couldn’t turn Reiner’s offer down. “I’d - yes, honestly, I’d love to.” 

“Great! Bertholdt just won a game against me, so you ought to play him.” 

“That’s awfully nerve-wracking,” Armin murmured, adjusting his necktie and following behind him. 

“Something tells me you’ll do just fine,” Reiner chuckled. 

He led Armin over to where a group of sailors were sat on the deck, laughing and joking together around a chessboard. Armin felt nervous when he saw them all there, but at least Jean was somewhere else. 

“Are you going to play, Armin?” Bertholdt asked, giving him a welcoming smile.

“If you’d like,” Armin replied. “I haven’t had a game of chess in quite some time.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint, then.”

“Bertholdt’s the champion of the larboard, I’ll have you know,” Reiner said, clapping Armin on the shoulder as he took a long swig of rum. 

“Reiner, that’s going too far!”

“Nah, you’re just too modest, Bert,” Reiner grinned, and Armin blushed as he took Bertholdt’s face in one of his large hands and stroked his cheeks. Everyone else seemed unbothered, but Armin felt like that was most certainly something he shouldn’t have seen. “Anyway, Armin, want a drink?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Armin replied, shaky as he sat down opposite Bertholdt. The pieces were already arranged, a very battered and old wooden set that looked like it had seen much use in its years. “I don’t need to get any more seasick than I already am…”

“A fair point.”

Bertholdt was playing white, and Armin black, so he waited for Bertholdt to make the first move. Armin loved chess. It was strategic, based entirely on observing one’s opponent and judging what move they would make next - just the kind of thing Armin excelled at. He must have played thousands of rounds in his life, and won almost all - he only ever lost to his grandfather. Bertholdt played how Armin expected him to, reserved yet calculating, letting Armin take the lead. Armin was mindful to not underestimate him or let his arrogance get in the way of a good game. 

Pieces were taken back and forth, and the sailors watched with interest as Armin pushed Bertholdt back into a corner after taking both a bishop and a rook in just three moves. Armin was entirely absorbed in the game, drowning out everything in order to focus intensely. If they were speaking much about it, he couldn’t tell. This was the most fun he’d had since getting on board. 

After twenty minutes Armin had won decisively much to the shock and excitement of everyone except Bertholdt, who seemed to have been expecting it. 

“That was great fun,” Bertholdt said, holding out his hand for Armin to shake, and Armin did, smiling widely and agreeing. 

“Thank you for playing,” he beamed. He hadn’t expected to end up glad that he was spending time with the others instead of hiding alone, but he really was. It seemed that despite what he was trying to convince himself, not everything was doomed, and deep down there was a small spark of optimism. 

That happiness quickly turned to fear as the captain approached. Armin looked up at them as they came over, their one visible eye glinting with excitement, a spring in their step. 

“Hoover, have you been overthrown?” they asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I have, Captain - and quite decisively, at that,” Bertholdt chuckled. 

“Well, then,” Captain Hange replied. “It is only fair I get to play a game, then, isn’t it? Arlert, were you the winner?”

Armin stared with wide, nervous eyes, nodding. “It must have been a fluke, Captain, I’m sure there is no need-“

“Nonsense,” they replied. “Come and sit, let’s play a game.”

But they were serious, and the atmosphere shifted as Armin watched them sit down in front of him. He could feel eyes on him, a familiar gaze.

Jean. 

Turning for just a second, Armin saw Jean watching him, his expression unreadable as always, and their eyes met for the briefest of moments before Armin grit his jaw and looked at Captain Hange, who was setting up the chessboard with delight. He was tempted to refuse, to back down and say he couldn’t do it, but wouldn’t he be only proving Jean right if he isolated himself and refused to take part? No, he would play, and he would give it his all. Jean wouldn’t steal the first bit of fun he had on board.

Armin studied the captain. They were obviously exceedingly intelligent - it was obvious just by their mannerisms and ability, and it seemed that they had an enthusiasm for chess that was on par with Armin’s. It would be a good game, there was no doubting that. 

“How have you been finding your time aboard?” Captain Hange asked as they moved their first pawn. Armin struggled to not let his mind run away with itself when considering the possibilities of their next move. He tried not to let himself feel Jean’s gaze, either. 

“It has been… to be perfectly honest, Captain, I have been finding it difficult,” Armin admitted. The captain smiled and Armin felt much more at ease. 

“I would be surprised if you were finding it easy. You’ll be just fine, though - and already doing well from what I hear. All I need from you is passion and hard work.” 

“I hope that will be enough,” Armin said quietly, thinking of Jean. 

“We’re on the ocean now - it will have to be.”

As easy as it would have been to begin worrying when Armin heard that, he focused all his attention on the chess game rather than his own fear. He had always been a defensive player but he found himself having to change his tactics when he saw the captain’s eccentric style of play. He found himself forced to think twice as much, but their bold, risky strategy left holes in their defence that Armin was quick to capitalise on. It really was fun - Armin hadn’t enjoyed a chess game like this since his grandfather was alive. 

Almost an entire hour passed. They were both down to just a few pieces each before he finally cornered the captain’s king between a rook and his queen. 

“Checkmate,” he said, almost surprised that he actually won. 

Captain Hange jumped to their feet with a huge smile on their face and Armin followed suit, overwhelmed and surprised and shaking their hand. 

“What a great game!” they said excitedly. “Oh, we’ll have to play again, or discuss strategy sometime!”

“I… yes, it was great fun,” Armin breathed. “Thank you.”

“Thank you . You’re quite the strategist!” 

“It’s an honour.”

“You’re very welcome,” they continued. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I ought to check the ship’s course…”

Stunned to silence, Armin watched them go, and at the same time saw Jean walking away from the small group and back to the rigging. He had stayed right there for the whole game? 

“I must say, you surprised us all,” Reiner laughed, thrusting a drink at him, which Armin took, beaming. The alcohol didn’t taste great and it made Armin wince. “I didn’t expect Captain Hange to finally meet their match.”

“Was it rude of me?” Armin asked, suddenly nervous again. 

“No, it would have been rude to lose on purpose,” Bertholdt said. “Captain Hange doesn’t care for flattery.”

“That’s a relief,” Armin breathed. “I wouldn’t want to offend…”

“Well, you didn’t,” Reiner said. “Where did you learn to play like that?”

“My grandfather,” Armin said. “He was an incredible chess player. I must have only beaten him once or twice in hundreds of matches.”

“Tell us about him,” Onyankopon invited. “He sounds like an interesting man.”

“He… he truly was. He was fascinating. He travelled the world when he was a young man, sailed over from Europe. He had so many stories to tell… I’m lucky to have heard them before he passed,” Armin said, grateful as he always was when thinking about his grandfather. 

“And he taught you to play?”

“When I was a very young boy, yes. He was so skilled… in his later years, he turned blind and I cared for him. But even still we played chess.”

“How did he manage without being able to see?” Ymir asked. 

“I would tell him each of my moves as I made them,” Armin explained. “He was able to memorise the entire board and visualise it in his mind.”

“He must have been a genius!” Reiner said. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” Armin chuckled. “But he really was the best mentor I could have asked for. I’m incredibly lucky to have been raised by him.”

“The stories he must have told!” Onyankopon smiled. “My grandmother was the same.”

“I wrote them all down. I… I have them with me.”

“I’d love to hear a tale sometime,” Bertholdt said, and everyone agreed. Armin felt, for the first time, comfortable.  

“Jean took one of those books from me the other day,” Armin admitted. “I was a little embarrassed to have him know such… personal things when he was flipping through it.”

“Jean?” Ymir asked. “Well, you don’t have to worry about him reading it.”

“ Ymir ,” Historia said, giving her a harsh look. 

“What do you mean?” 

“She means your secrets are safe,” Reiner said. “Jean can’t read. Don’t tell him you know - he gets defensive about it like you wouldn’t believe, and he’s difficult enough as it is. Even though most of us can’t.”

Armin blinked. For a second nothing made sense, and then suddenly, everything did. Was that why he was so rude to him? Because he thought Armin would look down on him? He was wrong - Armin had nothing but admiration for Jean’s skill and prowess aboard the ship. 

The way he turned his nose down at his books yet had a strange fascination with them, 

“He makes a bigger fuss of it than it needs to be,” Ymir sighed. “I can’t, either. But who cares about that? We’re sailors! He’s been on the sea his whole life, he knows everything he needs to for the life he wants to live.”

“Just how long has he been aboard? His whole life, you said?” Armin asked, his mind racing. 

“Most of it. From what I know he’s been here since he was five or six years old.” 

“That… that young?”

“Yes, though I don’t quite know why. That’s just what he mentioned to me,” Reiner said. 

“I had no idea…” Armin breathed. 

“Let’s not gossip,” Historia said, looking quite annoyed at Ymir. 

The topic of conversation changed and Armin found it much harder to pay attention when his mind was still racing from the revelation. 

Yes, Jean was rude, and he wasn’t empathetic at all to Armin, but he at least made a little more sense now, even if the reasons behind his actions didn’t quite excuse them. Turning around, Armin watched Jean up on the rigging, saw how naturally he sat atop the ropes looking out at sea, and wondered just how much more he had to learn about him.

Chapter Text

The days began to pass with a consistency Armin was almost comfortable with. The routine kept him from going crazy - whenever something was too hard, or too much, there was always an end in sight. He could be assured that within the next few hours there would be time to relax and let his aching bones rest, even if only for a little while. The shifts passed and the sun rose - they ate and worked and watched it set again. All the while the wind blew, pushing them across the ocean, easing them along on their journey. Armin was adjusting to life aboard, slowly but surely. He hadn’t expected it, but sure enough, his seasickness washed away and like the sun he rose consistently each morning. It got a little easier each day. The work was exhausting and it made him ache all over, but knowing he was a part of this small ecosystem left Armin with a sense of accomplishment when he finally got to lie down in his hammock and go to sleep. 

Things with Jean were the best Armin could have hoped for - they weren’t speaking. Jean woke up with him and ate next to him and told him his duties, but they barely said a word to each other. Over the three days since Armin won his chess game against Captain Hange the most contact they had were those moments in which Armin felt Jean’s cruel gaze on him from the other side of the ship. 

Of course, he still snapped at him. 

One morning when spirits were particularly high, the crew were singing as they worked, shanties of land and good food and getting drunk. Reiner was the loudest of them all and completely off-key at all times to the amusement of the rest of the crew. Armin enjoyed how they never seemed to get angry at one another, Jean excepted, but even his moody temperament was treated fondly by the others. It was just Armin who didn’t belong - the crew liked him just fine, he hoped, but he wasn’t one of them and never would be. But still, Armin tried his best to fit in and listened to them sing. He found the lyrics quite amusing and sometimes found himself humming or whistling along- an enjoyment that was short-lived. 

“Stop that,” Jean snapped as Armin whistled along to an old whaling shanty. Surprised, Armin dropped the brush he was holding, not sure what Jean meant. 

“Am I doing something wrong?” 

“Not the cleaning, the whistling,” Jean said. It was the most he’d spoken to him in days. Armin felt a shiver run down his spine - he’d almost forgotten how deep and commanding Jean’s voice was. He made Armin feel so small. 

“I… alright,” he said, not wanting to argue with Jean over things that didn’t really matter in the end. What was the use? Was Jean just trying to stop him from joining in with the rest of the crew? He let it go, but there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that told him that he was giving in too easily and not standing up for himself, just like when he was a child. 

But he was tired, and he really didn’t want to argue. He would agree with Jean just for the ease of things, whether he was right or not. 

“You’ll bring a storm,” Jean said, 

“I’m sorry?”

“The whistling.”

“What about it…?”

“Sailors see it as a call to the wind. So stop it or they’ll all blame you when the weather turns.”

“How peculiar,” Armin murmured, more to himself than to Jean. A call to the wind? Such a thing wasn’t possible, surely. 

“Of course you’d say that,” Jean snapped. “But this isn’t your boat, so follow the rules.”

There was a childish part of Armin that wanted to retort that as far as he was aware, this boat wasn’t Jean’s either - but he held his tongue. 

“My apologies,” he mumbled instead. 

“Just - it’s a superstition, yes, but I’ve been - it seems there’s a storm approaching regardless, so unless you want the blame placed on you, whistling is not a good idea.”

“There’s a storm approaching?” Armin asked, hands gripping tight to the splintering wood of his scrubbing brush. “How can you tell?”

As it often did, Armin’s curiosity outweighed his fear - a trait that had no doubt gotten him onto his boat in the first place. 

“I can taste it.”

Armin blinked, skeptical. “You… can taste it.”

“ Yes,” Jean snapped again. His voice was harsh but there was something in his eyes that made Armin pause. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Just a week ago, Armin would have agreed and thought such a claim was ridiculous, dismissing it without a second thought - but after recent revelations, he took a moment to inflect inwards and question himself before brushing off what Jean had said. Who was he to debunk the claim of someone who was so clearly more experienced - who knew this ocean better than Armin knew land? It was… arrogant, he realised with a twinge of shame. The world wasn’t a chessboard, and it did no good to look at things in those terms of black and white. Just because he was the most intellectually qualified there was no good reason to assume he was the cleverest, especially atop the ocean. He had already learned far more than he expected to from Jean. Armin felt ashamed. 

“It’s not my place to question it,” he said quietly after a moment. “I won’t whistle again.” 

“Alright,” Jean replied. Armin didn’t miss the way his brows pinched together in surprise. “Good.”

That evening, after dinner, Armin headed to his cabin to read and rest in preparation for middle watch, but before he could open the door, he was interrupted by Onyankopon. 

“Armin,” he said, his smile as friendly as ever, “would you mind keeping me company for a while?”

Armin was a little surprised. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy - he liked Onyankopon - but he wasn’t yet used to anyone wanting to spend time with him, let alone someone he admired and looked up to. The constant company on board only served to remind Armin just how much time he spent in solitude before joining the Ship Sina’s ranks.

“I’d love to,” he replied, looking up at Onyankopon warmly. He had time - he was more acquainted with his schedule now and knew where to find the flexibility in it, so his books could stand to wait a little while. “Was there something you wanted to discuss?” 

“Yes, there is! I was wondering if you would be willing to tell me a little more about cartography - from what you’ve mentioned, it sounds quite fascinating.”

“Really?” Armin asked. He was suddenly very excited. It had been a long time since he had last gotten to talk about his interests at length, and would never pass up the opportunity. 

“As long as it wouldn’t take up too much of your time.”

“Not at all,” Armin smiled. “I’d love to. Shall we use your cabin…?”

“Yes,” Onyankopon said, leading Armin down the narrow passageway of doors to his room at the end, which he shared with Marlowe. “Bothering Jean wouldn’t do either of us any good.”

“You’re certainly right about that.”

Having left dinner early, Marlowe was already inside when the two men entered. Sat atop his chest, he held a book, his expression as serious as ever as he studied the pages with intense concentration. 

“Marlowe,” Onyankopon said, “would we be bothering you if we had a conversation in here?”

Marlowe looked up and smiled when he saw Armin with him. It took Armin aback, still. 

“Not at all. I still can’t make sense of this, anyway, so I wouldn’t mind the company, either,” he said, setting his book down. “Are you playing chess?”

“Armin was kind enough to agree to tell me about his work.”

“You make maps, don’t you?” Marlowe turned, addressing Armin.

“Yes, Armin said. “Onyankopon was interested…”

“As am I!” 

Armin felt his cheeks warming up. He’d always been so attached to his interests that approval of them felt oddly like a compliment, and when Onyankopon smiled it made Armin want to smile, too. The thought struck Armin that he was definitely going to miss him when their journey came to an end, and that was strange - he hadn’t expected to miss a single thing about the ship besides its views of the ocean. 

“I’m happy to help, then,” he said, his chest warm with approval. 

The three of them spent a good half hour discussing Armin’s line of work. Armin loved talking about maps - he found them fascinating in every aspect. Exploration was something he had always been interested in, ever since his parents had left him alone with his grandfather to go on their fateful adventure. A map, Armin told them, was the cumulation of the efforts and passion of many people, an invaluable tool. He explained the process, how explorers gathered data which was later passed to Armin to compile and organise from numbers into a complete map. 

“Could you make a map of this boat?” Marlowe asked. 

“I… yes, I could,” Armin said, having not thought about it before. “I’d have to estimate the measurements, but I think it would be fairly simple.”

 “You ought to! Just for fun. I’d like to see it.”

“Maybe I will,” Armin smiled. “On Sunday, perhaps.”

They talked for a while longer, and Armin promised to show them both some of the maps he’d taken with him as proof of his ability to create them. After bidding them both goodnight, Armin reluctantly headed back to his cabin. The ship was rocking harder than it usually did at this hour, and Armin had to steady himself to keep from falling over. When he made it to his room, he paused when he heard people talking inside. 

“Why not?” said a voice. It was Reiner; Armin could tell. 

“Why should I?” Jean replied, sounding just as annoyed as he always did. 

“Because if you’re so worried, you ought to mention it.”

Curious, Armin leaned a little closer, not wanting to give himself away, but desperate to hear what was being said. He had never been able to tear himself away from things he found interesting very well. 

“I implied it well enough. And you and Bertholdt haven’t exactly been subtle.”

“And he seems fine, doesn’t he?” Reiner asked. It sounded like he was pleading with Jean about something, but what? Who was ‘he’ - were they talking about him?

“The Captain wouldn’t -” Jean started, but then he stopped abruptly and got up, and Armin quickly realised that he might have been given away - taking a few paces back, he moved as if he were just coming down the passageway, and knocked on the door just before Jean opened it. 

There was a long, stretched out silence. The ship creaked under the force of the strong wind, and tilted slightly, making Armin wobble. He and Jean just looked at each other for a moment, Jean presumably scouring Armin’s face for signs that he had overheard the conversation. 

“I’m sorry,” Armin said eventually. “Did I interrupt something…?”

“Not at all,” Reiner said, as Jean glared - he got up from the floor and clapped Jean heartily on the back, sending him stumbling forwards a step. “I was just heading back.”

Jean was still staring at him. Armin’s stomach was so tight he felt like he was going to be sick, but he held his ground and didn’t look away until Jean finally turned to say goodnight to Reiner. 

“See you for middle watch,” he said, nodding, and then Reiner was gone and they were alone. 

Of course, Jean didn’t say a word to him.

Armin spent the rest of the evening lost in a book, sat cross-legged in one spot next to the chest he wasn’t allowed to use, travelling to far off lands without having to move at all save for the turning of the pages. Reading through his grandfather’s stories while the ship bobbed atop the waves stirred the remnants of his seasickness, but the slight nausea was more than worth it. There was something about reliving those youthful tales of adventure that always gave Armin a feeling of assurance, as if his relative was reminding him he was on the right path. He knew the ending to every story, knew every twist and turn, and it was comfortingly familiar, something to be sure of. Even knowing all that would happen, Armin was still so immersed that he didn’t think at all about the conversation he’d overheard or even notice that Jean gaze was fixed on him, watching with interest as he read. 

It was raining, and the sound of each drop hitting the deck above was soothing even if Armin knew he would have to go and work in it for the darkest stretch of night. Armin didn’t hate the rain - there was something quite magical about feeling the sky open up above. If only it didn’t leave him cold and shivering afterwards, he would have quite liked for it to rain every day.

When he knew he had to get to sleep or shudder from exhaustion during middle watch, Armin hopped with new ease into his hammock and pulled the blankets up to keep him warm through the rainy night. It was hard to get to sleep - with no distraction, he lay with his eyes open, facing Jean’s bunk. Though he couldn’t even make out his shape in the total darkness, he kept looking, wondering if perhaps Jean was doing the same. 

What had he and Reiner been talking about? Reiner mentioned Jean being worried about something. Even though Armin was near desperate to find out what it was, he knew better than to ask what was wrong as Jean would surely only become worse to him if he knew his private conversation had been listened in on.

Minutes stretched by and felt like hours as the wind picked up and the rain came down in lashes. The old creaks and groans of the ship once kept Armin awake, but eventually, the now-familiar sounds were what eased him into a restful sleep.

Armin awoke a mere hour later to chaos and agony, flung from his hammock and across the cabin, landing hard on what he thought was the floor, but might indeed have been a wall - the ship was swaying too violently to tell, swinging hard in different directions. Armin only knew which way was up from the shouts and rain pelting down. The haze of sleep was short-lived. Armin tried desperately to scramble to his feet, his nails scratching into the old wood, breathing hard and fast, survival instincts taking over and telling him to run. He had to get to Jean, and then to the sailors above - but Armin could barely even hear their shouts over the howling , the wind so loud that it hurt his ears. But that was the least of his concern as the ship jolted fiercely again, throwing Armin across the room before he could catch his bearings, and he hit his head hard on the corner of one of the chests. 

“Jean!” he cried out, terrified, his voice hoarse. He could hear his panic like it was someone else’s. What was happening? Was the ship going to sink? 

Armin raised his hand to his head and pulled it back sticky with blood. 

“Above!” came Jean’s voice like a light in the darkness. “We need to get above deck!”

“What’s - what’s happening!?”

Armin felt a hand wrap around his wrist and pull him towards what must have been the door, which was above them. 

“Storm,” Jean said, his voice urgent yet without a trace of fear. It was no doubt, Armin thought suddenly - of course he wasn’t afraid. “Come on!”

When the ship swayed again they tumbled out of the door and into the chaos. Everything was so loud in Armin’s ringing ears, the pain of his wound still washing over him like the huge waves breaking over the deck. The scene passed in flashes, in glimpses of light from dim lanterns. One moment they were scrambling for the ladders and the next they were above deck, the rain coming down in lashes, open to the wind and the ocean. It was loud, and Armin was frozen. 

It was like the sky was moving, dragging the moon and stars downwards as the ship, so tiny compared to the mountainous waves, struggled to stay upright. There was just enough light to see by where the thunderous clouds broke, and the few lanterns which kept shining through the weather stuck out like small suns. The black ocean roared as if fighting the wind, its bottomless, gaping mouth threatening to swallow the ship and its crew whole. Armin did not want to lie with his parents’ bones on the ocean floor, but he feared under these waves he may have no say in the matter. They must have seen the majesty of the world like this, he realised, staring in awe up at it all. What a view; it was beautifully terrifying. To sail right into an incoming wave required a kind of bravery he never thought he would possess, but as the Sina headed straight for it, Armin felt a thrill and a terror he’d never known. 

At least until it hit. 

The force of the water was enough to knock Armin back, sending him halfway across the ship, drenching him in freezing water that got into his mouth and eyes, the salt making him wince. He couldn’t stand up. The ship was almost vertical, the front lifted up by the wave, and Armin didn’t notice he was screaming until he stopped and felt a strong hand gripping the back of his shirt. 

“You’ll fall!” Jean shouted over the rain, clinging to a length of rope with one hand and Armin with the other. 

“I - Jean!” Armin cried back. 

He was going to die out here. He was going to be washed right off the ship - what reason did Jean have to help him? What was keeping him holding on? There was no use in a scholar who didn’t know the first thing about the ocean except his own love for it. 

But Jean didn’t let go. 

When the ship evened out, Armin scrambled forwards, stumbling into Jean, clinging to him like he’d die if he let go. He was pathetic, he knew he was. In the distance, through the rain, Armin saw the captain at the ship’s helm, saw their heroic silhouette commanding the crew fearlessly. He saw Jean in their movements. 

“Come here,” Jean gasped, taking Armin by the hand and dragging him over to the side of the ship as another freezing wave shattered like glass over their heads. He took his length of rope and wrapped it tight around Armin’s wrist, securing the knot as Armin struggled in vain. 

“What are you doing?!” he panicked. “Jean-”

“Shut up a second,” Jean told him, bracing himself under the rain, pulling the rope taut. “Stay here, you hear me? You’ll be fine.”

“What about you?”

“I have to take the sails in.”

“That’s too dangerous! Let me -”

“Shut up and do what I tell you!” Jean shouted. Armin shook his head as he looked upwards, saw the masts bending under the force of the wind, the sails stretched out to breaking point - but there was nothing he could do as Jean ran fearlessly into danger, heading straight for the rigging to climb up into the sails. 

Another wave broke over Armin and he lost sight of him. Helpless, all Armin could do was struggle against the rope and shout for Jean to come back - but he was gone. 

Chapter Text

Armin had no words for the sheer terror he felt. Tied by the wrist to the side of the ship, he could do nothing but watch. It was as if he had been dropped right into one of his grandfather’s stories, but remained an observer - as all the other sailors got to work, he was bound to where he was, shivering and bleeding and though he was ashamed to admit it, crying. All around, the others were at work. Captain Hange commanded fearlessly at the helm, steering the ship directly into the oncoming waves. Armin saw Reiner with Bertholdt, strong arms wrapped around him as a wave hit, but he lost sight of them after the water sliced over the deck and soaked Armin through. 

Up above, Jean was fearless. Armin watched as he scaled the rigging, relying on nothing but his own strength to keep from blowing away in the howling wind. It was so strong it caused the masts to bend and bow to the force of nature. The ship howled like it was in agony, the wind screaming through the sails and making the old wooden structures cry out. It was deafening, painfully so, and Armin covered his ears and closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was anywhere else. He didn’t belong here, he knew that. He wished he’d listened to Jean and gone home when he had the chance. The thrill was gone and only fear remained. 

Closing his eyes proved to be worse. When he didn’t know the waves were coming he couldn’t brace against them and ended up with a mouth full of saltwater that stung his throat as he choked on it. Armin was forced to keep watching uselessly; Jean was up there, doing his job - being a hero - while Armin was stuck in place. He couldn’t look away from Jean, watching him scale the ropes until he was at the very top of the mast, bringing in the sails. Though he tried to call out to Jean, or anyone , the wind stole his voice and carried his words away before anyone could hear his pleas. If he wasn’t such a weak, spineless coward, Armin thought, he’d be there doing his duties alongside them. What was the use in telling Captain Hange that he was a hard worker when cowering like this in the face of danger? Why had he been so arrogant as to underestimate the danger he was facing? The ocean had taken his parents away from him - he should have known it would be like this.

Right then, he regretted ever boarding the Sina. Armin didn’t want to die like this - he didn’t want to sink to the bottom of the ocean with his grandfather's stories, tales that would die out with him as Armin never had anyone to share them with. He was going to die lonely, with nobody to remember him. The thought ripped a sob from him, and he curled up and clung to the side, just waiting for the wave that would tear the boat to pieces. 

But it didn’t come. 

When Armin expected certain death, Jean was the one there as he opened his eyes again, shouting something he couldn’t hear over the wind. He was soaked through but alive, having made it back down after bringing in the back sails. His shirt, like Armin’s, was soaking wet and clung to his skin, and his hair stuck to his face. Even through his fear, Armin was struck by how absurdly handsome he was, a surreal thought that almost made him forget where he was. When it was obvious he wasn’t being heard, Jean grabbed Armin by the shoulders and pulled him close to speak in his ear. 

“We need to take down the other sails,” he told Armin, who could scarcely bring himself to believe Jean hadn’t fallen in. His head was still pounding, body shivering beyond his control, the bitter taste of seawater on his tongue and its sting in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Armin gasped, using his free hand to grasp Jean’s wet shirt. “I’m sorry - I’m sorry for boarding this ship!”

“I can’t hear you!” Jean called back, and then his hands were at his wrist again, untying the sailor’s knot that held him in place. 

“Jean!” came a voice that billowed over the noise, a voice that could only belong to someone as imposing and huge as Reiner. Armin saw him once he came closer, and his stomach clenched when he saw his expression of sheer panic. 

“Reiner!” Jean replied, leaving Armin to stand up and grab Reiner’s arm so they both didn’t fall when the ship tilted sideways. 

“Can you get below deck? Bertholdt - Bert - I can’t find him, he’s not up here, but I can’t leave the others! Historia’s up in the rigging, and -”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” Reiner urged. Armin could hear the desperation in the way his voice cracked on the word. “I - you know I make him stick close to me.”

“I know, Reiner. Alright - you and I will stay here, we need to take down the mainsails,” Jean replied, his voice loud and commanding like leadership came as naturally to him as breathing. He turned to Armin and grabbed him by the wrist again. “You’ll go.”

“I-“

“Find Bertholdt and make sure he’s alright,” Jean said, not giving Armin a chance to protest or ask the question they were obviously both thinking - what if he wasn’t down there? “You’re the best person for it.”

Armin didn’t understand how he could be the best person for anything on this godforsaken ship, but he followed Jean’s lead, knowing he knew best and not wanting to question his authority when there was so much at stake. 

“Okay!” he called, hoping there was some way he would be able to help. 

“And see to your head!” Jean yelled, grabbing his arm and running with him to the hatch that would take him below. The deck was slippery and Armin nearly tripped, terrified that a wave would come and sweep them both away, but they made it and Jean held open the hatch while Armin scrambled inside, facing a whole new set of fears. Though the wind wasn’t as loud, the creaking and groaning of the vessel itself was terrifying, and Armin felt like the ship could give in to the pressure of the wind and water at any moment. When he took a step forward he felt the splash of water beneath his shoes - it was getting in from somewhere, but Armin couldn’t see a thing - it was dark . At least above there were the dotted lights of lanterns that hadn’t gone out yet, but in the ship’s stomach, it was impossible to tell what was even right in front of him. 

A different kind of panic washed over him. Claustrophobia, made worse by the endless dark, was closing in on him, the space feeling smaller and smaller. He couldn’t see, and he could barely hear a thing - how was he supposed to find Bertholdt? Everyone else was above deck. 

Breathe. 

It felt impossible. Someone like him wasn’t up to a task like this. What could he do? He was just an ignorant boy who spent his whole life on land and thought he could handle the ocean. Going up against nature herself was arrogant - getting aboard the ship in the first place was arrogant. Giving in was so tempting. He could just curl up on the floor and pray for it to be over… he could close his eyes, and pretend he was anywhere else. 

But there were lives at stake, weren’t there? 

Not just his, but Bertholdt’s, too. If he was on the ship, he was down here somewhere in need of help. Armin thought back to what Jean said - ‘you’re the best person for it.’ Jean knew best, didn’t he? Trusting him was the only option Armin had if he wanted to prove his worth to both Jean and himself. He didn’t have a choice. 

“Bertholdt!” Armin cried out, hoping to hear him call in response, but it was hopeless. He was barely able to hear himself over the oppressive noise. 

Breathe.

Armin couldn’t see a thing, but he knew where he was. He could feel the ladder he climbed down and used it as a point of reference, squeezing his eyes shut and visualising the boat like a map in his mind. This was the only thing he could do, but he could do it exceptionally well. To his right were the rows of small rooms where they all slept, at the end of which was the mess hall. The captains quarters were above deck. What else? The pantry, the storerooms, the medical bay - he could see the square rooms fall into place in the map. Of all the places aboard, where would Bertholdt be? Taking a deep breath, Armin put his mind to work. His cabin or any of the others seemed out of the question - Bertholdt wouldn’t have returned there after leaving with Reiner. He was strong and hardworking, and Armin knew he wouldn’t have abandoned any of the crew to hide or rest. If he came back down below, it must have been for a reason. 

The trickling of water was terrifying, but Armin ignored it, pushing everything out that wasn’t going to help him at that moment. He had to think. Never before had it mattered quite this much that he stayed focused and alert. 

The medical room. If Bertholdt came down there, he might have been helping someone else who was injured or looking for supplies, so it made sense he would be trying to help on his own rather than finding the ship doctor who was above deck with the rest of the sailors. Did that mean someone could be hurt? The thought made his stomach twist with fear. He knew how to care for illness , certainly - he had been doing that for most of his life - but not injury past the basics. 

When faced with a task so monumental Armin found that too many fears and thoughts began to overwhelm him at the same time, and had to will himself to stay in the moment and get to the medical room before worrying about anything else. Placing both hands on the wall next to him, Armin guided himself through the complete darkness, relying on the map in his mind to lead him in the right direction. As he clung to the wall, finding purchase where he could, a sudden wave he hadn’t anticipated sent the whole ship off course, and Armin had to hold onto one of the wooden beams, dangling in the air as the floor disappeared underneath him. The fear grew worse with each beat of his heart but Armin didn’t stop. Instead, he waited, squeezing his eyes tight shut until his feet had ground to stand on, and then continued, hoping with everything he had that Bertholdt would be safe and sound in the medical room as he predicted.

“Bertholdt!” he called out when he got to the door, banging on it with all his strength. When no answer came, he stumbled inside, feeling around for a person, a body, anything - but it was completely empty. Panic gripped him worse than ever before, not knowing what to do next, unsure how much strength he had left in him - but what choice did he have but to keep going? Forcing himself to move, Armin left the room, checking the mess hall, then the cabins, and even the pantry, but Bertholdt was nowhere to be found. It was as if he had disappeared - as if… 

Think.

There had to be something he was missing. While he could still stand and search, accepting the possibility that Bertholdt had fallen overboard was out of the question. What had he failed to consider? Was there a part of his map that was incomplete? Armin closed his eyes again and pushed the panic down. While he worried and berated himself, Bertholdt could be in trouble, needing his help. There was no time for self-doubt.

You’re the best person for it.

Whether it was true or not, Armin had to believe in what Jean told him. This wasn’t about either of them - it was about Bertholdt, and Armin needed to help. And then it hit him. 

The cargo hold. 

It was the only place he hadn’t searched, the only place Bertholdt could be if he was alive. The ladder that led down to the deepest part of the ship was just across from him; Armin remembered walking by the hatch every day. Ignoring everything but his goal, Armin headed straight for it, tripping more than once but getting up every time. He didn’t feel the ache of exhaustion in his bones, didn’t feel the cold from the seawater soaking him, didn’t feel any pain from his head wound - all that mattered was the path ahead of him. 

Descending into the depth of the ship, Armin called Bertholdt’s name. The claustrophobia was worse in the hold, where Armin had no clue of the dimensions or what filled the space around him. He felt his breaths growing shallower, tainted by panic, until -

“Is someone there?” 

Armin almost collapsed when he heard Bertholdt call for him, and he turned towards his voice, guided by it. He was alive. 

“Bertholdt! It’s Armin!” he cried. “Do you need help?”

“I’m trapped,” Bertholdt shouted over the noise. “My leg…”

“I’m coming,” Armin assured him, feeling his way over, careful not to hurt himself on any of the huge boxes that filled the hold. When he reached out and felt the warmth of Bertholdt’s hand in his, Armin almost cried with relief, but he knew he couldn’t relax just yet. 

“I was checking to make sure nothing was damaged,” Bertholdt said, clinging onto him. It was clear by his voice that he was in a great amount of pain. “But why - why are you down here?”

“Reiner sent me to come and find you?”

“Reiner?” Bertholdt asked, and the love in his voice washed over Armin like a gentle wave, the only feeling of peace he’d known since before the rain started to fall. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, just worried about you,” Armin said. “But please, tell me what happened - can I get you out?”

“I came to check the cargo,” Bertholdt repeated. “But the ship turned, and my leg got trapped between two crates that weren’t properly secured… it’s too heavy for me to push alone at this angle.”

“Are you injured?” 

“It hurts, but I’m sure nothing is broken.”

“Okay,” Armin breathed, grateful for that at least. “Okay. Let’s push together, and if we can’t, I’ll get Reiner and Jean and bring them back to help.”

“Okay.”

“Do we need to push forwards or to the side?”

“To the side,” Bertholdt said, “there’s cargo in the way.”

Armin nodded, realised Bertholdt couldn’t see him, then got into position, placing both his hands on the heavy crate. 

“On three?” 

“On three. One, two, three!” 

Pushing with all he had, Armin was sure at first they wouldn’t be able to move the crate at all , but eventually, it moved just an inch - enough for Bertholdt to get his leg free and climb the rest of the way out. 

“Are you alright?” Armin asked frantically, praying they didn’t do more damage to his leg. 

“I - I’m fine,” Bertholdt said. They were both out of breath and had to take a moment to collect themselves. “How - how did you find me?”

“I checked everywhere else,” Armin said. “If you can climb the ladder, we need to get to Reiner - he’s very worried…” 

“Yes, of course.” Armin felt Bertholdt’s large hand rest on his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

The journey back up to the top deck was far easier with another person there to keep Armin both sane and moving. It seemed, too, that the storm was calming - the ship stayed steady for the most part, though the rain still came pouring down relentlessly. Bertholdt was limping but able to walk. Armin let him climb the ladder up first, soaked through again the instant he was exposed to the rain, but that was no deterrent for an experienced sailor such as him. 

When Armin made it up, finding himself able to see was a huge relief, and he immediately noticed the masts stood bare, meaning the sailors had done their job of taking them down so they did not tear from the severe gale. His eyes sought out Jean first, though Armin did not understand why he was so concerned to make sure the man was okay. It was just so he could thank him, he told himself. But he knew, deep down, that wasn’t quite it. 

Before Armin found him, he saw Reiner running towards them, and only then noticed Jean behind, looking just as relieved to see Bertholdt alive as Reiner did. 

“You’re okay!” Reiner called. Armin expected the two men to hug, or for Reiner to clap Bertholdt on the shoulder like he often did, but when they brazenly kissed each other he jumped, feeling as though he was encroaching on something he wasn’t supposed to see. Armin smiled, though, immensely happy that he’d been able to do something , even if it was very little. 

His eyes met Jean’s, which were staring right back at him. They took a step towards each other, and then another, and then Jean was directly in front of him, still staring into his eyes. 

“Thank you,” was all he said, but to Armin, it meant everything.

The storm, fierce as it was, eventually broke. Though the weather was still awful, it appeared the danger had passed, and the crew were given permission to return to their cabins for a short break before having to return to duty. 

Now it was over, Armin’s pain began to settle and throb in his head, setting in alongside sheer exhaustion. He found it hard to move, his arms stiff and aching as he climbed down the ladder. Tired and freezing cold, Armin returned with Jean to their cabin with blood matted in his hair and clothes soaked with seawater and rain. All he wanted to do was collapse on the ground and sleep until they reached Japan. But there was one thing he needed to do first. 

Armin’s heart was in this throat as he knelt down in front of his suitcase, tears in his eyes. He was so scared that his grandfather’s books didn’t survive the assault of water - if he lost those stories Armin wasn’t sure he would be able to go on. Jean watched as he flipped open the clasps and lifted the lid. 

And Armin let out a sigh of relief. 

The few shirts he kept folded atop the rest of his luggage had absorbed the water that had gotten inside - each and every book was just fine, as dry as ever, just as he had left them hours before. Armin’s hands shook as he turned the pages, and he couldn’t hold back his tears. The sheer relief he felt made it impossible to hold back his tears, and Armin sobbed there on the floor, more broken down and tired than he had ever been. 

“Never seen someone care so much about a book,” Jean muttered. Armin didn’t have the strength for a rebuttal. He was too tired to feel scared or even irritated. 

“They mean a lot to me,” he said softly, hiccuping a little. 

“I can tell.”

It was always so uncomfortable when they were alone; they were so different neither had the first clue what to say. Armin checked each of his books, and when he was done, he couldn’t move. The monumental task of changing his clothes and climbing up into his hammock seemed far too much. Closing his eyes, Armin leant against the wall and felt sleep starting to take him. 

“No you don’t,” Jean said, setting down the lantern and kneeling in front of Armin. “You’re not going to sleep soaking wet.”

“We have to go back out for watch, don’t we?” Armin murmured with his eyes still closed. “You should be telling me not to sleep at all.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Jean replied. “You’re injured; you’ll sleep until morning.”

Armin brought his hand to his head and felt his tender wound and the blood in his hair. It hurt. But he was tired. 

“I just want to sleep,” he said. 

“Well you can’t,” Jean snapped, but then he let out a sigh, and kneeled down in front of Armin. “Let me.” 

“What?” Armin said, leaning back. “No, it’s fine, I…”

“No. Come here,” Jean said. Armin barely had a chance to react before Jean was directly in front of him, holding a damp cloth and some bandages that Armin didn’t even realise he had until then. 

Their eyes met, and suddenly the air was charged with static, an intense feeling growing around them. Armin felt as if his body was frozen as he stared at Jean, at his normally sharp hazel eyes that were now softened by… fondness? No, that couldn’t be possible. Armin was sure he must have been imagining things, delusions fueled by exhaustion - that could not have been a blush on Jean’s cheeks. 

An eternity passed in a moment. Jean, eventually, raised the cloth to Armin’s head and began to clean his wound, gentle and careful with his movements. Armin couldn’t breathe. Jean’s face was right there, just inches from his own, and his heart was beating louder than the rain, faster than the wind. Who was this tender man? Where was the Jean who had shouted at him, who had told him he didn’t belong here? 

Armin closed his eyes and waited for the mood to shift back to the frosty tension they normally shared, but it never came. And still, he could not hold back his questioning nature. 

“Why did you tie me to the deck?” he asked softly. He was afraid to speak any louder. 

“You would have fallen off if I hadn’t.”

“I thought you would say I deserved it, for not being strong enough.”

“No,” Jean murmured. “But I’ll say you’re in no position to question me still.”

“That’s hardly-”

“It is what it is,” Jean said, and then Armin was silent. That quiet stretched out until it was taut and ready to snap. “You did well.”

Armin’s whole body reacted to the praise as if not sure whether to delight in it or reject it outright. It was the first Jean had ever given him, but did he even deserve it?

“That’s not true,” he whispered. “I fear you were right about me all along. I understand it now… I’m useless aboard this ship.”

Jean’s jaw clenched and he pulled back, looking at Armin sternly. “Go and tell that to Bertholdt.”

“Anyone could have done that.”

“Perhaps,” Jean countered, “but you were the one who did.”

Armin was quiet after that. His heart couldn’t take any more; he was too tired to do anything but sit and let Jean so carefully take care of his wound. He watched his hands, saw how they were large and strong and weathered from years of hard work. Armin’s were small and soft and calloused in just one place - where he held his pen. The differences between them were clear as day when looking at their hands. It made Armin feel ashamed, lost in his thoughts as Jean gently wrapped the bandages around his head. 

“Thank you,” was all he could bring himself to say. 

“Yes, well, if it got worse you wouldn’t be able to work,” Jean replied. “Get changed and get some rest; you need it.”

Armin nodded. “I…”

“Whatever you have to say, it can wait until morning,” Jean said, kneeling in front of the chest in front of his hammock and pulling out a key. “Here.” 

“What is this?” 

“The key to your chest,” Jean replied. “Don’t lose it.” 

Armin took the old metal key from him and turned it over in his hands, confused. 

“Why are you giving me this now?” he asked. 

Jean stood at the door and gave his answer without meeting Armin’s eyes. 

“Your luggage is an eyesore.”

And with that, he was gone - leaving Armin all alone to question everything as he used the last of his energy to change his clothes and climb into his hammock for desperately needed rest.

Chapter Text

For reasons unknown to Armin, he was allowed to sleep for the entire day. He woke up just in time for dinner, feeling as if the entire storm had been nothing more than some terrible nightmare - at least until he shifted slightly and the pain from his head wound reminded him the ordeal had been very much real. For a while, Armin lay unmoving in his hammock, eyes closed, listening to the muddled conversations of other sailors through the walls and taking in the scent of dinner. When his stomach growled in anticipation, Armin heard Jean shift, presumably to look over at him. Armin didn’t dare open his eyes, but he felt the familiar shiver down his spine he always got when Jean’s eyes were on him. 

“Are you awake?” came his voice, low and not too loud. Armin waited for a moment before responding.

“Mm,” he hummed. “I’m awake.”

“It’s time for dinner.” 

The tone of his voice brought the memories back. Armin remembered Jean there, gently bandaging his head, handing him the key to the chest… being so sweet with him, so unlike himself. Armin couldn’t make any more sense of it after a full day of rest than he could when he was in the moment. 

“Why did you let me sleep the whole day?” Armin asked. Reaching up to touch his head gingerly, he winced at the pain. There was a huff from Jean and then a brief silence. 

“You’d have been a hindrance trying to work with an injured head like that,” he replied eventually. Armin wished he could see his expression, and wondered if it was as haughty as his tone - but Jean’s back was turned to him. 

“Oh,” was all he said. Again, he tried not to recall Jean’s tender attentions from the night before, but it was difficult to shake the feeling. He found himself wondering - was Jean truly as gentle and fond as he remembered, or was Armin just trying to find a glimpse of affection where there was none? Was he making things up again, just to cope? He had to talk about something else. “How’s the ship?”

“A little battered, but nothing she hasn’t survived before.”

“Oh,” Armin said again. “Well, I suppose that’s good.”

“Yes,” Jean said. He was being curt. 

“As far as storms go… that must have been a very bad one, right?”

“Not particularly,” Jean said, surprising Armin, who couldn’t imagine facing anything worse. “I’ve experienced at least two dozen stronger in my time.” 

Impressed, Armin sat up a little more. He was intrigued, there was no denying that - Jean was just as fascinating as he was confusing. Though, Armin thought, perhaps that was why he couldn’t get him out of his head. 

“You must have some incredible stories!” he said, hoping to be able to write them down someday. “I’d love to hear them…”

“Maybe sometime,” Jean muttered, which for him was a rather polite way of saying no.

That evening Armin ate twice his normal rations, as both Reiner and Bertholdt gave him half of theirs as thanks. The pair sat either side of him, embarrassing Armin greatly as Reiner told the rest of the crew all about his journey below deck to help Bertholdt - he had wanted to keep it quiet and to himself, but that was impossible. Reiner drank a decent portion of his rum ration for the week, and laughed merrily, treating Armin like a king. To Armin, it was both humiliating and unjustified, but he didn’t think he could stop Reiner if he tried, as he was loud to a fault and bringing laughter to the rest of the crew as well. All he could hope was that Jean wouldn’t have too much to say about the entire thing when they were alone once more. 

It was middle watch that night. After being checked over by the ship doctor, Armin was deemed fit enough to continue working, which honestly, Armin was glad for. Being forced to rest in the sickbay was only another thing that would alienate him from the rest of the crew and make him more different than he already was. Armin knew he didn’t fit in, and he didn’t want to give Jean even more reasons to hate him, even though he was the one that let Armin rest the whole day. Still - resting more was unnecessary, and that was a relief. 

It was difficult, especially with the pain in his head that never seemed to relent, but he didn’t complain once throughout the entire four-hour shift. In fact, he barely spoke a word at all, except when muttering to himself, repeating affirmations that he desperately hoped would keep his pessimism from rearing its ugly head. And strangely he found that thinking of Jean’s sweetness and those gentle hands soothed his nerves and protected him from the cold. Armin tried not to look at him too much, and didn’t understand his temptations in the slightest; all he could tell was that he wanted to look at Jean. Perhaps he thought that by looking often he might find some kind of answer to Jean’s strange personality, but Armin couldn’t seem to think about much at all when he studied Jean’s face. 

Instead, he forced himself to keep his eyes on the stars. When he was able to focus, the time passed by much faster, and before he knew it he was allowed to rest once again.

Sunday came gently, with a sunrise Armin peacefully slept right through. It was the crew’s one day of rest, so besides the first essential duties, the sailors were permitted free time to do whatever they pleased. Armin had spent his first Sunday sleeping away his seasickness, but now that had been cured, he wasn’t sure what to do. Above deck, the most popular activity was drinking, which Armin didn’t really like to do, but he felt pressured by both Jean and himself to fit in. As much as he wanted to hide away with his books, Armin thought he’d be better off making an effort. Maybe, he thought, he could take a notebook with him and ask one of the others for their greatest tales of adventure since Jean was so unwilling to share his own. 

He found them on the far end of the deck; Ymir, Reiner, Bertholdt and Historia, laughing and passing around a bottle as they played cards. Armin was too nervous to approach at first. He stood there watching with a pencil and a blank journal tucked under his arm, trying to convince himself to go over, but only found the courage when Reiner spotted him and waved. 

“Armin!” he called. “Come and sit with us, would you?”

Gripping his pencil a little tighter, Armin made his way over and sat with them, unsure of what to say. Being stuck on this boat made it impossible to be alone all the time, Armin reminded himself. This was good. This was progress.

“Want to play in the next round?” Historia asked. “It’s poker.”

“Okay,” Armin nodded. “I used to play-”

“Hang on,” Reiner interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “If his poker skills are anything like his chess skills, I’m sitting out. I don’t feel like losing everything I have.”

“You’re doing a good enough job of that on your own,” Ymir smirked. “Don’t be such a coward.”

“It’s alright,” Armin said. He felt like he was intruding. “Actually, I was just going to ask if you’d mind telling me some stories…”

“Like a bedtime story?” Reiner chuckled. “I can see why you wouldn’t want to ask Jean.”

“Not a bedtime story,” Armin said, smiling a little despite himself. “A story as in something exciting or interesting you’ve experienced.”

“Well, in that case,” Ymir said, “I can tell you about the first time Historia and I-”

“Ymir!” Historia exclaimed, shoving Ymir in the side, her face bright red. Ymir cackled.

“I don’t need to hear that,” Bertholdt mumbled. 

“I’ve got a great story for you,” Reiner said, sitting beside Armin, offering him a swig of his drink, which Armin declined. “About the time I caught a shark while fishing.”

“Not this again,” Ymir sighed. 

“You caught a shark?” Armin asked, intensely interested. He had always wanted to see a shark in person, as terrifying as that may be. He gripped his pencil tightly, waiting to hear what he had to say. 

“He didn’t catch a shark,” Historia giggled. “There’s no chance.”

“I did! The damn thing was bigger than me, teeth like a beast. I was sat off the deck, fishing, then all of a sudden the line yanked downwards, and I could barely keep ahold of the rod.”

“Have you considered the possibility that you’re just weak, Braun?” Ymir grinned.

“And what would that make you, considering that I’ve beaten you in every test of strength you’ve challenged me to?” 

“It makes me very kind and gracious for letting you win.”

While the pair bickered, Armin took the opportunity to scribble down everything Reiner had said so far. He took notes in shorthand, deciding he would write up the tale fully once he had the time and details, then waited patiently for Reiner to continue. 

“So, the shark,” Reiner went on, ignoring Ymir’s scoff. “The whole rod was bending so far, I thought it was about to break. I started to reel it in, using all my strength, but then it goes slack, and I think I must have lost whatever was on the end of the line… but it was just swimming upwards, and then this great beast leaps from the ocean, baring rows of sharp teeth, and in my surprise the damn thing rips the rod from my hands and takes it with him back into the sea.”

“That’s fascinating,” Armin breathed, leaning forwards excitedly, his eyes shining in anticipation. “What did it look like?”

“It must have been three times the size of me,” Reiner said. “Teeth the size of fingers! I thought it might have swallowed me whole. Its mouth was gaping, and deep inside I could see the blackness of its stomach.”

“Amazing,” Armin murmured, writing so intensely that he didn’t notice Jean walking over. “And its colour? Any markings?” 

“It was scarred and grey,” Reiner explained. “I didn’t get the best look at it, but that one glimpse is seared into my memory.”

“I’m sure it is,” Ymir snorted. 

“Bertholdt believes me! Don’t you, love?” Reiner asked, looking at Bertholdt. The use of the nickname made Armin feel fond but at the same time as if this was something he shouldn’t be watching. Armin had no idea why. Reiner and Bertholdt were open about their partnership, and obviously comfortable with Armin witnessing it, but still he felt nervous. 

“I believe you,” Bertholdt nodded, though it was obvious that even he had his doubts. 

“You want to know what I think?” Ymir said. “I think you dropped your fishing rod into the ocean and had to make up some elaborate story as an excuse.”

Reiner looked like he was about to bicker with her some more, but was interrupted when Jean sat down in their circle, right between Armin and Historia. 

“Is this the shark story again?” he asked. Armin felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

“It is,” Reiner said. “Are you alright, Jean?” 

“Yes?” Jean asked. His shoulders were hunched up, and Armin scooted away from him nervously, feeling like he might lash out at any moment. “Are you playing poker, or not?”

“We are,” Historia said. “Are you joining us?” 

Jean nodded. There was something off about him, something Armin couldn’t place, something he was trying desperately to ignore. If he reacted then Jean might react and end up making everything worse, and Armin really didn’t want that, especially when they were with the others. 

Historia dealt the cards and they played with their wages, keeping the stakes small. Armin wasn’t willing to bet more than he could afford to lose - which wasn’t all that much anyway, considering that he had to fund an entirely new life once they reached Japan. It was almost impossible for Armin to either relax or pay attention to the game while he sat next to Jean. Nerves crept up his spine; all Armin could think about was why Jean had come to wit next to him of all people. Or, more likely, Jean just wanted to spend time with his friends, and Armin was getting in the way. 

To cope with his fears Armin daydreamed about how he would elaborate upon Reiner’s story. He loved to take tales and write them in his own way, adding narration and making the descriptions come to life while staying true to what happened. Over the years, Armin had novelised many of his grandfather’s longer stories, and they were all hidden away in his journals beside the tales as told to him word by word. Armin cherished them like he treasured the books his grandfather had written himself years ago. 

Halfway through their game of poker, the group was interrupted by a shout. 

“Whales!” came Onyankopon’s voice, calling from up in the rigging where he was manning the sails.  Just the word made Armin’s heart soar, and he leapt to his feet, dropping all his cards but holding on tight to his journal. He ran to the side of the deck, gazing out in the direction his friend was pointing. 

It took a moment of staring out at the pristine ocean before Armin saw any sign of movement, but then he spotted it - a mist spraying upwards and out, each droplet glimmering, and shining bright in the sun. And then in a burst of water in the distance, the first whale breached, shooting straight up into the air and turning gracefully before landing with a great splash. Two more followed after it, then another, and Armin was so full of emotion he felt as if he were about to laugh or burst into tears or kiss the closest person to him, full of such a childlike glee, his whole body bright and warm like the sun was shining out of his chest. The creatures were so magnificent, more at home in the water than even Jean claimed to be. 

Armin didn’t even reach for his journal. In fact, he forgot about it entirely as he stared, transfixed, the other sailors crowding the edge of the deck for a chance to see the whales as they burst from the ocean and into the air. Bertholdt was holding tightly onto Reiner’s hand, and even Ymir was speechless. 

Armin recalled the way his grandfather described seeing whales on his own voyages across the ocean, remembered his vivid descriptions and feeling like he was there, but nothing compared to living the experience for himself. Every sense of his was alight with joy. The taste of the salty air on his tongue, the beautiful splashes of water as the whales met the ocean again, the sight of them - the hair on the back of Armin’s neck was standing up, shivers all over him while the sun warmed his face. He found himself crying, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

For the first time, he felt like he understood, even if only for the briefest of moments. Every bout of seasickness, every sleepless night, the storm - those troubles were worth it now. Armin couldn’t imagine any negative experience being able to outweigh the beautiful act of nature before him. 

“I wish I could capture this sight forever,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else, and jumped when he was spoken to. 

“Give me those,” Jean demanded, holding his hand out. It took Armin a second to drag his eyes away from the whales and look up at Jean standing beside him. Realising that Jean wanted his journal and pencil, he tensed up a little. 

“What for?” he asked, eyes darting between Jean and the ocean. Were the whales getting closer? 

“Just do it, will you?” Jean insisted, and Armin did as he told him, passing his journal over and feeling awfully confused as to what he wanted to do with it, considering Armin knew he couldn’t read or write. 

“They’re swimming over!” Historia cried gleefully. Armin gasped, looking away from Jean to lean over the edge and see that the group of grey whales were indeed coming, seemingly intrigued but not scared by the ship. Never had he been so tempted to jump off the side and into the water below, just so he could get a closer look at the friendly whales. Two of them, now close enough to touch the ship, did just that and bumped their heads against the wood, causing several of the sailors to cry out with excitement and joy. Captain Hange was alight - Armin had never seen them so energetic, and even the first mate cracked a smile. Getting a closer look, Armin observed the white undersides of the whales’ mouths, their small eyes and some of the unique scars the oldest of the group carried. Armin wasn’t sure what he wouldn’t have given to know their stories, wishing more than anything for just one conversation with them. He was laughing and crying at the same time, wiping his eyes only for more tears to instantly form, and gave up trying to hold it back eventually, just taking it all in. 

There was a small, infant whale swimming close to its mother that made Armin even more emotional. He watched intently, then finally reached for his notebook before remembering Jean had it. Curious, he peered over. 

“Hey,” Jean snapped, holding it close to his chest so Armin couldn’t see. “Hang on.”

“What are you doing?” 

“You’ll see if you have a little patience,” Jean replied. Armin kept looking between him in the whales, having no choice but to trust Jean wasn’t doing something bad to his journal, and waited. He didn’t want to make Jean even angrier at him. After several minutes, he was done. “There.”

When Jean handed the journal back, Armin nervously flicked to the page Jean had been working on, wondering what he’d been doing for so long. If not writing, then what? Could Jean read after all, and if he could, did he read what Armin had been writing in there? 

He quickly realised just how wrong he was. 

Just the next page over from Reiner’s story was a sketch that took up both sides of the paper. Jean’s art was almost identical to what Armin saw when he looked up. He had captured the beauty of the breaching whales perfectly - there was so much movement to his art. Even though it was just a still image, the art told a story that words could not, and Armin was in awe. The water looked like it really was shining in the sun, even as a rough sketch. 

“You - you did that?” Armin exclaimed, looking up, but Jean had already walked away. Armin saw him heading back up the rigging, his back turned, but the tips of his ears tinted red. He wanted to chase after him, to thank him, and tell him just how much he admired what he had done, but he paused, scared to run after him when Jean must have walked away for a reason. They could talk in private.

Looking again between the sketch and its inspiration, Armin tearily smiled. He touched the page and then his bandaged head, wondering who on earth Jean really was and if he would ever be able to understand him. 

Chapter Text

Armin sat in his hammock that night, holding a small lantern in one hand and his journal in the other. Nothing could make him tear his eyes away from the whales Jean had so effortlessly sketched for him. The more he looked at it, the more he pondered, the less Armin understood about Jean. When they first met, Armin thought he knew exactly the kind of man Jean was - arrogant, self-centred, and judgmental - but now, Armin feared he was the one who had jumped to conclusions after all. Though there was no denying that Jean hadn’t been very kind to him, especially at the start, there was something about him that made Armin want to know that man beneath the cold, rude exterior. The man who drew whales and bandaged his head was not the same as he who had so coldly lied to Armin that day on the docks almost three weeks ago. 

Soon they would be halfway along their journey, at least according to Captain Hange’s estimation. Armin’s time on the boat felt like it had lasted both a second and an eternity. His old life in his dark, lonely room drawing maps felt so foreign to him now - Armin wondered how he had ever managed it. Life was listless and without direction, but there was solid ground beneath his feet, something Armin could barely remember the feeling of now. 

Jean lay in the bunk next to him. He looked deep in thought as he practised tying the same knot in a worn-out piece of rope over and over. Armin glanced at his hands effortlessly going through the motions of the complicated knot. Worn and calloused from years of climbing the ropes, Jean’s hands looked rough to the touch, but his long fingers were graceful and quick. Armin could never have imagined that those hands could create art with such delicacy and precision. But he knew they could be gentle, just like they were when he tended to his wound and tied him safely to the side of the ship during the storm. Why Jean had done that was a mystery Armin didn’t want to solve - he found himself terrified that Jean saw him as an inconvenience that needed to be saved, and nothing more. Armin knew he shouldn’t have cared, but he did - and the reason for that scared him too. 

The whales Jean had sketched looked freer than Armin had ever felt, even confined to their page in pencil. Armin wished he was one of them so he might understand how it felt to belong. 

“Are you still looking at that?” Jean asked, startling him. 

“I can’t help it,” Armin softly replied. “It’s beautiful. I feel as if I’m still up there, looking out at them…”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere with me.”

“I know that,” Armin said. Slowly, he traced his thumb over the sketch, stroking the whale’s smooth grey back. “I’m simply saying what I feel.”

“You’re very good at that,” Jean said, sarcastic.

“I’ll try to pretend you meant that nicely.”

“I’m simply saying what I feel,” Jean mimicked, and Armin rolled his eyes. 

Turning back to the drawing, Armin felt the same rush as when the first whale breached from the water. He had captured it perfectly; it was clear Jean had the talent to replicate not only the scene but the emotion behind it, too. Armin thought his work would not look out of place on a gallery wall, complemented by an ornate frame, and longed to know what else he could create, especially given better materials and more time. 

A short while passed in silence while Armin worried over what to say. 

“Jean,” he spoke eventually, quietly, testing the waters.

“What?” 

Why did you draw that for me? He wanted to ask. I thought you hated me.

“Who taught you to draw like that?”

“Nobody did,” Jean murmured. “All I know, I taught myself.”

“Even how to work on the ship?” 

“I said everything, didn’t I?” 

Armin swallowed. As unhelpful as Jean had been at times, Armin was sure he wouldn’t have been able to do anything without his guidance. What must it have been like to figure it all out on his own? 

“You’re strong,” Armin told him, lifting the lantern to see his reaction. Jean looked surprised, almost speechless. 

“Well… you have to be to last more than even a week at sea.” 

Armin blinked. Had Jean misspoken, or was that a compliment? Was it possible that Jean could have called him strong and meant it? Too scared to question it, Armin bit his lip and listened as Jean continued to speak. 

“But about learning to draw,” Jean said, seemingly oblivious to Armin’s shock and surprise. “I found this empty journal on board. Must have been nine or ten at the time… I don’t really remember.” 

“Nine or ten?” Armin interrupted. Every time Jean answered one of his questions, Armin was left with even more. That was so much younger than Armin assumed Jean was when he boarded the ship - he knew he’d been young, but not that young, and he was desperate to know the circumstances. 

“Yes,” Jean said. “I told you I’d been on this ship most of my life, didn’t I?” 

He had, Armin recalled, but that didn’t make it any less surprising. 

“You did, but-” 

“I found the journal,” Jean continued, cutting Armin off before he had a chance to be curious. “It didn’t have anything in it, the pages were blank - so I liked it more than any other book I’d ever seen.” 

Armin bit his lip, knowing exactly why that was; Jean didn’t know how to read. Though it wasn’t out of the ordinary for a sailor, especially one who had grown up aboard, Armin felt like he really wasn’t supposed to know that fact about Jean, especially as it seemed like a sore spot. Fiddling with the lantern, Armin swallowed. 

“So you began to sketch in it?” he asked. 

“Wasn’t like I had anything better to do in my spare time.”

“What did you draw?”

“The boat. The crew, too, if I felt like it. Places we visited… but mostly the ocean.”

“I would love to see,” Armin breathed, sitting up and looking over at Jean with wide, earnest eyes lit up by the glow of the lantern. 

“No,” Jean said. It was the answer Armin ought to have expected, but hearing it stung nonetheless. 

“Alright,” he agreed quietly. “I apologise… it was invasive of me to ask.”

“It’s late, besides,” Jean said as he rolled over. Armin gazed at the shadow his figure made against the wall. “You ought to have started resting an hour ago.”

Not wanting to sleep just yet, but knowing Jean was right, Armin savoured the last light of the lantern as he turned it off, using its dying glow to once again admire the whales breaching from the ocean and the pages of his journal. When it was dark, Armin finally closed and stored it away, then hopped back into his hammock to rest for a few hours before the bell for middle watch eventually came.

Another week sailed by as quickly as the first two had, marking the presumed halfway point of the journey. When he thought about it, Armin imagined the ocean stretching out both behind and ahead of him. He was just as far from his new life as the one he’d left behind, stuck on the ship carrying him. He struggled to conceptualise the vastness of it. It went on forever in every direction, curving beyond the horizon in a way that made Armin feel as if it didn’t have an ending at all, and he would be stuck here forever. The days themselves sped by in a rush of exertion and chaos, but as a whole Armin barely remembered who he was before he stepped from land to boat with no return. What did the grass feel like beneath his feet? To be able to stand still without swaying? To sleep in a bed that stayed firmly in its place, waking up to see the same view out of the window as before? Armin had the words for it all, of course, but he couldn’t recall the sensations. He wondered if he would ever forget the way it felt to climb the rigging and feel the ocean wind on his face, or the sight of whales breaching, but somehow, he knew those memories would last a lifetime.

On Saturday, the wind stopped blowing, and the Sina sat quiet and still upon the ocean, waiting, sails hanging limp. Its listless crew searched for things to do, frustrated. First Mate Ackerman was more than happy to suggest cleaning as an activity to those who complained, while others returned to their cabins to steal some needed rest. Armin was tired, but he didn’t want to sleep. He sat by the edge of the deck, looking up at the cloudless sky, feeling the sun on his face from above and as it reflected off the mirror’s surface of the still ocean. He tried to find the words for it, but they evaded him. The page next to Jean’s sketch was blank, as were all the ones after it. Words didn’t seem to make sense like they used to. 

Armin looked down at his hands. Where once they had bled from climbing and pulling the ropes, callouses had formed. They weren’t soft and pale anymore, not hands that suited holding a pencil, but they weren’t strong either. So in-between, he thought. 

“Armin,” came a voice, startling him. Armin looked up to see Marlowe and stood up hastily, not wanting to be rude. 

“Marlowe,” he said. “Are - are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Marlowe nodded, ever-serious. “Could I ask for your help with something?” 

“Me?” Armin asked. Was everyone else busy? What could Marlowe need him for? “I - of course, what do you need help with?” 

“Well… you seem to write often. I was wondering if you would - if you’d help me write a letter to my wife.”

Armin blinked. 

“Yes!” he said, suddenly earnest, smiling. “Yes, I’d love to help. Do you mean now, or…?”

“If that’s okay with you,” Marlowe replied. “We can go to my cabin, or do it here, whichever you’d prefer.”

“I quite like this spot. At least until the wind starts blowing again, shall we work here?”

Marlowe agreed, and Armin quickly gathered his things, a plain sheet of letter paper, one of his nicer fountain pens, an envelope and a wax seal. He was quite excited at the thought of being useful, about doing something that he knew he could do without any doubt. 

“Thank you again,” Marlowe said, and Armin felt warm on the inside from being needed. He wished, for some reason, that Jean would need him in any type of way. He wanted to be useful for him, to offer him something without expecting a word of thanks in return, just craving the sensation of not being such a burden. Jean helped him so much it almost wasn’t fair. 

“So…” Armin said, taking his pen and dipping it in the pot of ink. “What would you like me to write?”

It was odd, Armin thought, to be the pen instead of the hand. He wrote down the words Marlowe spoke, listening and transcribing. He learned about his wife, his son, and their small room in the city. He learned how hard it was for Marlowe to be away from her, how much he loved her and their son. Armin felt like he learned more about Marlowe as he helped with the letter than he had about anyone , almost like he was prying, even though Marlowe was open with him and not all that embarrassed. Armin thought it must be harder than anything to sail away from a life he would dearly miss. It was difficult enough to leave the familiarity he had grown to loathe. 

When they were about halfway through, they were interrupted by a familiar, boisterous voice. 

“What are you two doing over here on your own?” Reiner asked, coming to sit down whether invited or not. Armin didn’t mind; he enjoyed Reiner’s company. 

“Armin is helping me write a letter to Hitch,” Marlowe explained. 

“You do realise you’ll probably make it back to her before that letter does, don’t you?” 

“Most likely,” Marlowe said. Armin looked up from the sentence he had just finished and saw the wistful smile on his face. “But I thought… it might be nice for her, to know I think of our family every second while I’m away.” 

“It must be lovely,” Armin said quietly. “To love someone like that.”

“You never have?” Reiner asked teasingly, leaning a little closer to nudge Armin with his elbow. “Not even a first love back home?” 

“No,” Armin chuckled, shaking his head, wistful. “No, I - I have cared and loved for people, but this kind of love… that’s unknown to me, though I find it wonderful from a distance.” 

“Well, it is wonderful,” Reiner said, while Marlowe nodded. “But it’s not everything, eh? Look where we are. Few men get to see this view…”

Armin looked out, saw the ocean and its vastness, and felt love for it and all he’d seen. Love was adventure, he thought, and uncertainty. There was plenty of that aboard the Sina. No, Armin was whole just as he was - a little lonely, but still whole, and he had adventure in bucketfuls. He should be grateful. 

He thought of Jean’s hands.

“Anyway,” Marlowe said, breaking the silence. “How is it coming along, Armin?” 

“It’s going well,” Armin said. “Thank you for letting -” 

Mid-sentence, out of nowhere, a gust of wind came billowing suddenly, breathing life into the sails, almost knocking over Armin’s inkpot and carrying Marlowe’s letter with it. Armin cried out, just about managing to grab everything before a disaster, and found himself laughing as he felt his hair blowing out behind him. 

“Where on earth did this come from?!” he called, a huge smile on his face. 

“No idea,” Reiner said, smiling too, looking out for direction as Moblit called the other group of sailors to the deck, for it was indeed their turn to man the sails. “Looks like we’re clear for work, though.”

“Well, good. Do you want to continue this below deck?” Marlowe asked. 

Another gust of wind came, and Armin hastily agreed.

Onyankopon was sleeping in the cabin he shared with Marlowe, so the three of them sat together in Armin’s. Luckily, Jean was nowhere to be seen, but Armin still felt tense and nervous, hoping that when he came back he wouldn’t be irritated. Slowly, as they worked on the second half of the letter, eventually sealing it with wax in its envelope, Armin began to relax ever so slightly, distracted by Marlowe and Reiner, not thinking about Jean at all. They talked about their homes; Armin learned that Reiner had once been part of the Navy, and Marlowe grew up on a farm, but became a sailor as he had four older brothers and no chance of inheritance. Reiner joked around, insisting that his infamous shark story was true, and Armin thought tenderly of the whales tucked away in his journal. 

As mealtime and the shift above deck grew closer, Armin packed away his things, neatly placing them in the chest he was finally allowed to use, and handed Marlowe his sealed letter with his home address written neatly on the front. 

“You’ll have to find a stamp when you go to send it,” Armin said, “but that should be easy enough. 

“You won’t be making the journey back with us, will you?” 

“No,” Armin replied. “It’s a one-way journey for me.”

“I couldn’t imagine…” Marlowe said, frowning. 

“Well… I suppose that’s because you have things to leave behind, people you’d miss.”

“And you didn’t?” Reiner asked. 

“No,” Armin smiled sadly. He placed his hand on his chest of belongings and felt old grief stirring in his heart where it had settled. “All I have left of my family are their stories.”

“You’re blessed to have them,” Marlowe said. 

“Thank you. I… I like to think so too.” 

A silence descended over them that was friendly but a little awkward, and they sat without doing anything for a moment before Marlowe stood up, looking the letter over one more time. Armin and Reiner followed. 

“Well, it’s mealtime soon,” Marlowe said. “Armin, I really can’t thank you enough for helping me with this.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” Armin urged. “It feels good to be of use for once.” 

“Bunking with Jean must take it out on your self-esteem,” Reiner chuckled.

“You’re right… even when I thought it couldn’t get any worse.” 

“Don’t let him get to you,” Marlowe said. “He’s too harsh.”

“I wish I could be of use to him, that’s all. If he would let me write a letter for him, or do something similar… it would make me happy.” 

“Well, good luck with that,” Reiner laughed. “You’ll need it.”

“Yes,” Armin sighed. “Yes, you’re probably right.”

Throughout dinner, the atmosphere was no different to how it normally was. Marlowe told the others about his letter, sparking discussions of family, old friendships, and first loves. Going first, Onyankopon shared the story of his home life, speaking fondly of his mother and three older sisters who owned a tailor’s shop in his home town. Seeing the smile on his face and warmth in his eyes filled Armin with a nostalgia for things he had never even experienced, but it was almost as if he held his own fond memories of a happy, full house when Onyankopon told his stories. He learned that Historia had once been married, and that Bertholdt was the oldest of five children in his family. 

It struck Armin midway through a conversation about Ymir’s home town - he was going to miss this. He would miss sitting at this table, eating his potatoes with onion, washing down his meal with bitter drink that made his stomach a little queasy and his cheeks pink. He would miss listening to Ymir and Historia bickering, would miss the small, gentle moments of affection between Reiner and Bertholdt, would miss Onyankopon and his tales, and Marlowe speaking fondly of his wife. He would even miss the way Jean sat silently beside him, not saying a word, though Armin didn’t know why as the man’s presence seemed to drive him insane at every turn. 

Like a blow to the chest, he realised that the crew were his friends, Jean aside. For the first time in his life, he had people his age he could laugh with, experience life with - when he arrived in Japan, Armin would be forced to begin again, but this time with a language barrier. It scared him, knowing how hard it was going to be, but Armin clung to the hope that each hardship would be worth it in the end. He was so desperate for a place to belong; he had to find it in Japan. He had to. 

Right?

Armin was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he didn’t notice Jean excusing himself as soon as he finished his meal, or that he was even frostier and more anti-social than usual. He only noticed anything different once the watch began. 

The tension was strong and thick between them, charged like the air before lightning strikes. From the edge of the deck, watching over the cold night, Armin felt it in his bones. Jean was radiating hostility; it washed over Armin in waves, made his stomach tight with fear. He was afraid to say anything and afraid to say nothing, but eventually, his curiosity burned brighter than his fear. He had to ask, to check that nothing was wrong. He was probably imagining things. 

“Jean,” Armin murmured. No response; Jean kept staring out at the sea. “Are you alright?” 

Still nothing. Armin bit his lip and resisted the urge to crawl back into his shell. The tension pulled at his skin and made his thoughts run away with themselves - what if he wasn’t alright? Why did that possibility make him worry so much? And why was Jean ignoring him? 

“Jean,” Armin said again, quietly. He reached out, going to put his hand on Jean’s shoulder. 

Jean flinched and pulled away as if Armin touching him was something disgusting - as if he was repulsive. The look on his face… the way his eyes narrowed, his scowl, the pure disdain written on his face like a letter that told Armin never to come near him again. This was not the same man who had drawn those whales - he was entirely different, with no trace of softness at all. 

“What do you want?” he snapped.

Frozen for a moment, Armin had to take some time to process, trying to understand and rationalise, but he felt such an ache in his chest that was almost like grief in the way it ached and burned and demanded to be known. And shame. He felt shame crawling over his skin; he was tiny under Jean’s gaze, tiny and worthless. Had he done something wrong? 

“I - Jean, you just seemed -”

“Seemed like what,” Jean asked, taking a step closer to him, putting his body between Armin and the rest of the ship so that Armin was leaning backwards over the side of the deck to hide from his presence. 

“Upset,” Armin breathed. 

“And what if I was? Could you guess why?” 

“No - no, of course I couldn’t just guess -”

Jean laughed, then, but there was no humour behind it. It made Armin shiver, goosebumps rising on his arms. 

“So you’ll pretend you weren’t talking about me behind my back?” he snarled, teeth bared, stepping forwards. Armin could feel the empty space between him and the ocean as he leaned back more. 

“What? I - I don’t know what you’re talking about, I didn’t do anything like that!”

“Don’t lie to me. What were you saying to Marlowe and Reiner?” 

“Jean, I didn’t say anything bad-”

“What did you say?” Jean asked, harsh, but his voice cracked, and just for a second, Armin could see fear in his eyes. 

“All I said was that I wanted to help you, to write a letter or something like that-”

“And what makes you think I’m not capable of doing that myself?!”

Armin faltered. What was he supposed to do? If he lied, Jean would see right through him, but if he didn’t - if he told him the truth - wouldn’t that be just as bad?

“I-”

“You think you’re so much better than the rest of us,” Jean interrupted, not giving Armin a chance to explain anyway. 

“What-”

“Don’t pretend you don’t think so! You - you can fool the others, but don’t act like-“

“I’m not pretending to be anything!” Armin exclaimed, anger churning in him when Jean accused him of that which wasn’t true. “I’m just trying! I know I don’t fit in, I know I never will, but I’m trying my hardest and I’m sorry that’s not enough for you! But don’t - don’t tell me these things, because I don’t care if Marlowe cannot read or write, and I don’t care if you can’t either-“

“So you know,” Jean said. He was scarily calm. “You were talking about me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Armin urged, desperately pleading with Jean, wishing he would just listen. 

“It does matter. It’s just another thing you can hold against us, so you can assure yourself you’re better-“

“Have I ever even said that?!” Armin cried. “You’re putting words in my mouth!” 

“You don’t need to, it’s obvious,” Jean spat, and suddenly, before he could react, Armin found himself grabbed by the front of his shirt, Jean’s fists grabbing handfuls of the fabric, leaning in close to intimidate. The wind was blowing loud and fast but all Armin noticed was Jean’s face. There was panic somewhere deep in his narrowed eyes, hidden beneath the rage, as if he was desperate for reassurance, but Armin was so beaten, so tired and frustrated, that he couldn’t see past his own emotions. 

“What have I done to you other than just be?!” Armin yelled, pushing Jean with both hands, sending him stumbling back. “Can’t you imagine how I feel? You act as if you hate me most of the time, and then you - you do such confusing things! I don’t understand you at all! Why do you hate me so much?!”

Jean grabbed him again, face and denial and desperation written all over his face, and seemed to search for words he could not find - they both panted for breath, furious and upset with each other, and it seemed as if it might go on forever until Jean was yanked backwards by First Mate Ackerman and thrown harshly onto the deck. 

“Kirsten,” he said, his voice calm but menacing, going straight to Armin’s core. He stood towering over Jean who lay hurting on the ground. “What is happening here?”

Armin felt a lump form in his throat when he heard the man’s tone and knew just how serious he was. The only person aboard who terrified him more than Jean was angry at the both of them and it was enough to make Armin forget the argument entirely, even if just for a moment. As Jean offered some explanation, Armin found himself leaning against the side of the deck, clutching his racing heart and trying to no avail to calm down, and then the self-doubt began. 

What if he did act as if he were better than the rest of them? Could he be acting unintentionally, but causing damage nonetheless? Or was Jean just wrong - but his feelings had to come from somewhere… unless he truly did hate Armin. 

But those whales…

“Arlert, listen when I speak to you,” First Mate Ackerman snapped, breaking Armin from his spell and dragging him back to the present. “Can you manage to go without fighting, or must you two be separated like a pair of children?” 

“No - I - it won’t happen again,” Armin promised. The shame was sickening. 

“Good. Kirsten, I expect better from you. You want to be a captain someday, don’t you?”

Now up from the floor, Jean nodded solemnly. “Yes.”

“Then stop acting like a child,” the First Mate scolded, and hit him around the side of the head. “Both of you will take on extra cleaning. I expect you up and ready on the top deck an hour before your shift. Understand?”

“Yes,” they replied. Armin wanted to throw up. 

“Now get back to watch. And if I see you fighting again, you’ll both be off the edge.”

With that, the First Mate left, leaving both Jean and Armin to continue their watch in silence, resolving not to look at each other. Armin felt tears of shame and embarrassment and self-hatred rising in his eyes, but he blinked them back, staring out at the ocean, left wondering why Jean acted the way he did. 

Chapter Text

It was agonising. For the next few days, Jean did not look at him, speak to him, or give any kind of indication that he was aware of Armin’s presence at all. Despite bunking together, Jean just acted like Armin wasn’t there, like he didn’t exist at all - Armin started to feel invisible. It was eerily familiar, reminding him of how he felt on land, walking around his town of faces he recognised but had no connection to. If Jean ever looked in his direction, he just stared straight through him. The extra cleaning shifts they took on as punishment for their fight were long and hard, leaving Armin even more exhausted than he normally was, hard labour eating into the time he would normally have spent sleeping. Jean, as always, seemed unbothered. He worked so efficiently that he was always able to finish his duties in half the time it took Armin. 

Armin tried to mirror him, tried to pretend Jean didn’t exist in his space, but it was impossible. Jean, as always, was imposing, intimidating, fascinating… Armin felt his stares linger like they always did, and missed the sensation of Jean’s eyes on him from the other side of the room. Part of him wanted to scream, but it was outweighed by an oppressive apprehension, the same fear that held Armin back so often in his life. He had hoped it was gone, but every time he thought of speaking to Jean it reared its ugly head again. No; he would stay quiet - after all, there was just a week and a half to go before Armin would feel land beneath his feet, before he could turn his back on this ship forever. 

The others, confused as they were, vowed not to take sides. Both Jean and Armin made it clear very quickly that they didn’t want to talk about what happened - neither to each other nor the rest of the crew. Reiner asked a few times, prodding for information, but Armin always shook his head and told him ‘ later’. In truth, the reason he kept quiet was that he was deeply, truly ashamed of what he had said and how he had acted. It sat heavy in his gut at all times, ran over and over in his mind like the stories he knew by heart. That look on Jean’s face, the split-second of insecurity and fear that Armin had chosen to ignore - it haunted him. There was no trace of it now behind the blankness, but Armin saw it in his head, was reminded of it whenever he opened his journal to the sight of breaching whales. 

If Jean heard him crying at night, he didn’t say anything.

The weather was erratic, going from pouring rain to clear skies in not half an hour. If half the time the wind blew strongly, then the other half the Sina sat atop a still ocean, not moving an inch in any direction. The mood aboard was low. Nobody seemed to be in high spirits, tired and grumbling during their shifts and drinking just a little more than usual during their breaks. Armin felt guilty. He was sure the argument with Jean had sparked this contagious bad mood, and he had no idea how to fix it. All he could do, he thought, was endure. 

On a grey afternoon, Armin sat on the deck with one of his most comforting books, hoping to find solace in familiarity. Up in the crow’s nest, a small platform at the top of the tallest mast, Jean stood looking out at the ocean, and Armin found himself distracted by him once again. The pages of his book ignored, he stared upwards, watching the way the wind blew Jean’s hair back. From all the way below, he couldn’t make out his expression, but he was sure it must be as blank and unchanging as it always was these days. Armin’s heart ached. Constantly aware of its presence in his chest, Armin could do nothing to make the pain stop, and it only got worse the more he thought about Jean and that vulnerability in his eyes. He recalled the softness, the urgency of his expression the night the storm blew around them. There was something about that Jean… something Armin just understood. 

Shaking his head, Armin tried to push the images from his mind. It would do no good to dwell on it now, not when there was nothing he could do to fix what was broken. Besides, in little over a week, they would reach land and Armin would turn his back on Jean and this ship, never to see it again. 

Before he had a chance to ponder on that thought, Armin was snapped out of his trance by Moblit, the Captain’s steward. 

“Armin,” he said. “The captain would like to speak to you in their quarters. Would you come with me?”

The colour drained from Armin’s cheeks. Was he in even worse trouble? What could Captain Hange possibly have to say to him?

“Of course,” he said quickly, tucking his book under his arm. Whatever it was, he wouldn’t keep the captain waiting. 

Moblit led Armin across the ship and down to the captain’s quarters. It was one of the only places aboard that Armin hadn’t seen yet, and there was no denying how curious he had been about the quarters of someone as… eccentric as their captain was. Moblit held the door open and Armin stepped inside, his heart racing, anticipation and excitement and fear all vying for his attention. 

The first thing that hit him was the smell of old books. Tall, ornate shelves towered over Armin and made him feel like a young boy again, full of books stacked every which way, seemingly organised by no other manner than the captain’s discretion. Armin wanted to get his hands on each and every one. Light streamed in through the curved windows at the very head of the ship, casting neat, grid-like shadows from each small, square window frame. When had it gotten so bright? Armin hadn’t noticed the sun come out, but the light was everywhere now, enough that he could make out the dust swirling in its beams. 

Where there were no bookcases, various maps and shelves covered the walls. Armin recognised each and every place they were depicting, from his home country to the south of Africa to the stars above them, and even those which depicted the ocean and its depths. The shelves held odd trinkets, presumably amassed by the captain over the course of their life travelling from coast to coast. There was a model of the very ship they were standing on, a set of small dolls no bigger than Armin’s pinky finger, several enamelled, detailed boxes, an old pipe, gold compasses, ornate candlesticks… there seemed to be no end of interesting things to look at. Armin knew he could have spent a month in this room without once becoming bored.

At the centre of the room, Captain Hange sat at their large mahogany desk, which was scattered with papers, maps, and empty glasses. Smiling at Armin’s obvious wonderment, they beckoned him over; he obeyed without question. 

“Armin,” they grinned, “you seem to like my quarters.”

“I’m amazed. I… this place is fascinating , Captain. I’m reminded so much of my grandfather.” 

“You speak about him often!” Hange noted. “You must be very fond of him.” 

“I was,” Armin breathed, thinking back to days gone by. 

“Well, tell me about him!”

“He was an adventurer in his youth,” Armin explained. He fought back against the lump rising in his throat, not wanting to choke up and start crying in front of the captain. “He travelled the world, amassing stories. And he raised me, always supported me… he was the reason I had the courage to leave my home and pursue a new life. ”

“A parental figure most of us could only dream of. You’re very lucky.”

“Yes, I am…” Armin said. He wondered why Hange had called for him like this. The feeling he was going to be reprimanded was gone, leaving Armin simply confused, but he was much too nervous to ask. 

“Why did you choose to leave your home?” Hange asked. They leaned back in their chair, their one visible eye wide and full of interest. Armin felt a little too seen for comfort. 

“There was nothing left for me there anymore,” he explained. “After I lost my grandfather… I felt it was time to follow in his footsteps, and those of my parents, as well. I wanted to see more of the world.” 

“You have courage.”

“I’m not so sure about that-”

“No, you do,” Hange said intensely, fixing their posture and looking directly at him. “I heard about how you helped Bertholdt during the storm. And standing up to Jean… well, that takes nerve.”

Armin’s stomach squeezed, the hand of his fear gripping him tightly as shame filled his gut. He couldn’t look Hange in the eye and stared at the floor. 

“I’m very sorry,” he murmured. 

“No, I suppose it was about time!” Hange laughed. “He’s been defensive since he was a little boy.”

“You’ve known him all that time?” Armin asked curiously, taking a step forward. 

“I have. He was such an angry little thing… could you believe he’s much more mellow than he used to be?”

“I couldn’t.”

Hange chuckled at that. “You must be wondering why I called for you.”

“I must admit…”

“It’s nothing urgent,” they said. “I was curious about you, and I wanted to make sure you were doing well. I’ve noticed your low mood.”

“You were curious about me? ”

“Is that surprising?”

“To me, yes…” Armin admitted, looking down at the floor once again. “I have no stories of my own. The life I’ve lived is nothing compared to those of my parents and grandfather.”

“Tell me about your parents,” Hange said. Armin bit his lip, but he didn’t feel like he could refuse when Hange was looking at him with such intense curiosity.

“Well… they raised me until I was five years old,” Armin began. He realised suddenly that he had never told a single person about his parents, and that alone almost made him freeze up. Still, he continued. “But… I suppose raising a child wasn’t all they expected it to be, so they decided to go and travel the world while they were still young, and left me with my grandfather.”

“Where did they go?”

“To Europe, first,” Armin told them. “It was supposed to be a short trip, but it was extended time and time again, and I realised they were never coming back. Still, they’d write… once or twice a year. I loved those letters. I still have them.”

“Do they still write to you?”

“No,” Armin said softly, unable to hold back the tears this time. It was something he thought he had accepted a long time ago, but talking about it for the first time… it made Armin realise that perhaps he hadn’t begun processing at all. “No, they…”

“What happened?”

“A storm,” Armin murmured. “They weren’t even very far away, in comparison… I read about it in the newspaper.”

“Their ship sank?”

“It was torn to shreds. No survivors… their belongings washed up on the beach. I was twelve.”

Hange was quiet, and Armin could hear nothing but the beating of his heart. 

“You truly are brave,” they said eventually. 

“I don’t-”

“No. You are,” Hange insisted. They got up and walked over to him, taking both his hands and looking intently into his eyes. Armin couldn’t breathe as he stared back at them. He wanted to cry. “Don’t tell yourself things that will only hurt you. In this life, we must rely on ourselves as much as we rely on others.”

Armin swallowed, not knowing what to say. “I…”

“And don’t let anything Jean said get to you,” Hange said. “I know him. Trust me - I don’t believe he means a word of it.”

Hearing those words was such a great relief. Armin hadn’t dared let himself believe it until then, but there truly was something off about the way Jean spoke to him harshly. He didn’t need to know the reason to understand that. 

“I have to thank you wholeheartedly,” Armin said. “For letting me board your ship, Captain - you truly changed my life.”

Before Hange could respond, a knock at the door came, and Moblit stepped inside. 

“Captain,” he said, looking flustered and excited - Armin had never seen the man so dishevelled. “We - the boys spotted land.”

“Land?!” Hange exclaimed, coming alive at the mere mention of it. 

“Should we alter the course? It seems like a series of small islands-”

“Yes, yes! Don’t delay - head there immediately, we’re making good pace, we could stay for several days if the conditions are favourable… maybe that will brighten everyone’s spirits some, they’ve all been so awfully miserable .” 

They quickly followed after Moblit, dragging Armin behind, who could barely process what happened until he breathed in the sea air and saw the excitement and chaos of his fellow crewmates. Reiner was up in the rigging with Bertholdt, one hand holding on and the other around his waist, while Ymir stood practically leaning over the edge, pointing into the distance with Historia at her side. Armin followed her gaze, and sure enough, there on the horizon, he saw land for the first time in almost a month. 

“Change the course!” Captain Hange cried, and the crew cheered, climbing up the ropes. “We’re headed for land!” 

Chapter Text

The island was small, seemingly completely uninhabited - as they drew closer, Armin could make out individual trees bearing strange fruit, and the line where stark white sand met the undergrowth. His heart was racing, not just at the prospect of land, but more so at the sheer number of unknowns this place held, all the things undiscovered. Armin wanted to explore, to take in every possible detail and document them all for his collection of tales. 

Once they were close enough, the crew couldn’t wait for the wind to carry the ship any further. Reiner led them, stripping down to just his underwear before diving directly off the side, landing with a great splash in the crystal-clear water. Bertholdt jumped after him, then Ymir and Historia and some of the others, and to Armin’s surprise, Jean was suddenly pushing past him as he pulled his shirt off, leaving it behind with the rest of his clothes before plunging into the depths. As soon as Jean hit the water it was clear this was suddenly a competition, perhaps one that was tradition when making stops like this. Those on the ship cheered them on as the crew began swimming straight for the land, and the sight of them only made Armin more aware of their sheer strength. He couldn’t take his eyes off Jean - Armin knew he was muscular and capable, but there was something about the way he moved, effortlessly propelling himself through the water like it was second nature to him. It filled Armin with a feeling he had no name for - close to excitement, but with the longing of heartbreak and… something like desire. 

Armin wanted to join them. He wanted to dive fearlessly into the water and feel its refreshing embrace, that perfect, blue-green ocean he’s been gazing at from the surface. But, Armin reminded himself for the thousandth time, he was not one of them. He would sink like a stone, force the others to help him, and remain as he was - an outsider who couldn’t swim, couldn’t sail, couldn’t fit in. He just watched while the ship drew closer to the land, comforting himself with its mystery, thinking maybe he could spend some time alone on land where he belonged. 

The rowboat was readied for those who didn’t want to swim. Onyankopon waited at Armin’s side, as kind as he always was, and Armin felt guilty. There was no way he really wanted to stay behind.

“Ready?” Onyankopon asked, giving Armin a smile he couldn’t help but return. 

“Yes,” Armin replied. “Thank you.” 

The remaining crew lowered the small boat for them so they could get to shore without having to wait for the ship to anchor. Armin held his suitcase tightly in his grip and thought about the last time he’d been here, and how different he was. Not different enough. As Onyankopon took the oars and started to row, Armin watched with fascination as the first of them - as Jean - reached the shore. He stood and raised his arms in triumph, the victor, cheering so loud Armin could hear him all the way from the rowboat, at least until Reiner came at him from the side, tackling Jean to the ground. Armin couldn’t make it out, but he was sure they were laughing. He sighed. 

“Are you still not talking?” Onyankopon asked gently. 

“No.” Armin shook his head and looked down at his hands. “No, I’m quite certain that he hates me.” 

“I wouldn’t doubt he thinks the same about you. But don’t focus on them - look…!” 

As Onyankopon rowed them towards shallower water, Armin caught his first glimpse of the corals. Underwater plants grew in vivid shades of pink, orange, and red up around the rocks, strangely shaped and nothing like the dreary green of seaweed. Rays of light shone down in beams that almost made everything look as if it were sparkling. A laugh bubbled its way out of Armin, who leaned over the side of the rowboat with glee, reaching down to submerge his hand as shoals of brightly coloured fish darted away from them, some hiding within the growths of corals he didn’t have names for. The only creature Armin did recognise by name was the turtle nestled between two rocks, its shell almost blending in under the sheen of the water. 

“Oh, gosh…” he breathed, so taken aback, so enthralled, it made him wish he could savour the image for as long as he lived. No words, he thought, could do the sheer bright chaos of it all justice, and he longed to be able to sketch as Jean could, just to try and preserve the memory of the sight.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Onyankopon agreed with a smile. 

“I’ve never seen anything like it…”

“I always thought that seeing the world like this makes every hardship of sailing worth it.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Armin murmured. He couldn’t take his eyes away. 

“I like to take the rowboat so I can get a good look at the fish,” Onyankopon said. “I knew you would appreciate them too.” 

Armin looked over at him then, his nerves settling once he realised that Onyankopon didn’t pity him. His tendency to assume the worst was hindering him, he thought. But still - he was glad. It was hard not to be when he was surrounded by a million things he’d never seen before. 

When they passed over the corals and reached water shallow enough to walk in, Onyankopon told Armin to head to the beach so he could row back to the ship and pick up the others who wouldn’t swim. Armin took off his shoes and socks, rolled up his trousers, and shakily stepped out of the rowboat. The water was warmer than Armin expected, and it reached up to his knees as Armin stood on solid ground for the first time in over a month. Looking at Onyankopon, they both laughed from sheer joy - Armin was overwhelmed by the stability beneath his feet. There was sand between his toes, and when he stepped forwards, the ground didn’t rock like the ship or make him dizzy. Armin laughed again, forgetting everything but the feeling, and tilted his head up towards the sun, letting it warm his cheeks. 

“See you again in a moment,” Onyankopon waved, setting off back towards the sand whilst Armin headed for the beach. As he got closer and closer,  Armin’s anticipation grew, running a little until he was at the line between land and sea, the tide washing up at his ankles. He took another step forward, damp sand beneath his feet, and then another, and another until the sand was dry and warm and Armin was on his knees, dropping everything to grab handfuls of it, laughing from the sheer joy. This was land he had never stepped on before, land that even his parents and grandfather would never have touched, that he could explore and collect as a beautiful memory to pass on to others someday. 

Joy was present in the air as the others laughed and lay back on the beach, tilting their faces up to the sun. Armin looked over and saw Jean play-fighting with Reiner, wrestling in the sand as Bertholdt and Historia tried fruitlessly to break them up, and it gave Armin a sour feeling in his stomach that he had to force down to keep himself from spoiling the mood. Was it jealousy? But why?

Once the ship was anchored and all its crew gathered on the beach, Captain Hange stood to address them all. Armin admired how quickly the crew made themselves presentable when their Captain was present, a sign of great respect. 

“We shall stay for a night,” Hange announced with a wide, excited grin, obviously just as excited as their sailors, “and leave tomorrow before sundown. Explore at your own risk, but going alone is forbidden - as is making a mess. This island is not ours; we must leave it as we found it.” 

Beside them, First Mate Ackerman stood looking more than a little annoyed, especially at the sand that stuck to him. Armin found his patience and loyalty fascinating, despite how strict he was, and hoped that his punishment for fighting with Jean wouldn’t be extended to impede on his exploration of the island. He waited for their instructions to be over, and couldn’t help but keep peeking over his shoulder to see what he could spot beyond the trees. 

At the first chance he got, Armin took his journal and found a spot for himself on the beach near one of the tall palm trees, leaning against its trunk as he wrote down each and every detail of the place surrounding him, a gentle smile on his face. He sat in the same position he always imagined his grandfather did when he was a young man exploring these places untouched by humanity, known only by nature. The sun was hot and the sound of the ocean waves rolling over the beach felt like a lullaby, soothing and nostalgic. Armin wrote about the sand, about the sky, about the trees and their strange fruit, about the brightly coloured fish and corals they hid amongst. Engrossed, Armin lost hours of sunlight to his writing, stopping only to drink and admire the landscape. 

“There you are!” Came Reiner’s voice eventually, startling Armin enough to make him blot his pen. “What are you doing all the way over here on your own? It’s almost mealtime!” 

“Sorry,” Armin rushed, startled as he came out of his trance. “Sorry, I was just writing.”

“Come on, join us and swim for a while before we eat,” Reiner said. He sat down beside Armin and bumped against his shoulder. “You’ll have plenty of time to write later.” 

“I don’t know…” Armin murmured. “Maybe later.”

Reiner frowned; Armin knew that look. He wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Come on. Jean’s not there, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” 

“It’s not that!” Armin said quickly. “I’ll come, but… I think I’ll just get my feet wet, look at the corals..."

There was a confused expression on Reiner’s face for a moment as he pieces together, but then he seemed to understand. “What’s stopping you? You can’t swim?” 

Armin turned away, cheeks pink with shame. “No, I can’t.” 

“You got on a ship knowing you couldn’t swim?” Reiner chuckled, but there was no judgement or harshness there. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that. Come on, I’ll show you. Just us, if you don’t want to in front of the others.”

“I don’t think -”

“I’m insisting,” Reiner interrupted. He stood up and held his hand out to help Armin to his feet. “It’s important. If you’re ever knocked overboard, you need to be able to swim to the rowboat. Otherwise, you’re shark bait, like I almost was.” 

Armin paused for a moment, but he took Reiner’s hand and got up, knowing he was right. 

“I feel guilty, keeping you from the others,” Armin admitted as they made their way towards the shoreline. 

“Don’t,” Reiner said. “Like I said - it’s important.”

“Still…” 

“You worry too much. Put your book down and take your clothes off.” 

“All of them?!”

Reiner paused. “Leave your underwear on; I don’t want Jean to kill me.” 

Armin had no idea what he meant by that, but he did as Reiner told him, feeling more than a little self-conscious. Before boarding the ship, Armin never spared the time to think about what he looked like - he kept his hair long so he could tie it back, but that was the extent of it. He’d never considered his shape or his size or strength because before he stepped foot on the Sina none of that was relevant. But once it was - and it really was - Armin realised very quickly that he was nothing like these men, especially Reiner, who was perhaps the largest and the strongest of them all. 

“Is it particularly hard?” Armin asked, feeling very self-conscious standing there in the open wearing just his underwear. 

“Not when the water’s still,” Reiner said. He led the way into the water and Armin followed him tentatively, arms wrapped around his waist. The sun was hanging low in the sky, the breeze was gentle, and the air was warm. Armin looked out at the ocean, staring at the horizon, and thought of how far he had come to make it here. It felt unreal, somehow, that the wind had carried him all that way, but he was grateful to be standing where he was.

“Knowing me, I’ll find a way to struggle,” he murmured. 

“You’ll be fine,” Reiner insisted. “Trust me, I know firsthand.” 

“You do?” Armin asked. “I doubt that…” 

“I was about your size when I joined the Navy, but half as smart - you can imagine how well I got on at first.” 

Armin stopped in his tracks, looking at Reiner in disbelief. He was so muscular, and Armin had seen just how much he could lift, how he could pick Bertholdt up like it was nothing… there was no way arms like his had ever been the same size as his, was there? It felt to Armin like the two of them had nothing in common beyond their hair colour. Realising he’d been staring, Armin looked away, blushing.

“I can’t imagine that at all.”

“Neither can I, now,” Reiner chuckled. “So, trust me, I get it. You’re doing fine, no matter what Jean says. And who knows! Perhaps you’ll be my size someday.”

“Definitely not,” Armin laughed. “I’ve looked like this forever.” 

“Look at yourself; you’ve changed a lot already.” 

Armin went to disagree, but when he looked down, he realised in shock that Reiner was right. He could see muscle in places it hadn’t been before, saw definition in his legs, slimmer, yes, but stronger. It was surreal to say the least. When had he changed so much without noticing? 

“I… didn’t realise,” he said quietly. 

“Give yourself some credit. Like I said, you’re doing fine.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”  

“When you were in the Navy, when you joined… how did you manage?” Armin asked. “What was it like?”

“Necessity,” Reiner said. “When it’s that awful, and that hard, the only thing that keeps you going is that falling isn’t an option. Turns out I surprised myself, became stronger than I thought I could be, and then I got good. I loved the sea, but I always hated the Navy. One day when I was nineteen, I gave up on it. Met Captain Hange that afternoon, and by the evening I was one of theirs.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. Now, come a bit deeper, and I’ll show you what to do.”

Armin was shaky at first, but he was surprised to find that he loved being in the water. When he lifted his feet and floated on his back with his face up to the setting sun, Armin felt weightless, like he was flying. Reiner taught him to keep his fingers touching, how to kick his legs and make sure he could breathe whilst swimming. Moving through the water, Armin found, was so much easier than climbing the rigging. He thought that it would be so much harder than it really was - his arms didn’t ache as he glided through the water, and weeks of climbing ropes had left his legs strong enough to propel him without difficulty. Why did he always assume the worst? What compelled him to think with such criticism towards himself? Armin didn’t know, but for the first time, he wanted that to change. He could do things. He’d proven that to himself over and over. 

“You’re a natural!” Reiner laughed, watching him from a distance, treading water. “I expected you to do fine, but you’re great!” 

Armin beamed, looking down beneath the water to gaze at the corals once more, and the fish as they scattered in swarms when he came too close. “It’s… it’s fun.”

“There, I knew you’d be fine.” 

“I don’t even want to go back,” Armin admitted, looking down in awe as a turtle swam right beside him, curious. Perhaps, Armin thought, it was a first for the both of them, and he was the first human the creature had seen too. 

“We probably should soon,” Reiner said. “I can smell something cooking on the fire.” 

Armin looked towards the shore and the plume of smoke rising in the distance, beyond the cove on the other side of the beach, and felt his stomach complain its hunger to him. For a moment, he thought he saw movement in the bushes. 

“Would you mind coming with me again before we leave the island?” Armin asked.

“I’d be happy to,” Reiner grinned. 

He swam over, then they both headed back to the shore, ready to eat. 

“Thank you,” Armin said once he was dressed again, his journal tucked under his arm. “I’m… really grateful you took the time to help me.” 

“It’s no problem at all,” Reiner said. “Consider it thanks for helping Bertholdt back during that storm. Plus… like I said, I know how hard it is.” 

“That already feels like months ago,” Armin breathed. “I can’t believe it was just a few weeks…”

“Time passes strangely at sea. I feel like I’ve known the crew my whole life. Certainly doesn’t feel like just six weeks I’ve known you, either.”

Armin looked out at the ocean again, saw its endless distance, and nodded. 

“I feel the same.”

Later, when their stomachs were full and the sky was dark, the Sina’s crew lay around the fire on beds of leaves. Armin lay there quietly, watching the fire flicker and burn, traced the embers as they danced from the flames. There was a hazy glow to the air, the smell of woodsmoke, sounds of crackling from the fire and the gentle rolling of the ocean as the tide retreated. Overhead, the moon sat partially obscured by clouds. Armin was awake. The earth beneath him was still; it should have been easy to sleep, but it wasn’t. He missed the way his hammock moved at night. The swaying used to keep him awake for hours on end, but now it felt more like the ocean was rocking him to sleep. Armin closed his eyes. So many times he had been proven wrong over and over, both by himself and his limits, and by others, too. Once, he’d been sure of who he was. Now, he didn’t recognise himself in body or mind. 

Everyone else was sleeping. Armin watched the rise and fall of their chests, the crew of the Sina, breathing as one while he was awake. It made his heart hurt just a little; he didn’t want to give this up, but he wasn’t one of them. Jean had made that more than a little clear. 

Then, just as Armin’s eyes were beginning to close, he saw movement. Squinting, he watched intently as a figure stood up and took a log to the flame, lighting it to make a torch, but it still wasn’t enough for him to be able to tell who it was, especially as he didn’t want to move or sit up in fear of being noticed. He watched as the figure disappeared into the trees, going off alone, and once they were gone, Armin sat up and cautiously followed behind. He could see the light of the torch in the distance, and felt drawn to it, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

Armin followed the figure through the trees until the light stopped, coming to a small clearing where freshwater ran over the rocks and towards the ocean. Moonlight glinted off its surface where it shone through the gaps in the leaves. He peered around the corner, just wanting to see who it was and what they were doing out this late, but when he stopped and saw Jean looking right back at him, Armin froze. 

Their eyes met for the first time since the fight. It wasn’t cold, but Armin felt goosebumps and a chill down his spine, almost unbearable in its intensity, but still he wasn’t able to look away. Jean stared back. Armin could see the hazel of his eyes, the flames from the torch reflected in them, and he was frozen still, staring, completely transfixed. 

When he took a step forward, still in a trance, Armin stepped on a fallen branch and the loud snap of it breaking woke him from the state he was in. Whatever feeling had filled him before was replaced in an instant by dread and shame and embarrassment, and Armin stumbled back, his heart beating so loud he could hear the rush of blood in his ears. 

“You followed me?” Jean snapped, his face illuminated by the orange flame. He was so beautiful , Armin thought, despite everything. 

“I - didn’t mean to,” Armin said quickly, raising his hands, protesting innocence. “I didn’t know it was you. I’m sorry… I’ll - I’ll just go.” 

Armin turned back to run, but Jean’s voice broke through and stopped him dead in his tracks. 

“Wait.” 

There was some strange desperation in his tone that Armin had never heard there before. He stood perfectly still with his back to Jean, too ashamed to turn around and face him once again, but there was a rush , some strange joy at hearing Jean’s voice directed at him for the first time in almost two weeks. 

“I don’t want to argue with you again,” he said quietly. “Please, just… pretend this didn’t happen.” 

“I said wait ,” Jean repeated, and Armin heard him walking over, long strides across the clearing. “Don’t go. You’re not meant to be on your own out here.” 

“That did little to stop you,” Armin replied. He still couldn’t bring himself to turn around and look at him. He was scared that he wouldn’t recognise the expression Jean was wearing. 

And then he felt Jean’s hand on his shoulder. Armin turned; their eyes met again. The fire Jean held crackled and burned between them. Armin couldn’t bring himself to move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even blink. If he looked away, then that tender expression, that softness Armin yearned to know might disappear with his touch. Heat burned in his stomach. With every beat of his heart, every second that passed in silence, the flame grew, and Jean’s touch was its fuel.

“You have a perfect opportunity to be rid of me,” Armin noted quietly. He wanted to see Jean’s feelings in his eyes, but he broke away first, turning around. His silhouette glowed orange. 

“That’s not something I want.” Jean’s voice sounded like it did the night he bandaged Armin’s wounds, but there was no storm to drown out the… affection. Armin stepped forwards so they were facing each other, and looked up into Jean’s eyes. Had they ever been this close before?

“It feels like it,” he whispered, “most of the time.” 

“I’m not going to kill you,” Jean snapped. Armin flinched, wincing, and felt the harshness hit him like a slap to the face - but then Jean sighed and the tension was gone. “Will… will you sit?” 

“Yes,” Armin breathed. “If you’ll talk to me, yes, I will.”

They found a space on a fallen tree branch and sat side by side. Armin felt the anticipation of Jean’s anger, apprehension crawling up his spine. A long silence passed before Jean said anything. 

“I saw you with Reiner. I was… surprised.” 

Armin, realising that Jean had seen him in nothing but his underwear, flushed a deep red and stared down at the ground. A small lizard scuttled by. 

“It was his idea,” he murmured. “Not mine.” 

“I thought so.” 

Another silence fell between them, but Armin didn’t know how to break it. There were so many things he was desperate to ask, but how could he force the words out, when he was so scared of an argument breaking out again? 

“You confuse me,” Jean said softly. “I don’t understand you. I thought I did, but…” 

“I know,” Armin replied, his voice just as hushed, unable to bring himself to look up at Jean, staring instead at his hands as they picked nervously at his sleeve. “I… I know that feeling very well.” 

“Perhaps… perhaps there were things I was wro- that I shouldn’t have assumed.” 

“If you are guilty of that, then… so am I.” 

“Don’t say that,” Jean muttered, turning away again. “Don’t pity me by pretending we stand on even ground.” 

“What do you mean by that…?” 

“I mean I know I - that I let my anger overcome me, and took it out on you. What First Mate Ackerman said was right. I do want to be a captain someday. As I am now… I’d make an awful one.” 

“Jean…” Armin breathed. He didn’t know what to say. It felt like there was no way of comforting him that Jean would accept, so he stayed very still, and listened as Jean continued to speak. 

“I was an unruly child,” he chuckled without humour. “I thought I’d grown out of that until I met you.” 

“I know I don’t belong… I know I’m not a good sailor. But -”

“You’re trying.”

“Yes,” Armin said softly. “I promise I’m trying. But I can barely… I can barely understand you, either.”

“Ask.” 

“What?”

“Ask. Whatever you…  whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you.” 

Armin paused, thinking deeply. What if he said the wrong thing, and sent Jean into a rage again? What if he ruined the one chance he had? He breathed in and let go of his worry on the exhale. Fear wouldn’t solve his problems - so he just asked. 

“How old were you when you boarded the Sina?” 

“I was five,” Jean told him. 

“ Five?” Armin asked, his eyes wide. “Was - did your mother or father sail with you?” 

“No. I was a stowaway.”

“But… why?” 

“There were many reasons,” Jean said. Armin looked at him and saw pain amongst the beauty. “My father was a drunk who wasted away what little we had on drink and card games, and...” 

“And your mother?” Armin asked. His chest hurt. 

“My mother left shortly before I did. Must have not been able to take it anymore. One day she was there, next she was gone with her things. I don’t know; I can’t remember it well.”

“I… I’m not entirely unfamiliar with that feeling,” Armin breathed. “What did you do?” 

“I took after her,” Jean said. “Made my way down to the harbour where I liked to watch the ships coming in and leaving again, and snuck onto the first one I could get to.” 

“And that was the Sina?” 

“Yeah,” Jean said, finally smiling. It warmed his cheeks and made Armin recognise him so much more. He couldn’t help but shift a little closer, compelled by sheer instinct and want. “Yes, it was.” 

“How long did you make it before they noticed you?” 

“Barely three hours,” Jean laughed, shaking his head. It seemed to Armin like he remembered this part of the tale very well. “Captain Hange - well, they weren’t the captain then - insisted the boat was turned around immediately, and so it was, and they marched me right back to my house.” 

“What happened then?” 

“Well, my father was home,” Jean murmured. “And I don’t remember the details, but… what he said was enough to make Hange take me by the hand and take me all the way back to the Sina, and… I suppose that was that.” 

“I’m so sorry…” 

“Why? I grew up well. Far better than I would have at home, no doubt, I would have turned out much more like my father, instead of just inheriting his damn temper…”

“You were a brave child.” 

“Didn’t have much of a choice. And now all I know is the sea and bravery without much room for anything else.”

“I think you’re kind,” Armin said quickly, quietly. 

“I told you not to pity me.”

“I’m not. I mean it. I… never forgot what you did for me the night of the storm. And the whales…” 

“And all the other things I’ve done to you? You yelled at me for those.” 

“Well… they made so much less sense,” Armin murmured.

“Nothing about you makes sense to me.” 

“Well,” Armin said, shaking his head and looking down at his hands, “I suppose that’s because I don’t belong on board, do I? You were right. I’m not one of you… I’m nothing like the rest of you. I’m not strong, or capable… I make maps. I sit inside and make maps while braver men do the exploring.” 

“But you’re here.” 

“Yes… as a means to an end. Jean… don’t pity me, either. You don’t have to make up for it; I know.” 

It was quiet. Jean’s torch was losing its brightness, and Armin could see less and less of the land around them. 

“We should get back,” Jean said with a cough as he stood up, shaking his head as if trying to push away his thoughts. His voice was different again - more like his usual self above deck. It felt strange to Armin, almost unnatural, but he didn’t dare to challenge him.

“Okay,” Armin nodded, agreeing without another word. 

Speaking with Jean was like sailing over rough waters, and he never knew when the storm would blow in again, so Armin bit his tongue and embraced the calm as he followed him back through the undergrowth and back towards the sand. 

Chapter Text

Armin heard the bustle of morning before he opened his eyes. For a brief moment, he had no idea where he was; all he knew was that he was neither in his bed nor bunk. When he opened his eyes and took in the sight of the long white beach and all his crewmates sprawled out around the barely smoking bonfire, the events of yesterday came back to him - Hange’s quarters, finding the island, swimming… and his talk with Jean, too. Most of the others were already awake, stretching as they caught their bearings under the morning sun. Armin watched the waves turn to white foam at the shore and swallowed the persistent urge he felt to strip off right then and there and walk into the cool water. Instead, he rubbed his eyes and took in the scents of lingering wood smoke and sea air, then reached for his things. He tied his hair back so that it would not get in his face when the wind blew, and checked that his journal was just as he left it that night before falling asleep. 

Sipping from his flask of water, Armin wrote quickly and messily, more concerned with getting the words out than anything else. He wanted to document the day he had before, and the things Jean had said, paranoid that he might ever forget them. He looked from his page to the ship sitting still on the water. Five years old… Armin couldn’t imagine boarding the ship at such an age. When he was five, his mother and father had been the ones leaving, not himself. Time and time again, Armin had underestimated Jean’s abilities and bravery, so he resigned himself to the belief that Jean could do anything effortlessly and without so much as a shred of fear. 

Before he even realised what he was looking for, Armin’s eyes found him. Jean was sitting alone on the other side of the fire, staring out at the ocean, that same unreadable expression on his face… but he looked tired, too. His hair was pushed back and messy, even more so than normal, and dark circles sat beneath his eyes. Armin had never seen him looking quite so haggard; it was strange, he thought, especially when everyone else seemed so refreshed by their break. Armin watched the others embrace the morning. Reiner and Bertholdt sat together without an inch between them, arms around each other’s shoulders as they spoke and laughed. Armin could hear Ymir almost begging Historia to come and swim in the ocean with her - privately, she insisted - and Onyankopon was in the distance exploring the other end of the beach with Marlowe. Even the captain seemed in brighter spirits as they laughed and cooed at the rather large bug crawling up their bare left leg. 

It was just Jean who seemed to be having a bad time. 

Nervous, Armin picked up things and made his way over, clutching his half-full flask as a peace offering. There was no way to know where they stood, but at the very least they had spoken , and after the excruciating silence of the last week and a half, any kind of conversation was more than welcome. He walked through the sand with bare feet, hoping that his decision to go over and speak to Jean wouldn’t undo what little progress they had made. 

When Armin got there, Jean didn’t look at him right away. He kept staring out at the ocean, eyes fixed on its expanse. Armin almost felt as if he didn’t exist as far as Jean was concerned, but he willed himself to try. 

“Would you like some water?” he said, stilted and awkward, not knowing if he should sit down or run as far as possible. 

Jean looked at him. Armin wasn’t prepared for the feeling he experienced when their eyes met under the morning sun - he felt like he was going to be sick from the tension of it, of not understanding what Jean was thinking, but then he nodded and gestured for him to sit, taking the flask from Armin’s outstretched hand. If he noticed the way Armin stared at his fingers as he unscrewed the cap, or at his lips as he took a long drink, he didn’t say a word about it. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Armin asked. “You look…” 

“You better not finish that sentence,” Jean muttered. He handed the flask back. Armin began fiddling with it, needing something to focus on that wasn’t the slight sheen of water on Jean’s bottom lip. “I’m fine. It’s just landsickness.” 

“Landsickness…?” 

“When you’ve been at sea as long as I have, it’s solid ground that makes you nauseous.” 

That was fascinating, Armin thought, but he stopped himself before he could ask about it. He had a feeling Jean wouldn’t take kindly to a barrage of questions when he felt so bad. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured instead. He remembered that sick, dizzy feeling all too well from the first few weeks of their voyage. 

“I don’t need your pity,” Jean snapped, making Armin flinch, but then he faltered, and his shoulders sagged as if he knew he shouldn’t have spoken with such harshness. “I… thanks. For the water.” 

Armin took that as a very obvious sign to leave.

“It’s fine,” he smiled gently, sneaking one last look at Jean. “I’ll leave you be -”

“Wait.” 

Jean was making a habit of asking him that, Armin thought; he could get used to it. It was a welcome relief to see Jean looking at him with scornless eyes. 

“Is everything alright?” Armin asked. 

“Yes… yes, I was just… what are you doing with the rest of our time here?” 

“I’m not sure. I asked Reiner yesterday if he’d swim with me again, but besides that, I haven’t given it much thought… though I’d quite like to see more of the island before we leave.” 

“Right,” Jean said. Armin waited for him to speak again, but he was quiet and didn’t say a word. 

“How about you…?” 

“I’ll take a walk. I’ll sketch.” 

“Alone?”

“Yes.” 

“Captain Hange said to go with someone,” Armin pointed out. 

“I suppose they did,” Jean replied. 

They looked at each other. Armin was torn between the thought that Jean was being stubborn and the hope that he might want him to come along.

“You might get lost, or hurt.” 

“I’m flattered that you think so much of my abilities,” Jean replied. His sarcasm didn’t go unnoticed.

“That’s not what I meant! This place is an unknown; you have to be careful.” 

“Join me, then, if you feel the need to protect me.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Will you?” Jean interrupted. 

Armin closed his mouth, his indignance falling away when he realised what Jean meant. It was such a complicated, tedious way to ask for company, but it made Armin’s cheeks flare red all the same. He couldn’t even look Jean in the eye.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I’ll come; but let me get my journal first.”

Not half an hour later, Armin left the beach with Jean, his refilled flask in one hand and his journal in the other. The old book was beaten up and full of memories, almost out of blank pages. The addition of Jean’s sketch made it one of Armin’s most precious possessions, and he knew for the rest of his life it would rarely be out of his arm’s reach. 

Jean was carrying a journal, too. Armin stared at it as he walked a few paces behind, unable to properly keep up with Jean’s long strides, wishing he could peer inside and get to know Jean better by seeing each of the things he considered special enough to commit to paper and memory. Armin wanted to be one of those things he realised; he wanted Jean to remember him in some capacity. It would be impossible to forget about Jean, he knew, but was that feeling reciprocated? Just how many passengers did the Sina carry with her over the almost twenty years Jean had guided her sails? 

How many of them had he sketched whales for?

Armin sighed and walked faster to keep up, as Jean made no effort to slow down for him. Maybe it was silly, maybe he was silly - but there was something incomparable about the way Jean made him feel. He gave him the highest highs, the lowest lows… emotions so strong that Armin could barely remember how it felt to live each day in the monotony of work and sleep, walking the same walk into town with little deviation or excitement. That pedestrian life felt as if it ended years ago, and Armin was eager to never go back to it. Japan, he hoped, would be some kind of middle ground between his old grey life and his time at sea. 

“Keep lagging behind and you’ll get lost,” Jean said from ahead, startling Armin. 

“Sorry,” Armin muttered, jogging again for a second just to catch up. “You’re much taller than me.”

“Then walk faster.”

“Yes, Captain,” Armin said under his breath, and to his surprise, he heard Jean laugh. 

“Call me that again, I could get used to it,” he grinned. 

“Well, now I won’t,” Armin teased. He couldn’t help it, even when he knew it probably wasn’t wise to skirt around the edges of Jean’s temper when seemingly anything could set him into a bad mood. But Jean was smiling, and it suited him; Armin couldn’t look away. 

“Captain Kirstein… it has a nice ring to it.”

“Should I warn Captain Hange of mutiny?” 

“No,” Jean laughed. “No, and if you dared, I’d throw you overboard for it.”

“But you don’t deny it…”

“Of course I deny it,” Jean said, rather harshly, but there was still enough of a wry smile on his face that Armin didn’t feel too uneasy. “I’ll do it - become a captain, I mean. And I’ll do it fairly.”

Armin shuddered to think what kind of qualifications Jean’s crew would need to have in order to live up to his rather high standards, but he couldn’t doubt that a ship run by him would sail flawlessly. 

“You must think about it often,” Armin said. He thought of the faraway look Jean got in his eyes sometimes as he stared out at the ocean on watch as if he could see things none of the rest of them could, and wondered if he was imagining his ship on the waves. 

“I do.”

They walked quietly for a moment, making a path through the trees. Armin tucked his journal under his arm so he could reach with a free hand to touch the bark on the trunks and the lush green leaves dripping with dew. Unfamiliar birdsong, the sound of earth beneath their feet, the distant waves… Armin wished there was some way to preserve the sound of their exploration, but he supposed his own descriptions would have to do well enough. 

By the time they reached a small pool of water and a break in the trees, Armin was breathless from walking so quickly to keep up with Jean, but out of embarrassment, he tried to hide it. Freshwater trickled down the rocks from higher ground, filling a small pool that broke off into a stream and led to the ocean. The water was a perfect blue-green, clear and pretty where the light hit it. 

“This is a good place to stop,” Jean said, his attention focused on the trees. After setting down his journal he went over to them, reaching for the large green fruits hanging at the very top. Armin recognised them - he’d seen the other collecting them on the beach the night before, carrying armfuls to the rowboat, then going to store them on the ship. Jean took two of them, checked them for holes, and beckoned Armin over. “Put your things down and come here.”

“What are they?” 

“Coconuts.”

“Are they safe to eat?” 

“No, I finally felt like getting rid of you.”

Rolling his eyes, Armin went over, watching as Jean took his sailors’ knife and stabbed it into the fruit, twisting to create a small hole in the side. He handed it to Armin then did the same to his own. Armin didn’t do anything until he watched Jean intently, staring as he raised it to his lips and drank . His own thirst had gone unnoticed until Jean swallowed and pulled back, revealing the sheen of liquid on his lips. To hide his blush Armin followed suit and drank, instantly refreshed by the sweet water - it was a struggle not to drink it all at once. 

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Jean asked. 

“I’ve never had anything quite like it…”

“Well, you’ve never been to a place like this. Do you like it?”

“Very much,” Armin smiled, taking another sip. 

“We can stay here for a while. I want to sketch.” 

That was more than fine with Armin. All he wanted was to sit with his journal and write down everything he could about the coconut and this small paradise they had discovered. He sat opposite Jean, perched on a rock with his feet dangling just above the glimmering water, took out his pen, and did just that, writing fast enough to make his hand cramp in a matter of minutes. Across from him, Jean did the same, only his pencil moved in long, slow lines as he sketched. They were both quiet, only pausing in their activity to look up at each other every once in a while. Armin felt the warmth of the sun and tasted the sweetness in the air and wondered if this was the kind of life he would know in Japan. 

By the time an hour passed, the rest of the water from his coconut was gone. Armin took a break and closed his eyes, tilting his head back to the sun. Somehow, he could feel Jean’s gaze lingering on him. Armin smiled. When it was without any hatred or judgement, Armin found that he loved to be seen. 

“What are you drawing?” he asked quietly. 

“This place, as it is.” 

“Can I see it?”

“No.” 

“I figured you’d say that,” Armin murmured, curious but not minding all too much that didn’t want to share. 

“Is that a problem for you?”

“No, it’s your art. I wouldn’t like my personal writings to be read by another, either…”

“Well,” Jean said. “You know you should have no fear of that from me.” 

Armin paused, thinking carefully over what he wanted to say before speaking. Treading on thin ice, Armin knew that saying the wrong thing might result in another argument, and he didn’t want that. 

“Jean… about that… It doesn’t matter. Not at all,” Armin said, setting his things down and walking over to Jean, sitting down next to him. Jean didn’t say anything in return; he simply closed his journal. Armin felt the nerves prickling under his skin. 

Neither of them had the courage to look at the other. 

“Do you want to learn?” Armin asked.

“I’ve got no need to.”

“But do you want to?” 

“Yes.”

“I wish I had the time…”

“Don’t pity me-“

“It’s not pity,” Armin interrupted, a little frustrated, and he faced Jean earnestly, resisting the urge to take his hands and squeeze. “Was it with pity that you taught me how to survive onboard?”

“No. It was an order.”

Armin sighed. “Nobody ordered you to tie me to the deck the night of the storm,” he said softly. “Was that pity?”

Jean stared back at him for a moment, his eyes drifting downwards to his lips. Armin didn’t understand the want he felt, the storm raging in his stomach that urged him to do something ridiculous, something that would surely get him in trouble - 

But before either of them spoke, before Armin could listen to his desires, Jean placed a hand over his mouth, stifling Armin completely. He raised his free hand and placed a finger to his lips. ‘ Quiet.’

When he pulled back, Armin followed his gaze, and when he slowly turned to look behind him, he saw a bird he had never seen before, larger than any bird he had seen before. Letting out a soft gasp, he leaned forwards slowly, aching for a better look at the creature. Its body was completely white, and its wings were a dark grey, bordering on black at the tips. Its bill was thick, grey-green and gave the bird a rather sour-looking expression when paired with its black downturned eyes. It stared back at them as if trying to make sense of what he and Jean were. Armin didn’t dare to move in fear of scaring it off. He admired the bird with fascination, watching as it unfurled its wings, revealing their brilliant white undersides. The span of its wings was huge, stretching out far on each side as the bird attempted to intimidate them. It looked almost twice as wide as Jean was tall - Armin was simply enthralled, not scared in the slightest. He couldn’t stop smiling. 

“It’s very far from home,” Jean murmured. “I’ve never seen an albatross this far north before.” 

“You know what it is?” Armin whispered back. 

“Captain Hange is fond of them. Always made sure to point them out to me when I was small…”

Armin watched as Jean tentatively reached for his journal and opened it to an empty page. His movements were slow as he made sure not to startle the bird, copying its likeness down onto the paper. There, again, was the softness in Jean’s hands that Armin sought to understand. He watched as he replicated each detail of the albatross, from the markings on its head to the black tip of its beak to each individual feather of its wings. It was incredible to see him at work, to see the bird come to life. 

“I’ve never seen one on land either,” Jean continued. “Perhaps it’s raising its young…”

“You’re amazing,” Armin breathed. He looked cautiously from the bird to the sketch and saw its essence there on the page, captured there forever so perfectly in a way that words couldn’t compete with. “You have so much talent…”

“I’d hope so, I’ve been doing this since I was a kid,” Jean mumbled, but he was blushing; Armin was sure of it. 

“It frowns like you do,” Armin chuckled softly, looking at the bird’s downturned expression one last time before it turned and flapped its wings, lifting into the air and disappearing above the trees. 

“You insulted it and scared it away,” Jean said, rolling his eyes, but Armin knew he wasn’t annoyed in the slightest. He could read Jean that much better now, he realised. 

“I didn’t insult it!” Armin laughed. “I said it looked like you.” 

“Oh, so you think that’s a compliment?” Jean asked with a grin; it was Armin’s turn to blush, then. 

“I said it wasn’t an insult ,” he quipped back, and went to retrieve his journal before he looked at Jean too much and let slip that he thought he was incredibly handsome indeed. “Will you tell me more?”

“About the albatross?”

“If you would.” 

“They’re sea birds. Hange told me once that they spend years out at the ocean without touching land. They fly for hours on end at incredible speeds that surpass any boat made by humankind.”

“Really?”

“I’ve no idea how, but yes,” Jean replied. “Normally they live further south. It must have flown for a long time before reaching this island…”

“Out of place…” Armin bit the inside of his cheek when he thought about that, relating all too much to the bird. Having been at sea for a long time before stumbling across such a remote island… he wondered if the bird felt the same uncertainty that he did. 

“I adore them,” Jean said, and he laughed a little. God, Armin thought again, it truly did suit him to have such a carefree smile on his face. 

“I can tell.”

The day passed too quickly. Armin didn’t realise how much time had gone by until he looked up and saw the overcast sky, grey and carrying the threat of rain. The two of them made their way back to the beach, journals tucked under their arms, making small talk as Armin retraced the journey they took to get there. Jean had two more coconuts with him, balancing both with ease; he seemed much perkier than he had that morning, with no trace of nausea from landsickness to be seen. Mostly, Armin was relieved that whatever strange relationship they had was patched up now, and that he didn’t have to worry about being hated by the man he shared a bunk with. 

On the beach, the crew was gathered by the shore, waiting for their turn in the rowboat to make it to the ship. With the sky dark and gloomy as it was now, there was no rush from the sailors to jump back in the ocean and swim as they had when first arriving. 

“You didn’t get to swim again,” Jean said. “I didn’t think we’d be leaving so soon.”

“Well, it’s good we headed back when we did,” Armin replied. “Imagine if we ended up stranded… I’m sure you couldn’t think of anything worse.”

“You underestimate my imagination. I can think of plenty worse than that.” 

Armin smiled down at the sand, knowing that in Jean’s strange way of thinking, that was a compliment. 

“There you both are!” Captain Hange interrupted suddenly, striding over from the other end of the group. “Reiner was convinced you’d drowned him, Jean.” 

“It’s good to know I have your trust, Captain,” Jean replied. “We saw an albatross up close whilst exploring; I wasn’t trying to murder a member of the crew.” 

“You did?!” Hange exclaimed.

As Jean told them all about it, Armin held his journal close to his chest and smiled. Without a doubt, these two days had been the most special of his life - especially as now he felt as if he and Jean understood each other just a little more. He looked back at the trees and the remnants of the fire, then craned his neck up towards the sky where two birds circled each other in flight. He would miss this place dearly, he knew; as his turn on the rowboat came, Armin bid it a fond farewell and thanks for all it had shown him. 

Chapter Text

The next few days hardly felt like hard work at all. Shifts passed by in a breeze, and Armin faced each one with a smile, refreshed each morning by coconut for breakfast and the knowledge he was now strong enough to complete his tasks without special assistance from Jean or anyone else. Even the night shifts, as disorientating as they were at first, had a strange routine to them that Armin fell into. Waking up every other night in pitch darkness to begin his work wasn’t nearly as hard as it was almost two months ago. 

The skies were grey, but the wind blew in a steady rhythm, pushing the Sina forwards towards its destination. With just days to go before reaching Japan, they were close enough to spot other boats traversing the water, larger ones and smaller ones, both Naval and cargo and passenger. It fascinated Armin; he thought about each person aboard on their journey not so different from his and felt a fondness for all he had achieved. The crew were in good spirits, too. Rejuvenated by their time on the island, they worked with efficiency, joking and singing songs that Armin finally knew all the words to. The urge to remember each and every detail grew stronger in Armin with the passing days. 

It felt almost wrong that soon he would say farewell to this life in search of a new one, but Armin ached for it, too. The island and all it held was so new to Armin, but that would be nothing, he thought, in comparison to what waited for him. It was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating, but Armin reminded himself often that it would surely not even be half as difficult as his first few weeks on board the Sina. The hard work, the seasickness, Jean’s harsh tone and gaze… he overcame those obstacles and found himself enjoying what once he had hated. 

One afternoon, as the sun struggled to shine through the clouds, Armin sat writing about all he had done that day. Halfway through his retelling of a conversation with Onyankopon, Armin looked up to see that Captain Hange had come to greet him of their own accord, and he shut his journal with a quick snap then got to his feet with haste. 

“Captain,” he greeted. “Is there something I can help with?”

“No, no, sit down; I just wanted to talk.”

Armin swallowed his fear and did as they said. 

“Is everything alright…?” 

“Perfectly!” Hange nodded. “Yes, you have nothing to worry about - quite the opposite. I’m curious as to what your plans are when we reach land. Do you have work arranged already?” 

“Oh,” Armin said. He hadn’t expected the captain to take an interest in what he’d be doing when he left. “Well, no, I don’t. All I know is that the government there is interested in hiring foreigners in various fields, including cartography.” 

“I see.” Pulling their long hair back, Captain Hange was quiet for several moments, seemingly lost in deep thought. “And is that something you are set upon?”

“I… suppose I must be,” Armin said, smiling a little, looking down. “It isn’t as if I have any option but to go ahead with what I planned.” 

“Not necessarily; you’re welcome to continue with us, should you change your mind.” 

Armin went to voice his surprise, but found himself unable to say a word. He closed his mouth, bit the inside of his cheek, and stared back at the captain. 

“Why?” he asked, brows furrowed, confused. 

“I’m not sure why I wouldn’t extend an offer.”

“But-”

“Remind me,” they said, “of the questions I asked you before you boarded.”

Armin thought back to that day at the port. He was a different man, then, weaker in body and spirit. He didn’t know how to climb the rigging, didn’t know the ways of the ocean or the taste of water from a coconut, or the sight of an albatross up close, its giant wings unfurling… 

“You asked me if I was a hard worker.”

“And what else?”

“If I was a quick learner.” 

“Are you not those two things?” 

“I…” Armin began, then trailed off. He hadn’t thought about it like that before. Far too caught up in Jean’s ability and prowess, Armin often forgot to give himself credit for his own growth - perhaps because he never believed he was capable of it. “When I told you those things, I didn’t really know if they were true.”

“Perhaps not. But you were earnest in your promise - that’s why you became one of us.”

One of us. The words caught Armin off guard. He bit the inside of his cheek again.

“Well, don’t look too excited!” they continued, laughing heartily. “There is no pressure to stay, Armin. From what I have seen, you’re very passionate about what you do - I simply wanted to let you know that the option is there. You fit in well.”

“I do?” Armin asked quickly. 

“Even if you don’t realise it, yes. And you’re a good influence on Jean, at least when you’re not fighting.”

“I’m very sorry for that.” 

“Don’t look so sheepish! I already told you, he deserved to be set straight. Sometimes I think my fondness for him makes me overlook things…”

“I understand,” Armin said, his voice soft. He looked down at his journal, thinking of whales.

“I thought you might,” Captain Hange said knowingly. They gave Armin a look that he couldn’t decipher the meaning of but made him embarrassed nonetheless. “Well. Give my offer some thought.”

“I - I will, I promise.” 

“Good. Now, I’ll leave you be; you’re on night watch tonight, aren’t you?” 

“Yes.”

“Plenty of time to think, then,” Captain Hange grinned. “You’d best get some rest beforehand.”

“I will.”

As it was, Armin couldn’t think about anything else. Throughout the rest of his break, then all through dinner, he couldn’t get the captain’s words out of his mind. One of us. As far as Armin could surmise, they had no reason to lie and so must have been sincere in their offer for him to stay aboard the Sina on its next voyage. It was an honour to be offered that kind of opportunity, but was it truly one he wanted to take? To forfeit his plans in Japan to sail the world? 

‘Do not waste your time on this earth by restricting yourself to just one part of it.’

That was his grandfather’s final guidance, but how much did his advice apply when both of Armin’s options seemed equally adventurous? For his entire time aboard, the prospect of reaching Japan had been his motivation to continue through each and every hardship he faced. It was his plan, his goal , the unknown he had dreamed of since his parents left and he vowed to continue after them. It should have been an easy decision to go through with his plan, especially when life at sea was so desperately hard. The sickness, the sleeplessness, the ache of his muscles and relentless work… yes, the choice should have been easy, but Armin thought of Jean and suddenly everything was so much more complicated. 

Armin felt like a fool, but he couldn’t deny the urge in him. With only a few days to go until they reached land once more, Armin knew he didn’t have enough time to learn all he wanted about Jean. He didn’t know him well enough yet, nor had the chance to see more of his art. Armin even wanted to teach him to read and write, if Jean would allow it. Their time on the island together was everything Armin hoped for in an adventure - staying aboard the Sina would no doubt give way to more beautiful moments, moments like those he shared with Jean, the sight of albatross wings unfurling. 

Yearning for his grandfather’s guidance, Armin spent hours that night pouring over his tales, searching for an answer within them - some hidden meaning he didn’t grasp until then. But there was no comfort to be found in the stories he already knew off by heart, nor did they do much to soothe his spiralling thoughts; everything became more complex with each passing second. Turning to his journal, Armin hoped writing about his conundrum might solve it, but that didn’t help either. He found himself unable to put it into words, to articulate that urge that made him want to stay. 

When sleep came to him, it was restless, and when the bell rang to wake them for night watch, the captain’s offer was the first thing that came to Armin’s mind. He tried to swallow down the endless questioning and focus as he dressed in the low light, aware of Jean’s presence behind him more than ever. He had work to do, even if that was just staring out at the black of the ocean at night for the next four hours. 

It was a warm night; the wind blew only in gentle breezes. Armin rolled his sleeves further up his arms to keep from fiddling with them, and tied his hair back as he stood on the deck, eyes closed, breathing in the sea air, savouring each sensation. Once, he’d been eager to put moments like this behind him. 

“Come and watch in the crow’s nest with me,” Jean said. He walked closely next to Armin as if he could tell that there was something off about him. 

“Is there something wrong?” Armin asked. Although he had been up there once or twice before, Armin was still wary of climbing all the way to the top of the highest mast, not trusting his own strength fully. “Why can’t we watch from the middle-“

“Just do it,” Jean interrupted; his tone left no room for argument, so Armin reluctantly agreed. 

As he began the climb, Armin couldn’t help but think back to that first day when Jean taught him to scale the rigging. He had been rude and standoffish but even then Armin was intrigued by him. When his hands gripped the ropes now, they didn’t burn as they did almost sixty nights ago, but the fear of falling was still ever-present, an instinct that didn’t loosen its grip. He felt the old dull ache in his legs as he pushed himself up, past the middle platform and closer to the stars where the crow’s nest sat as if nestled among them. Jean got there first. Armin was dizzy when he reached the top and took a moment to catch his breath, eyes closed. 

“You were all talk back then, weren’t you?” Jean asked. 

Armin opened his eyes and looked over at him. Neither of them had brought a lantern, so it was only the half-moon’s pale glow that illuminated Jean’s face. The gentle light softened his features, took away their sharp edges. Armin didn’t let himself look for too long. Instead, he found familiar patterns in the stars above, desperate for something to focus on. 

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“When we climbed up to the middle platform the first time.”

“Talk was all I had,” Armin said. “If I didn’t bluff, you would have thought of me as even more weak and useless than you already did.”

Jean chuckled softly at that, all but admitting that Armin was right in his assumption. 

“Perhaps,” he said. “You insisted you didn’t need my help climbing…”

“It might have been a bluff, but I wasn’t wrong,” Armin pointed out. He snuck a look at Jean, saw the half-smile on his face, then looked away again, blushing. 

“Well it’s good for you; I did say I wouldn’t catch you if you fell.”

“It was very accommodating.”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” Jean murmured. “There’s a reason for it. You have to learn fast at sea. In moments of crisis, it’s not only your life on the line, you know.”

“I do know,” Armin said. He furrowed his brows. A moment passed in silence. 

“What are you frowning like that for?” Jean asked. Armin looked up and their eyes met for just a second - it sent a chill down his spine that felt out of place in the warm night. 

“Guilt, I suppose,” Armin replied. “I assumed you hated me…”

“I didn’t give you much reason to believe otherwise,” Jean laughed, nudging him as if they were close friends, but then his joking tone fell away, and he became quiet. “But… you shouldn’t have.” 

Armin swallowed. He didn’t want to leave Jean, as strange as that was to admit to himself. Though he tried to speak, he couldn’t get the words out. He rolled down his sleeves and began to fiddle with them. Jean didn’t hate him. Just that simple revelation made his heart race… 

“You’ve been off all day,” Jean continued. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you, or not?” 

“What - what do you mean?”

“You’ve been quiet and deep in thought.” 

“You noticed…?”

Jean scoffed. “It was hard to miss.”

“I spoke with Captain Hange today,” Armin said. He watched a cloud pass over the moon. 

“What did they say?”

“They… asked only what my plans are when we reach land,” Armin lied. What good would come of telling Jean what they really said? “I suppose I’ve just been anxious about starting anew in a country where I speak very little of the language…”

“You’re worried about that?” Jean asked. 

“I worry about everything,” Armin replied softly. “It’s a habit of mine.”

“You’ll be fine. Like you said, when you shouted at me - you try hard. I like that about you.”

Armin stared at him, mouth slightly open, cheeks burning, repeating those words over to himself. He was a mess of nerves, heart pounding, stomach tied in knots - but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, the heat he felt all over was pleasant in the same unknown way as discovery, something new, something that Jean brought out in him. 

Jean looked right back and didn’t break eye contact. Up in the crow’s nest, Armin felt as if he were soaring, like there was wind under his wings. Their knees were touching as they sat there together. Like everything else Jean had shown him, Armin knew his words wouldn’t do the moment justice. 

If Hange asked him now, he would have promised to stay for as long as there was water to carry them. 

‘I like that about you.’

“But - besides… you must have a plan?” Jean continued. Armin stared at him; he had no idea what he was talking about. 

“I’m sorry?”

“For when you get to Japan. You have a plan, don’t you?”

“Oh,” Armin said, blinking a few times to try and break himself free of the trance he was in. “Well, I’ll go to the embassy first, and make a real plan from there.”

The memory of Hange’s offer remained persistent in the back of his mind. 

“That’s quite a risk.”

“I’m sure it won’t be as bad as the first few weeks here,” Armin said. But what if he didn’t go at all, he thought? What if he stayed?

“I was sure you wouldn’t last a week, but you proved me wrong,” Jean admitted. “You’ll be fine there, I’m sure.”

“Did you think we would have to turn the ship around?”

“That, or you’d simply refuse to do a thing.”

“You would have killed me,” Armin murmured. 

“Maybe so… it’s good you did as I said then, isn’t it?” 

Armin huffed out a little laugh, looking back up at the stars. He and Jean leaned a little closer to each other, though neither said a thing about it. 

The clouds were rolling in, and the wind picked up. Armin watched it blowing in the sails beneath them. He untied his hair and let the wind rush through it as he tilted his face up to the sky. It was loud, but not enough so to drown out the ocean as the ship cut across its waves. Armin shivered slightly. It was colder up above, but he never wanted to move. When once he’d hoped for these shifts to pass as swift as sleep, Armin yearned now that the night would stretch out as endlessly as the ocean, that they might be able to outsail the sun that threatened to rise behind them. 

“I’ll regret never knowing your stories,” he murmured. 

“I’ll regret never being able to write them down.”

“Will you tell them to me? Will you let me write them for you?”

Jean didn’t say anything for a few moments. Armin braced himself for inevitable rejection with his eyes closed, not daring to hold out hope. He was about to brush off his request when Jean spoke. 

“I was seven or eight,” Jean said, his voice calm and gentle, recalling something fond. “We were on route north, carrying cargo to Norway - I can’t remember what it was. It was so cold that the ocean froze in great mountains of ice we had to navigate around or risk the ship tearing to pieces. The deck was slippery with ice, and the rigging turned our fingers blue. It was so deep into winter that the sun rose only for a few hours in the day before it was gone again.”

Armin, fascinated, leaned forwards with wide eyes, recalling nothing like that from any of his parents’ letters or even his grandfather’s stories. It seemed this was a part of the world his family had never touched.

“How did you manage to survive?” he asked. “Those conditions seem lethal, especially to one so young.”

“Willpower,” Jean replied. “Or perhaps it would be better described as stubbornness… either way, it was colder than I had ever known it to be. But it gave way to what I thought at the time must surely be magic.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“It appeared two nights before we reached land. The sky… it began to glow.”

“Like a sunrise?”

“Nothing like that,” Jean said. Armin heard the smile in his tone before he looked and saw it there on his face. “I never know the words to do it justice like you might be able to, but it was like a paintbrush had been taken to the sky. It was glowing green and yellow in strange spirals, lifting up and turning to purple and blue, filling the whole sky with light, shifting as it moved.”

“How - but how is that possible?!” Armin asked, leaning in even closer, forgetting the wind and the cold and everything but the image Jean was painting for him. “What causes it?”

“I don’t know,” Jean replied. “Captain Hange was shouting and yelling, trying to figure it out. I can just imagine the look on your face…”

“I wish I could see.”

“It glowed on the surface of the ocean, too… I remember being so convinced the light was shining from beneath, so Hange let down the rowboat with me on it, and I put my hands into the freezing water and watched the ripple of the sky’s reflection when I moved. They laughed at me when I came back up complaining about my cold fingers...”

“It does sound like some kind of magic,” Armin breathed. He found himself getting teary-eyed at just the description of such a phenomenon and sniffed a little. Would he get to see the glowing sky if he remained on board the Sina? “How long did it last?” 

“Just a few minutes, but a few hours later, they returned, then left… and I think they appeared twice more nights later.” 

“That’s incredible…”

“I forgot all about the cold,” Jean smiled. Armin looked from him to the sky and back again. “I sat right here and tried to draw it myself, but I got so angry when I couldn’t get it right.”

“You ought to try again from your memory now that you’re older.”

“There’s little I could do without colour,” Jean said. “But… perhaps.”

The hours passed in stories and fondness and laughter. Armin hadn’t been so enthralled since his grandfather was still with him. He listened, enraptured, as Jean spoke of rogue waves taller than mountains and of meeting Historia for the first time, on the run from her husband, brandishing a knife and a thousand threats. Ymir had been instantly smitten, Jean recalled fondly. Armin learned about various port cities across the Americas and Africa, listened with bated breath to the tale of a close encounter with pirates, and almost cried when he learned that Jean didn’t know the date of his own birth. He wasn’t tired in the slightest; in fact, Armin had never felt quite so awake, or quite so alive. 

“I’ve never told these stories before,” Jean said, looking out as the morning light teased the horizon. “I’ve never told anyone much of anything about myself.”

“I’m honoured to listen,” Armin said, looking at him with a gentle smile. This was the Jean he had been so desperate to know. 

“What about you?” Jean asked suddenly. 

“Me?” 

“Yes, you. Don’t expect me to go on forever… tell me a tale for once.”

“Oh,” Armin murmured. “Well, there was this story of my grandfather-”

“Not one of his,” Jean interrupted. “Tell me a story that’s yours.”

Armin paused, biting the inside of his cheek. “There’s nothing nearly as exciting as what you’ve told me.”

“I don’t care. Tell me anything.”

“I.. really mean it when I say my life was terribly dull,” Armin chuckled. There was no humour to be heard in his soft laughter. “Until I boarded this ship, every ounce of excitement I had ever felt was second-hand, passed down in a story. I suppose it isn’t something I should complain about - nothing terrible, nothing catastrophic happened. Even when I found out about my parents’ death, it had been so long since I had seen or heard from them that it was hard to recognise as new loss, and when my grandfather died… it was a kindness that his suffering came to an end. I had nobody to love, but nobody to hate, or who hated me… my life was exceptionally fine, but I couldn’t stand it.”

“And then?” Jean asked. 

“Well, everything turned on its head,” Armin smiled. “Suddenly I was experiencing the worst exhaustion and pain… but also the most thrilling beauty. I saw things I never thought I would see with my own eyes. I love it… more than anything…”

“I don’t think any other life can compare to this,” Jean said. He took Armin’s hand and got to his feet, pulling him up - Armin didn’t have a chance to question the feeling of their fingers entwined before all his thoughts were stolen by a gust of wind that came from nowhere. Armin laughed, squeezing tightly onto Jean’s hand, and stared out at the ocean, weightless, almost flying as his hair billowed out behind him. 

He laughed, gleeful and giddy, raising his other hand into the air. 

There was no denial in his heart that Jean was right. 

Chapter Text

Two more days passed. Armin was a worried mess of indecision most of the time and enamoured by Jean the rest. The magical feeling that settled over him up in the crow’s nest made its return every time the two of them were alone. They didn’t speak about it, but what went unsaid was made up for in gentle, brief touches - knees leaning against each other at mealtime, their hands lingering close on the rigging, Jean’s hand on the small of his back when they walked through a tight space. Before boarding the ship, Armin could count the number of people who had touched him on one hand. He wasn’t used to it, but it was addictive, each touch leading him to crave another. With the frequency at which it happened, Armin couldn’t help but wonder if Jean felt the same way, but he was much too afraid to ask or instigate anything more. 

On Sunday afternoon Armin found Jean sitting on the edge of the deck, staring out at the horizon they sailed towards, tying and untying the same knot over and over. When Armin went over to sit beside him, Jean didn’t avert his gaze from the ocean - he seemed to know it was him nonetheless. 

“Who knows when we might see land,” Jean said. “More boats have been passing by… Japan could come into view at any moment.”

“You’re restless,” Armin said. He could tell something was wrong just by the way he spoke and sat with his shoulders all hunched and tense. 

“And you’re nosy.” 

“It’s more like concern.”

Jean sighed. “How is everyone doing?”

“They’re well. Excited, I think.”

“And you?”

“I’m excited too, if a little nervous,” Armin smiled softly. “Don’t you feel the same?”

“No. Something feels… off. Wrong, somehow.” 

“Do you fear we went off-course?”

“No, it isn’t that. I’ve just got this feeling… ”

Armin bit his lip. Was it possible that Jean was reluctant to say goodbye? Could Armin think so highly of himself? 

“Describe it to me,” he said gently. Their shoulders touched; Jean leaned into it. 

“Something is wrong, but I can’t place what it is. I can hardly think straight half the time…” 

“Are you concerned about landsickness?” 

“That isn’t it. I don’t know what it is,” Jean said, twisting the rope he held. Armin looked at him, saw his fingers rubbed red-raw by the friction of tying the same knot incessantly, and reached over to take his hand, swallowing his nerves. He brushed his thumb over Jean’s calloused palm but couldn’t look him in the eyes. Had he ever been so aware of his own heartbeat? “But I can smell it.”

“What can I do to make things better? Or easier, at least?” 

“I don’t need your help,” Jean muttered, scowling - but he didn’t let go of Armin’s hand. He only squeezed it tighter. 

“Jean.”

Moments passed quietly. Above, the clouds grew heavy with rain.

“Okay,” Jean sighed eventually. “Okay. Let’s just get back to work fast, then we can sleep when it’s done. We were slacking before.”

There would be no sleep that night. 

It first hit while the crew were below deck - a crack of thunder so loud it made the whole ship rattle, knocking forks against the metal bowls they ate their dinner from. It had been raining solidly for hours, drumming a steady beat upon the wooden planks, picking up as the wind whipped into a fervour. Each of them had been hoping desperately that the weather would blow over so they could sail into the port under clear skies, but that flash of light and the low rumble that followed was confirmation of all their fears. 

Bertholdt spoke first. He gripped the table, knuckles turning white. 

“Was that-“

“Thunder,” Reiner finished, standing up. Armin looked at him and then to Jean. He saw the realisation and just a spark of fear before he narrowed his eyes, determined. 

Suddenly, the hatch above opened and with the onslaught of rain came also the loud authority of the first mate’s command. 

“All hands on deck! Each and every one of you, up here, now!”

The larboard’s dinners were left half-finished as they rushed up the ladder and out into the rain. Armin felt the burst of terror in his heart, that same fear he felt in the storm, but with an even greater sense of dread - they were approaching land, nearing cliffs that would tear the ship to pieces if the wind and tide carried them too close. If hit, those serrated rocks would rip the belly of the ship out from underneath them and shred the crew and cargo, leaving them all doomed to certain death. Armin could hardly make sense of the realisation as he watched the others scramble one by one up the ladder, almost in a daze until his turn came. Armin made haste but faltered when he looked upwards and saw the thunderous purple sky. It was supposed to be light out, still hours off sunset - but it was so dark, now, as if the sun had just dipped below the horizon. Rain came down in lashes from pitch black clouds, hitting the deck and the sails, creating such a din that Armin could hardly hear the orders from the captain as they fearlessly commanded from the ship’s wheel.   

“Jean,” Armin gasped, already soaked through from the rain. Something was different, he could feel it - a dread that came from within and dwarfed whatever fear he’d experienced during the first storm. “What do we do?”

“As the captain says,” Jean replied. He took him by the hand and squeezed. Armin saw him more clearly than he ever had, saw the way his hair stuck to his forehead, and tried desperately to replicate the determination and confidence written clear as day across his strong, sharp features. “Just follow their command, and we’ll be-”

And out of nowhere, then, came the force of a giant, freezing wave that sent them all backwards, knocking Armin off his feet and to the deck. The saltwater got in his mouth and his eyes, stinging and making him cough. Dazed, he tried to make out anything but the purple haze of the storm, but he was too disoriented to recognise anything until the familiar grip of Jean’s hand grounded him once again. 

“Come on!” Jean called, not letting go as they followed the others, battling against the wind and rain to get within earshot of the captain, desperate for orders. Each drop of rain hit with bruising force; Armin had to fight to keep from closing his eyes, though the water came down with such power that it was hard to see through at all. Several times they fell again, knocked down by waves they couldn’t see until it was too late. 

But eventually, they made it and heard the captain’s voice carry past the howling wind. 

“We must head into the storm!” they shouted from above, long hair blowing out behind them in the wind. “I want each of you manning the sails - if there are any injured, take them below deck to safety!”

Armin looked at Jean, still clinging to him to keep from falling, his entire body shaking from the rush of the danger. “What about the sails?!” he cried. “Won’t they rip?”

“It’s a risk we must take!” Jean shouted back. “We’re too close to land to risk being carried by the wind and towards the shore - come on!” 

There was no safety of rope tying him to the deck this time. Armin risked everything with the others, going to man the sails, pulling back on the ropes to alter the direction so they were sailing upwind and into the oncoming waves. There was barely enough time to recover from one wave hitting before the next came. It was a struggle to breathe and even harder to stand. Armin struggled, spitting out the seawater that filled his mouth and blinked away what got in his eyes, staring at Jean in front of him as motivation, watching his strength which the wind was no match for. Jean could not be toppled in conditions like these, but turning the sails to face the opposite way was no easy task even when the sun was shining. He struggled, but his power beat every adversity. Armin begged for just a fraction of his determination and strength, desperate to find something hidden within him that could face the might of this storm. 

The shouts and calls from the sailors were lost to the screaming of the wind. Armin saw their mouths moving but heard nothing at all. It terrified him - what if they needed help? What if Jean called for him and he couldn’t hear his plea? 

What if nobody heard his?

Armin shook his head, trying to focus on the rope in his hands as he pulled it back, slipping slightly on the slippery floorboards. Thoughts like that would devour him, he knew. Jean seemed to never feel afraid at all. Whether that was true or not, Armin had to control himself in the same way. He was a sailor, he repeated in his head. He would live through this, the final hurdle of his journey. There was no way he could go down with the ship’s bones as his parents did so long ago - his tale had to end differently. Armin just had to live to be able to tell it. 

The work continued, minutes stretching out into hours, or so it felt. Armin didn’t know the time or how long had passed. All he knew was his pain and his duty, to keep the boat sailing into oncoming wind and towering waves. The sails bent at such an angle that it seemed they would snap and come cracking onto the deck like a whip, taking them all with it. His whole body ached as if he had fallen from a high place, bruises forming down his side and hips already, and the constant drenching of crashing, freezing waves was enough to make Armin forget what warmth ever felt like. The agony was almost unbearable... but what was to say his pain was worse than anyone else’s? Nothing at all. They were all the same under the eyes of the storm that raged and screamed and never stopped building, that grew only fiercer with each passing minute, that -

Ripped the front sail in two, tearing straight down the middle as if it were nothing more than a sheet of paper. Armin looked up through the rain in the dark and felt the storm’s power so immense that it paralysed him. Fear, awful, crippling fear - the certainty of death seemed undeniable. What was he compared to the sails that carried them here, the sail that was now torn and billowing out in two pieces? Nothing. And perhaps it would be better, in the face of what his strength couldn’t compete against, to greet his insecurity like an old friend and go with acceptance. Armin could not see the others as they continued the fight. He only saw the approaching wave, that monstrous wall of water, twice as tall as anything else that had hit the deck. He could not move; all his determination had been washed away.

“Armin!” 

The voice cut through the wind. Armin turned to it and saw Jean as he abandoned the rope he used to steer the sails. Jean, drenched and running towards him, skidding down the sharp incline of the leaning ship, his hands out in front of him. Without the time to brace himself, Armin toppled when Jean crashed into him, but he felt his hands, felt the warmth of them around his waist. 

And then came the wave. It broke over them, hitting with such force that it didn’t feel like water at all - more like a solid block of ice. Jean took most of it, shielding Armin with his body. Nothing could protect him from those awful, endless seconds underwater, breathing in the saltwater. When air came, he choked, spitting it out, finding little relief when the ship tilted harshly forwards and sent them in the opposite direction. 

“Are you injured?!” Jean asked, the both of them getting to their feet when the ship was at a stable enough angle. “What were you doing?!”

“I - I couldn’t move,” Armin replied, still coughing and choking on air. “I saw it but I - I couldn’t move, and…”

The ship rocked harshly again and there was a flash of light - lightning had struck so closely that there was no gap between it and the thunder that seemed to rumble from deep under the sea. Armin watched with horror at the condition of the ship and its crew, broken barrels scattering their contents, sailors clinging to ropes to keep from falling. He couldn’t tell if everyone was safe, couldn’t tell who was who or if they were all there. Holding onto Jean, he didn’t dare to let go. 

“Is everyone alright?!” came Reiner’s voice through the chaos. The wind blew weaker for a moment, though the rain showed no signs of stopping. They gathered by the platform that led up to the ship’s wheel, soaking and shivering. 

“We need help over here!”

Across the ship, Ymir was carrying Historia in her arms. She was limp and lifeless, unconscious, and reality struck Armin like lightning again, the severity of this peril he found himself in. Not only his life was at stake. 

“What happened?” Reiner called over the rain. 

“The force of the wave knocked her out,” Ymir gasped. She was injured, too, bleeding from her bottom lip. “I need to make sure she’s-“

“Orders from Captain Hange!” First Mate Ackerman shouted, his voice carrying easily, loud enough for them all to hear. “The course of action has changed. The injured are to be taken below deck - Freudenberg, help the doctor - and the rest of you are to take in the sails that remain. 

“W-what?!” Armin turned to Jean. “What if it carries us to the rocks?”

Jean was staring up at the sky, rain hitting his face. The wind picked up and howled ; above, the ripped sail billowed madly outwards. 

“This is no storm,” Jean told him. Their eyes met. Jean’s irises looked purple from the reflection of the sky. “This is a typhoon.”

“But-“

“Go and help the others below deck,” Jean interrupted, grabbing Armin by the shoulders and holding on tight. He was soaking wet, shirt transparent and sticking to his skin, brows furrowed, his eyes shining, pleading. 

“I’m not injured,” Armin insisted, but Jean took him by the arm and led him across the deck with the others fighting against the wind and rain. Reiner was carrying Historia, now, as Ymir helped Onyankopon walk on an injured leg. “Jean, let me help!”

“It’s too dangerous! You’d get hurt!”

“Let me try, at least!”

“No - no, go below deck and help the others-”

“I won’t be useless!” Armin shouted, pushing his soaked hair out of his face, yanking his arm out of Jean’s grip so he could tie it back. 

“But you could die.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?!” Armin cried. “That I risk my life for this ship? Let me be one of you, I’m - I’m able, so let me! Captain Hange ordered it!”

Jean simply pushed him towards the others and made for the rigging himself. Armin looked at the hatch. Jean would have to shove him down there himself and tie him up if he wanted to keep him from his duty. The prospect of death did not settle itself in his mind - this was just a story, a tale he’d tell into his old age. And he would tell it. 

Armin followed Jean to the rigging, stumbling, using his arms to shield his face from the rain. He knew he wasn’t as strong as any of them, but he could climb, and if the sails weren’t taken in, they would rip, or worse - take the masts down with them, and tear the ship apart. 

“Why are you doing this?” Jean yelled, holding onto the rigging. 

“I care about this ship, and you, and everyone on it,” Armin shouted back. He finally made it there and held on as tight as he could as they were hit again by a wave that came crashing over the deck. “I’m coming up with you!”

“Armin,” Jean spoke over the thunder and crashes of lightning. They did not look away from each other’s eyes.

“Jean,” Armin pleaded in return. “Let me do this.”

“If you - if you fall… I might not be able to catch you.”

Armin reached for Jean’s hand and squeezed it, staring up at him with the same determined expression he saw Jean wearing so often. 

“I won’t need you to.” 

Those words had once been a bluff, but Armin had no choice to believe them now. Before he could do a thing or even see Jean’s reaction, he felt his hand cupping his cheek, and suddenly Jean’s lips were pressed against his own for the most blissful moment, an embrace both desperate and sweet, timeless though it lasted no more than two seconds. Armin kissed back before he even knew what happened, lost in it. Things made no more sense about Jean than they had before; all Armin knew was that if this kiss was both his first and last, he could be satisfied. 

They pulled back, staring at each other. Armin, breathless and in shock, was frozen to the spot. Jean cupped Armin’s face in both of his hands, kissed him once more, and stared at him until another crack of lightning hit the ocean. 

“You’ll kiss me again,” he stated with certainty, leaving room for no other option. “Now come on.” 

With that, Jean began to scale the rigging, strong and fast as if the wind was no obstacle. Armin followed. His hands already burned from the grating friction of ropes, and they shook from the sudden kiss. It was too dangerous to linger on thoughts of love, he knew, but the promise of Jean’s embrace was motivation, so he followed.  Each rung he climbed made his muscles scream for rest that couldn’t come. The wind threatened to tear his grip from the ropes, made it hard to breathe, made the very act of moving difficult, but they continued. He saw First Mate Ackerman reach the top of the tallest mast before he was even halfway up his own, followed by Reiner. Armin could only hope with all his strength that Onyankopon and Historia were okay below deck. They had to be. Any doubt he let in would poison his strength and cause him to fall. 

“Faster!” Jean shouted from above. Armin answered by doing just as he said. Just one more rung, over and over, one more pull, one more minute bracing against the wind. The masts bent and swayed nauseatingly, their wailing creaks a cry of pain, a plea that any more force would cause them to splinter and snap as easily as a toothpick. The higher they climbed, the further Armin was sent when they bent backwards, and the harder he had to hold on. Looking down, face-to-face with the ocean that would swallow him should he make a single mistake, Armin was intoxicated. It was so destructive, yet so beautiful… 

But they kept climbing, up and up until they reached the ropes that would allow them to take in the sails. Both of them were panting, exhausted, unable to hear a thing over the whistle of the wind. Jean motioned to what he had to do, gesturing the method, and Armin nodded again, reaching up to help him. He barely had the strength to pull - he yelled as he used all his force and weight, pulling and pulling with everything he had, fighting against the wind. The rope slipped in his hands, burning his palms and making him cry out in pain, but he held on again, knowing that if he let go, if he made any mistake, it could mean their death. He pulled and pulled until the sails began to gather and come in, folding as the wind tried its best to keep them open. Armin couldn’t help but laugh from sheer shock as he watched his strength helped beat something far bigger than him, giddy with relief that they actually managed. 

“Tie them to the mast!” Jean called, gesturing. “Hurry!” 

Armin did, looking out at the others, too, saw their sails coming in and their figures beginning to descend down the rigging again. He tied the strongest knot he knew, the knot he saw Jean constantly tying and untying whenever he was anxious. There was blood on his palms; Armin’s body ached, crying for mercy, but its ordeal was not over yet.

Looking down was nauseating. The deck seemed so tiny below as it struggled against waves so much bigger than it. Armin was not so delusional or full of adrenaline that he could forgo sheer terror, and he looked to Jean with fear in his eyes, but Jean only looked back as if telling him he had no other choice, so down they went. Having to trust the ropes would be below his feet made every step down feel uncertain. It was hard to trust anything when the wind blew with such devastating force; Armin just kept moving down, eyes closed, trusting, trusting. 

They were barely a third of the way down when the rigging was blown so harshly in the opposite direction that they were flung backwards towards the mast. Armin clung on. He couldn’t prepare or even hope for any outcome as everything happened so fast , so fast that he didn’t have time to think before the boat rocked and a wave broke over them, drenching Armin all over again. He was hanging on with both his hands, feet scrambling for purchase, coughing up seawater. He had to swing to allow his feet to reach the ropes, and was so close to relative safety when from nowhere another wave crashed into the side of the ship, breaking what attached the ropes to the deck. 

The rigging, now only attached at one end, was taken by the wind and sent hurtling to the mast with both Jean and Armin on it. As Armin realised what happened, he felt the urge to let go and let himself fall to the deck, but how could he, when he had promised Jean wouldn’t need to catch him? 

They hit. There was the thud of his body against the beam before the pain hit, and then all Armin heard was his own screaming. White-hot agony seared through his right shoulder, leaving him holding with just one arm. He couldn’t move the other - it hung limply, useless as broken rigging. The sight of it there, as if not his own, made Armin want to throw up. 

“Ar-” came a hoarse shout; Armin looked down to see Jean bent double on the middle platform. “Drop!”

Jean could hardly breathe; Armin could hear his breathlessness, saw him injured, and he was gripped by terror. He grit his teeth, fingers slipping, unable to bring his useless arm up to save himself. All he could do was what Jean said, trusting that he would land on the platform. There was a rush of air and panic and then he landed in a heap, his arm in even worse condition than before. It was the worst pain he had ever experienced, worse than any childhood injury or ache of life at sea, just raw, sheer pain. 

Armin grasped for purchase, trying to get up, lifted by the back of his shirt thanks to Jean. 

“My - my arm-”

“Dislocated,” Jean wheezed. It looked like speaking was impossibly painful - Armin’s concern for him was the only thing that could eclipse his pain. 

“You’re hurt,” he gasped, reaching for him, touching his face.

Jean shook his head, wincing. Not now, his eyes said. “Stay still.” 

Before Armin had time to react, Jean’s hands were on him, touching his shoulder. His vision turned black around the edges when suddenly he heard a snap as Jean pushed his arm back into place with no warning or preparation. Armin screamed. The sound of it made him gag, but the pain was even worse. 

“You’re okay,” Jean promised, holding his face in his hands, looking him in the eyes. Armin nodded, teary and desperate for relief and rest, for this to be over. If he made it down, kept fighting for just a little longer, he could know the feeling of his lips again and have something to drown out the noise and the pain and the terror. 

“We’re okay,” he replied. “I - I think I can climb.”

“Slowly,” Jean said, wincing again. 

“Slowly.” 

It was arduous. Armin was close to falling every second rung; it did not help that with one side unattached, the rigging swung in such a way that it hit against Armin’s injured shoulder. When they were close enough to the deck to jump, they did, landing on the deck in the rain as another wave came to drench them. 

“Are you injured?” shouted Captain Hange, running to them across the ship, leaving the first mate at the wheel as they came to check on them both. 

“My shoulder - it dislocated,” Armin explained, holding it gingerly. Each droplet of rain that hit it felt like a punch. “And Jean can’t breathe well, I - when the rigging came down, we slammed into the mast-”

“Both of you, get below deck and stay in safety. We’re going to be alright, thanks to you both, and everyone is safe-”

“I can still…” Jean started, cut off as he winced. “I’m okay-”

“That’s an order,” Captain Hange commanded, stern and insistent. “Go. Now.”

Jean deflated, agreeing - together, he and Armin staggered to the hatch, foregoing the ladder in favour of jumping right down. Neither of them had the strength to hold onto the rungs. It was dark inside, chaos, but at least it was drier and safe from the wind. Armin led them to their cabin in the dark, stumbling on mess strewn by the violence the ship had undergone, and when he made it there, it was hard not to collapse from sheer relief. Shaking, freezing cold, Armin began to shiver, leaning on the wall. 

“Do you need to see the doctor?” Armin asked, looking up at Jean, taking his hands. 

“No. It isn’t as bad… just hurts,” Jean said slowly. “You’re cold…”

“I’m okay,” Armin promised softly. “What happened?”

“My chest hit the platform… winded me.” 

“You should rest, Jean.”

“Soon,” he said. “Let me help you.”

Armin looked at him with tears in his eyes, saw the gentleness, the vulnerability in Jean, and nodded. Jean stepped forwards, close. His scent was comforting, and his hands made Armin feel safe. It was hard to deny the love that surged through him; he could only hope that Jean would keep his promise and kiss him again when their pain was all said and done. 

Jean undid the buttons of Armin’s shirt one by one, eyes fixed on his chest, careful not to pull on the fabric and hurt his shoulder. He held his breath, looking back and forth from Jean’s face to his hands. 

“You need to warm up,” Jean murmured, gently working his way down, button by button. Armin shivered, freezing, though his face burned. 

“So do you,” he whispered. 

“We’ll share my bunk… can you manage with your trousers?”

“Yes,” Armin swallowed, but after everything, he didn’t have it in him to resist or act shyly. Staring down into the black depths of the ocean and seeing death look back was enough to make Armin refuse to hold back from anything. All he wanted was for Jean to wrap his arms around him and give him safety where there was none. 

Jean took off his shirt and fastened it into a sling. Armin saw the dark bruising across his ribs and let out a shaky breath. 

“It must hurt,” Armin whispered. Jean shook his head. 

“It will heal,” he replied softly, taking Armin’s bad arm and fastening his shirt around it, keeping it bent over his chest. “When I speak quietly, it isn’t so bad. Is that too tight?”

“It’s okay.” 

“Come, then,” Jean said, and helped him into the hammock before getting in himself and pulling the blankets from both their bunks around them. It took some shifting for them both to lie comfortably but was warm and dry. Armin rested on his side with his head on Jean’s chest, above the bruising so he didn’t hurt him. He could hear the beating of his heart, and lay there, just listening until his body stopped shaking and he felt warmth again. 

“We lived,” he whispered, exhausted.

“Idiot,” Jean said, chuckling. Armin could hear the smile in his voice and it made him want to cry. “Of course we did…”

“I’m sorry,” Armin choked out. He didn’t know why he was crying, but he couldn’t hold back his tears. “I’m sorry…”

“What for?”

“If I worried you, and for fighting with you…”

“No,” Jean said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I was wrong about you, I was so wrong . And love made a hypocrite of me… I knew you were capable, I was just…”

“I still… I still don’t understand you at all,” Armin laughed tearily, looking up at him with such deep affection, with love he didn’t know he was capable of or where it had even come from. 

“Nor I,” Jean replied. He leaned in and their lips met in the kiss Jean had promised, curled up together, skin-to-skin, holding each other in a way neither of them had been held before. The storm above raged on, but with each strike of lightning, the time between it and the thunder stretched out longer - they were drifting away, taken by the tide and gently, gently, towards land.

Chapter Text

After many more hours of battling against the weather, the storm clouds began to fade, shrinking with all their terror into the distance. There, the lightning crashed and the thunder roared - the Sina, tired and beaten, was relieved to see the back of chaos and sail on softer winds. Her crew was as broken and bruised as she was. They were injured, tending to sprains and wounds, to broken bones and cracked ribs, performing their duties the best they could - and it was hard. With a meagre crew of able sailors, ripped sails and broken rigging, the Sina struggled, but she sailed on. 

Historia woke within the first hour, much to the relief of everyone, but especially Ymir. She had hit her head hard when the mountainous wave hit, but besides her dizziness and headache, she wasn’t harmed and was already trying to walk and help. Onyankopon could barely walk, but he insisted on it, refusing to let his injured leg confine him to his bunk. There was a sense of pride and perseverance in the air as the crew gathered on the deck, the injured and the able, exhausted as they all were. The storm had raged from early evening until mid-morning the next day - having missed the sunrise behind the clouds made time feel strange, as though a day hadn’t passed at all.

That was how it felt to Armin. As he sat on the deck, looking up at the seabirds with Jean’s arm held tightly around his waist, nothing felt real or made any kind of sense besides the kiss they had shared. The memory of it made him smile; Armin gently lay his head on Jean’s shoulder, closing his eyes and breathing in the smell of the ocean. Staring down into the depths of certain death hadn’t given him life’s answers as he once thought it would. He wasn’t sure of his plans, of what he would do when they reached the shore, but… perhaps that was alright. There was no need for endless questioning, for doubt and worry - as Armin watched the gentle wind give life to the Sina’s broken sails, he was content with just this, to breathe deeply and experience the moment as it was. 

“Armin,” Jean murmured. It still pained him to speak, Armin knew. He could tell from the way he tensed and his breath hitched. Months ago, he would never have noticed such subtleties. 

“Yes?”

“You’re brilliant, do you know that?”

“Jean,” Armin breathed, smiling, leaning in closer. He could smell the salt in Jean’s hair. “I did no more than anyone else last night.”

“I’m not talking about last night,” Jean said. “I just mean… in general. You are.”

Armin’s heart swelled when he heard that - had he ever been complimented so fondly by someone who wasn’t obliged to do so? 

“What makes you think so?” he asked, desperate to know what Jean truly thought of him after all, his truest feelings. 

“What doesn’t might be a better question.”

“Jean… come on.”

“Fine.” Jean laughed, though it sounded more like a painful wheeze. He took a moment to compose himself. Armin felt his pain as if it were his own. “It’s your mind.”

“But I thought you didn’t care for scholars.”

“I don’t,” Jean teased. He paused, expression turning from joking to serious. “No… it’s more the way you think. I was blind to it at first.”

“In what way?”

“I thought you would be stuck in your ways; that you wouldn’t try to understand us or accept us. I thought you would be judgemental and look down on us. Plenty have before. But, as much as it pains me to say... I was wrong.”

Armin looked at him, resisting the strong urge to kiss him right there on the deck. 

“I was wrong about you, too,” he admitted. “I thought you were standoffish, rude, arrogant… but I see you had every reason to be.”

“But you worked hard,” Jean went on. Every few words, he had to stop and rest his voice. “You did, and you just seemed to love the ocean.”

“How could I not?” Armin asked, looking out at its still waters. “It’s beautiful even when it’s terrifying… it’s a mystery, sometimes guiding, sometimes so destructive. I’ve always been drawn to things I don’t understand…”

“That must be why you’re fond of me.”

“Among other reasons,” Armin blushed, embarrassed to say it out loud, but wanting Jean to know nonetheless. 

“Go on…”

“It’s nothing you don’t already know!” Armin sputtered. “I-“

Before he could continue, he was interrupted by a shout from above, the single word he had been waiting for. 

“Land!” Ymir called. “I can see it!”

Armin scrambled to his feet and ran to the side of the deck, squinting at the shoreline. There, in the very distance - the outline of land, mass on the horizon. Armin was so thrilled he could have cried. This was it. The place all his hardships had led to, the new, foreign land with all its culture and mysteries to uncover. Armin couldn’t wait to know all it had to offer him, to see new faces and try new foods and learn once again how to fit in the best he could. 

“Jean!” he beamed, pointing with his good arm. “Can you see it?!”

Jean came over, walking slowly. He couldn’t move very well, any kind of exertion making his chest hurt even more. 

“I see it,” Jean said. 

“When do you suppose we’ll make it there?” 

“Within the hour, most likely.”

“Wow…”

As they looked out, Onyankopon limped over on his injured leg, standing on Armin’s other side. He smiled at them, a knowing look in his eyes. Armin blushed; he felt very seen. 

“I was doubting for a while if we would ever make it,” Onyankopon said, “but there it is…”

“Japan,” Armin finished. He was smiling, giddy with relief. This was the sight he had been dreaming of for months. Imagining this very view was what had gotten him through the words stages of the voyage, especially in the beginning, when uncertainty plagued his every waking hour. But he hadn’t expected it to be quite so bittersweet - in those low moments during the first few weeks, there was not a thing about the Sina that Armin expected to miss. There were many, now. Jean, and his soft side… his art, his passion, moments when he smiled both at him and the ocean. Long talks with Onyankopon on the world’s nature and culture, chess games with Bertholdt, Reiner’s brotherly encouragement. Armin regretted that he would never see Marlowe send his letter. He regretted that he’d never again see an albatross soar over the endless ocean or swim with the shoals of fish amongst the corals. 

Of course, he knew, that didn’t have to be the case. Captain Hange’s offer sat heavy in the back of his mind, persistent. There was no reason to let the shore mark goodbye if he didn’t want it to. He did not have to watch Jean and his tenderness sail beyond the horizon. With just a word, he would sail away with the Sina and her crew all over again - but to do that would sacrifice the dream that had guided him for so long. He may never make a map again, never touch the land for more than a few days… the Sina could take him to many places, but he would never truly know them like he might if he stayed. 

The choice felt impossible. Armin wanted to ask Jean, but… he was afraid of whatever answer he might give because he knew Jean’s word would sway his judgement. 

“Have you been to Japan before, Jean?” Onyankopon asked. 

“Not since I was a child,” Jean replied. Armin listened quietly to their conversation, not wanting to interrupt. “It’s been many years since then… and from what I hear from Captain Hange, the country had been through a great deal since then.”

“War?” 

“Yes… and the change that comes after it.” 

They stood and watched the land grow larger in silence until Captain Hange came down from the wheel to address their crew. Everyone gathered before them, some sailors sitting up in the rigging, others standing or resting on the deck. When the Sina reached land, Captain Hange said, the crew’s immediate work would be to unload the cargo, besides Armin, who was free to go whenever he chose. Armin did not miss the look the captain gave him when they said that - as if he needed a reminder of their offer. They would stay in that city, Shimoda, whose port, Armin learned, was home to other foreigners travelling from abroad and many cargo ships bringing materials for the country’s efforts to modernise. Shimoda was just a few days’ journey from the new capital city where Armin hoped to find home and work. After the Sina was repaired, she was bound back to California for more trade, and their next destination would be decided upon after getting there. 

The nerves he felt were overwhelming. Seeing Japan, truly seeing it, was enough to make his decision finally feel real, even though he had passed the point of no return the moment he stepped foot on the Sina. 

At his side, Jean sat quietly - Armin did not think it was the fear of landsickness that troubled him.

As Armin watched the land grow closer, it was the sight of buildings that got to him the most. Architecture like he had never seen before stretched up over the hills, ornate and beautiful. Seeing them, human creation, civilisation… it brought tears to Armin’s eyes and made pride well up in his chest. 

Look, grandfather, he thought, staring out. I did it.

Every bout of nausea, every sleepless night, every burn, every bruise had led him here to this foreign land where his new life would begin. Purgatory, as he had once thought of it, was over - there was land. He was free again. Wasn’t he?

When had he stopped feeling that way? 

The Sina sailed right into the port, so close that they would be able to step from the deck onto the wooden platform. As the boat stilled in its place, Armin too was frozen in place. He didn’t feel ready. Was it fear? Longing? He looked out at the people on the distant streets and in the other boats, heart racing. He would come to recognise these faces, perhaps know them as friends, if he could master the language quickly. In turn, would he forget those he knew now? 

Not wanting to leave them all quite yet, Armin helped as best he could with the unloading of the materials. The cargo was just like him, a part of the country’s modernisation efforts. Those railway parts would find their home here too. Armin struggled with his one working arm as they were unloaded from ship to land. They were incredibly heavy. Reiner and Bertholdt were much more suited to strenuous activity like that, being stronger than almost everyone else. Jean helped, too, and Armin could see the pain on his face as his poor ribs struggled against Jean’s stubbornness. 

Armin gazed at the town. It was just as he’d hoped - so different in every single way. Besides the ships and uniforms of sailors from the other side of the ocean, there was not a single thing Armin recognised. Of course it was daunting, but nowhere near as much so as it was exciting. He wanted to make memories and hold dearly onto them, so no matter what his choice was at the end of it all, he could remember everything.

When they were done unloading, the Sina’s crew gathered on the deck, ready to head for the town where they would rent their rooms for the next two nights. Being such a large port, there was more than enough space for them to each have their own room, Captain Hange explained, and then they were all free to go. As the others stepped from boat to land, Armin was stopped by the captain. 

“Will you speak with me?” they asked. Armin, as always, felt that pit of nerves in his stomach, scared he might get into trouble. 

“Of course,” he replied. “Is everything alright?” 

Captain Hange just waved their hand and led him out of earshot from the others. Armin felt Jean’s eyes on him, a silent question. He couldn’t bring himself to look back. 

“How is your shoulder?” they asked. 

“Painful…” Armin admitted sheepishly, showing his poor range of movement by lifting his sling the best he could, which wasn’t very much at all. “But I feel lucky to be alive.”

“Don’t we all, after that typhoon,” Captain Hange said. “You were excellent.”

“Oh… thank you.”

“Have you given any more thought to my offer?” 

“All the time. It’s really all I’ve been able to think about.”

“Oh…? I find that hard to believe, given how much time you and Jean have been spending together recently. He seems to be the focus of your attention…”

Armin went bright red, but the captain only laughed, throwing their head back. 

“I’m sorry-”

“No, it’s about time!” they chuckled. “I haven’t seen him smile so often in so long, not since he was a boy… but yes. Have you decided yet on if you want to stay?”

Armin looked out at the town and felt his heart long to know it. It wouldn’t be possible to choose yet, not when he hadn’t given his goal a chance, so he shamefully shook his head. 

“I haven’t,” he admitted. “I think I need some more time.”

“Yes, go ahead, take all the time you need - before we leave again of course.”

“Thank you, Captain Hange.” 

“Go on - go out and see what you think, and we’ll speak about it again in three days time.” 

Armin looked up at them and nodded, smiling gratefully before turning to hurry after Jean and Onyankopon so they could walk and discover the land together.

Armin fell in love. The town was a thriving, bustling place, chaos from the port at one end and from the inns and market stalls on the other. The locals were hospitable, polite, and more than welcoming to their rowdy group, which perhaps was a little more than they deserved for coming in so loudly. Armin took in everything he could, soaking up each difference he could find to his home town. The buildings were tall and intricate, adorned with flags and signs and lanterns. It looked like a painting, so pretty and vibrant in a way Armin’s old dull life never was. He laughed with the others as he tried unknown foods, breathed in the scent of new streets, saw plants and flowers that he never would have gotten to on the other side of the world. 

Some things were familiar. There were the hagglers, children fighting with sticks and chasing each other down the street, fishmongers and flower sellers, drunk men avoiding their wives and homes in the evening. It was comforting, really, to know all humans could be so similar no matter where they were in the world. Armin watched them, yearning to know their stories. 

Every new thing he tried seemed better than the last. On the first night, Armin could hardly sleep - he spent the dark hours by candlelight, writing down everything on fresh, new paper he’d purchased from an encouraging old woman in traditional clothing. Hours and hours were spent in that small room when the sun was down, writing every single detail that stuck in his mind. Nothing besides Jean had ever fascinated him so much. 

Two days passed as quickly as incoming tide. Jean and Armin spent every hour together besides when they retired to their rooms for the evening. Armin yearned for the freedom to kiss him, but of course, it couldn’t come when they were in public. While Armin talked and talked about the various things that fascinated him, of which there was no end, Jean was quiet, listening. He walked like the ground was unsteady beneath his feet, while Armin loved its stability. His chest still ached awfully. Armin could tell when he saw him breathless from walking up the gentle slope of a hill, saw his hurt in the expression on his face. 

There was something off between the two of them, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Armin, but he found it hard to bring up his feelings. Each day he grappled with his choice. His love for this little town was scaring him. Part of him, the part that wanted things to be easy, had hoped that he wouldn’t like it there after all. Then he could stay on the ship without regrets and sail away beyond the horizon, away from uncertainty, but as it was… it seemed as if he would feel unsure forever. 

On the final night before the Sina set sail again, Armin sat in his room before an empty page, trying to write about his decision and not just the town’s beauty and excitement. He found he could not move his hand or think of a single thing to say that would satisfy his confusion. He was tangled up in his indecision, so lost he couldn’t see the light of either way. Leaving Jean, or leaving this dream he had finally reached… both choices came with such terrible pain he couldn’t fathom it. 

A tap on the screen door broke Armin from his concentration. He looked up and recognised the silhouette of Jean standing there on the other side. Heart squeezing, he closed his journal and then steadily got up, bare feet padding against the floor. 

“Jean?” he asked softly, looking at him in the low light. They had not spoken at night, staying in their own rooms for the most part. Armin suddenly felt guilty that it hadn’t occurred to him to go to Jean’s room and see him when the sun was down. Had he been waiting?

“Armin,” Jean replied. His voice, serious as ever, sent a chill down Armin’s spine. “Would you come with me?” 

“At this time of night…? Where?”

Jean stepped into the room and silently pulled the screen shut. He cupped Armin’s face in his hand, towering over him, tall and intimidating, but fear was the last thing Armin felt when close to him now. 

“To the ship,” he murmured, leaning in. Their faces were suddenly so close that Armin could practically taste his kiss before they even touched. Jean had been drinking, he could tell, and that surprised him, as Jean rarely drank. Perhaps he was able to let his guard down on land where it was safer. Perhaps it was something else. 

“Why?”

“I want to spend the night with you there,” Jean murmured, leaning in to close the distance, brushing his lips against Armin’s in a kiss so brief it made Armin gasp for more. “Alone.”

“Jean…”

“Please,” Jean muttered. His eyes stared into Armin’s, laced with panic. 

Armin knew there was no way he would ever be able to deny him.

They snuck down the dark streets, heading from one side of the town back to the port while the Sina waited for them, lonely. Armin held onto Jean’s sleeve with his good hand, struggling to keep up with him, scared that if he let go he might be left behind. When they made it there, both out of breath, Armin stopped.

The ocean stared back at him like it always did. The moonlight danced on the tips of gentle waves, calm and inviting. When he saw it like that, it was hard to believe something so serene could be capable of such destruction, but his memories of the storm were entrenched in him, visions of tall, towering waves… 

“Armin,” Jean urged, “come on. Let’s go.” 

They climbed aboard the Sina together, finding it difficult as Armin could not pull himself up well with just one working arm. It already felt strange to stand upon her unsteady deck again. He wobbled and almost tripped just going down to the hatch, and then struggled as he tried to get down the ladder, moving painfully slowly, rung by rung. But the walk back to their cabin was familiar. Armin could do that even without the lantern Jean held. He remembered navigating in the dark all those weeks ago to find Bertholdt during that first bad storm. It felt like years had passed already since then. 

“Are we alone?” Armin asked. 

“Completely.” 

Jean sat the lantern down atop his now empty chest. Its glow cast shadows up his face; Armin could not take his eyes away. He could try as hard as he liked, but there would be no way to aptly capture the way he looked in words. His face was a story in and of itself. Armin read it in each scar, saw it in his downturned brows, and longed to know each beautiful wonder his eyes had gazed upon... but Jean’s was the kind of life that could only be lived and never told in stories. All Armin could hope that as little as his part in it was, that it was not insignificant, that perhaps if he stayed behind, that Jean would remember him as he did those pillars of green light in the northern sky. 

“Come here,” Jean said, then, stepping closer and touching his face. 

“I am here,” Armin whispered back. He smiled, teasing, and watched Jean gently roll his eyes. 

“Closer,” he murmured, but closed the distance himself, kissing Armin gently on the lips. Armin lost himself to it. He let go of everything, accepting Jean’s love, finally giving in to emotion and not the raging question that burned in his mind. He let Jean soothe him, let the calm tide wash over his fear and carry it back out to sea. He kissed back with urgency, chest rising and falling quickly. Jean was careful with his arm, making sure not to hurt his shoulder. There was that gentleness, the same hands that bandaged his wounds and sketched beautiful views, what Armin had been searching for him since the moment they spoke, even if he didn’t realise it back then. 

Jean pushed him back against the closed door, still making sure to be careful with his shoulder. The noises Jean made were intoxicating to Armin - they made him feel good about himself, proud that he could please him. Like their first during the storm, this kiss was desperate, passionate, the both of them refusing to hold back as they took advantage of the moment, as neither knew how many more they would get to share. There were no guarantees. 

“Armin,” Jean gasped, out of breath. “I-”

“Your chest,” Armin interrupted. He was panting too, so he couldn’t imagine how much it hurt him. “Don’t push it so much, please…”

“You don’t get to give me orders,” Jean murmured, kissing Armin’s jaw, then down his neck. Armin’s knees buckled, almost falling, and he clung to Jean with his one good arm. 

“Please,” he said softly. “Hold on a moment.”

Jean did, then. Their eyes met, and Armin never wanted to let him go. 

“What is it?”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it…?”

Armin blushed and looked away, laughing a little bit. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“I don’t think I’m to blame, you’re the one who made me feel this way,” Jean said, stepping closer to him again, nudging his nose against his jawline, lips ghosting over his neck. 

“Jean, wait… I need to talk to you about something. ”

“I don’t want to talk about tomorrow. I don’t want to think about it.” 

“But we should.”

“Why? You already made your mind up.”

“What - what do you mean?” Armin asked, frowning. How would Jean know he had a choice to make?

“You aren’t continuing your journey with us, are you?”

“But-”

“Come on… it’s obvious,” Jean said. He pulled back and walked away, sitting down on the other chest where Armin’s things once were. “It would be unlike Captain Hange to not offer work to a competent sailor.”

Hearing things like that from Jean never failed to make Armin smile, but his happiness was short-lived… Jean was right. 

He had already made up his mind. It came to him, then, the certainty that he must stay and fulfil what he had set out to when he left home.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Armin said, looking down at the familiar wooden planks beneath his feet. 

“You had no obligation to.”

“I’m just not ready to leave this place, or my plans, what I dreamed of…”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“Jean-”

“I’m not going to beg you to change your mind,” Jean said, stubborn as ever. “I won't do that.”

“...I know.” 

“All I’m asking… is for you to give me tonight.”

Armin looked up at him, eyes wide, full of tears. “It’s yours.”

That night, Armin learned pleasure as he’d never known it before. The touch of another body in the most intimate way took him to pieces and taught him what love could really feel like, that connection, breathing life into them like wind in the sails. Sunrise was not far off by the time they fell asleep, swayed to sleep by the hammock they shared, naked and content and holding each other. 

Armin’s dreams were not so sweet. He saw the terrors of the storm but found himself alone to face them, saw himself falling from the rigging and into the depths of the bottomless ocean that waited to claim his bones. He heard the distant screams of Jean and his friends, their cries for help echoing, but he could not see them through the chaos of wind and rain. Over and over he felt the crack of his shoulder falling out of place and the searing pain of his injury. He felt the terror of it multiply, repeating and growing, until the sheer agony ripped him from sleep. 

Armin woke alone, panting for breath, covered by a soft blanket. His arm rested in its sling on his chest, tucked in as comfortably as it could be. But the solitude made him panic - where was Jean? The loss of his touch and gentleness made Armin uneasy. Not wanting to wait and see if he would return, Armin picked his clothes up from where Jean had thrown them the night before, two buttons missing from the shirt Jean had been impatient to remove. He dressed hastily and went to find him.

When he emerged from below the deck, Armin saw Jean sat up on the now-fixed rigging, sketching. Raising his hand to shield his eyes from the summer sun, he looked up and called to him. 

“What are you drawing?” 

“Nothing,” Jean countered, shutting the book and hopping down, wincing. 

“You ought to be more careful with your ribs…”

“If you stay, you’ll be able to watch over me.”

“Jean…” Armin trailed off, biting his lip. Hearing Jean say that made him want to change his mind again. The uncertainty weighed on him again in the morning. How had he been so sure the night before? 

“I’m sorry,” Jean murmured. “I said I wouldn’t beg.”

“I don’t want to cry,” Armin choked out, though it was already too late. Tears dripped down his cheeks. If Jean did beg, if he got down on his knees and pleaded with him to stay a part of his life, Armin knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. 

“Then don’t,” Jean said simply. If only it was that easy, Armin thought. Jean held out a notebook, one Armin didn’t recognise as his. “Here. I want you to take this.”

“What…”

“I’ve been sketching. Consider it a parting gift.”

“Can I-”

“No,” Jean interrupted before Armin could even ask to look inside.”Wait until we’re gone. I think I’d - well, it doesn’t matter. Just wait.” 

“Okay,” Armin breathed. 

On the deck, the others were gathering, ready to leave once again. They seemed to not have noticed Jean and Armin on board yet. It broke Armin’s heart then and there to see them all, Onyankopon on his makeshift crutch, Reiner and Bertholdt who had been so endlessly encouraging, Historia, who had stitched up his uniform so it fit that first day, Marlowe, Ymir, Captain Hange… 

“I should thank everyone,” Armin said. 

“That you should. Talk to me once more after?”

“Of course.”

It was hard. Armin hadn’t expected to cry like a baby, but he did when Reiner pulled him in for a crushing hug, Bertholdt’s hand on his back and Onyankopon’s on his shoulder. Onyankopon gave Armin some handwritten sheets of paper torn from a journal documenting stories they didn’t have time to tell each other. Marlowe thanked him again for helping with the letter he would soon send to his wife - Armin wanted to see him send it and write many more, but he wouldn’t ever get the chance to now. 

“We’ll all miss you,” Reiner said just as Armin was beginning to calm down, and that only set him off again. 

When it was time for the crew to board the ship once more, Armin approached the captain, clutching his gifts closely to his chest. 

“I see you made your decision,” they said. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Armin replied. 

“I wouldn’t have expected a life-changing answer to come in a matter of hours, or even days. If it’s a choice you are happy with, stick to it.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“It was a pleasure having you aboard, Armin,” they replied, and that made Armin want to cry all over again. “Now. Go and speak with Jean before we set sail.” 

Armin did as they said. Suddenly, it was just the two of them there on the port, surrounded by the chaos of everyday life that faded easily into the background. 

“I suppose this is it, then,” Armin whispered, looking up at Jean. His eyes were misted over; it made Armin ache. He was silently pleading with him - beg me to stay. 

“I suppose it is.” 

“I don’t know what to say…”

“You could kiss me.”

“Jean,” Armin laughed, leaning in, resting his head on his shoulder. Jean ran his fingers through Armin’s hair, and the sensation made him shiver. “If we were alone, I would.” 

“Still so shy,” Jean teased. 

“I think you are, too, secretly.”

“Maybe you know me too well.”

“I don’t think I could ever know you well enough.”

“You can’t just say things like that,” Jean muttered, looking away, sniffing. 

“Sorry… it’s only because you’re so endlessly confusing.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Of course it isn’t,” Armin sniffed, “but we don’t have time, do we?”

“Not nearly enough.”

Armin laughed sadly and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, looking up at the tears that fell down Jean’s cheeks, too. 

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” he whispered. 

“You have to,” Jean replied. “You’ve got a whole new life waiting there for you, so yes, you have to say goodbye. But… make sure you write it all down, alright? Don’t - don’t say goodbye to these memories or to my part of your life.” 

“Jean,” Armin sobbed. “You - you’re the one who can’t say things like that…”

“Sorry,” Jean chuckled sadly, wiping the tears from Armin’s cheeks. “I couldn’t help myself.” 

“Two more minutes, Kirstein!” came the shout of the First Mate. Armin looked up at him. 

“I wish I could have taught you how to write.”

“If we meet again, will you?” 

“Yes,” Armin choked out, “yes. Of course I will.”

“Let’s leave things there, then, shall we? On a good note?” 

Armin nodded, looked up at him once more, and leaned against Jean’s shoulder, wishing he had both arms free to hold him. 

“Stay safe,” he breathed. 

“You know I will,” Jean smiled, reaching up to climb onto the Sina once again. “No storm could ever take me down.”

“I know…”

“Keep me in your thoughts, Armin… you’ll be in mine.”

And with that, suddenly he was turning away, climbing up the rigging to once again unfurl the sails, and Armin was walking back to a spot where he could sit and watch, in a daze, still crying. 

Soon after, Armin watched as the wind blew and filled the Sina’s lungs, her new sails billowing out, just as magical as she always was. Only then did Armin realise he was still carrying the journal Jean had given him, and as the ship navigated out of the port, he opened it to the first page, not knowing what to expect. 

It made sense, then, why Jean had told him to wait - Armin got to his feet as soon as he saw the first drawing, suddenly desperate to get to him. There on the page were those winter lights as Jean had described them, bright and beautiful, exactly the way Armin had imagined. He must have sketched all of this since they arrived, Armin realised, as he flipped to the next page and saw sketches that made him only cry more. They were sketches of him, sitting up in the rigging, bent over a book, staring out at the ocean. There he was perched by the pool of water on the island, there was his hand reaching out in the storm, smiling, laughing, captured on the page in a way Armin had never seen himself. Was that how he looked when he stared up at Jean with love in his eyes? 

As he turned the pages, a loose sheet fell out and dropped to the floor. Before the wind could carry it away, Armin reached to grab it. 

There, sketched so lovingly, was the albatross. Armin choked out a sob as he looked at the seabird stuck on land, those great wings unfurling as if it were about to take off, so far from home. 

And more than anything Armin wanted to jump into the ocean and swim after them, beg them to come back and take him too, but the wind was carrying the Sina away, leaving Armin to his own adventures, stranded on the shore. Jean sailed away, distance growing and stretching out between them; Armin fell to his knees and clutched the reminders of him. 

“I’ll work hard here,” he whispered, looking up at the figure in the crow’s nest. 

It would be difficult, he knew that. Armin felt the same thing when he first boarded that eccentric ship - but now she was sailing away, and all he could hope for was that his new life might hold the same unexpected beauty that the Sina had given him all those weeks ago.

Chapter Text

Even after four years, Armin still woke up early. It was a habit he had never broken, though, admittedly, he’d never tried. When he woke with the sun each morning, Armin was always reminded of his fateful journey all those years ago. Then, he had woken early to suffer through back-breaking work - now, it was to sit in his garden and look out as the sun rose above the horizon. 

For all intents and purposes, Armin lived a fulfilling life. He had a small home, a job he loved, the respect of his peers, and he had seen almost all the country had to offer him. In his first two years, as he was learning the language, Armin travelled from island to island, working on his maps, taking in the culture. He worked hard, slept well every night, and filled page after page with stories, writing in English first and then in Japanese as practice. He saw mountains and forests, beaches and farmland, learned the customs and traditions, heard all about the local lore and religion. For each piece of information in his grandfather’s tales, Armin learned five more by being there in person. It was everything he’d ever dreamed of when he was a young boy - but as a grown man, Armin still felt like a part of him was missing. 

Two years ago, after all his travelling, Armin had returned to Shimoda and bought a home specifically for its view. Nowhere had quite the same charm as this port town - Armin suspected that was mostly due to the memories he had made in it, but the reason did not matter. He settled down, hoping peace would fill that missing part. It didn’t, but the nostalgic view of the ocean was a relief nonetheless.

That morning, Armin woke at his usual time. Free from work for the day, he got ready slowly, taking time to admire the framed sketches in his small living area, tucked amongst stacks of books. He liked to spend his mornings off sat in his little garden, looking out at the boats that came into the port. It gave him a warm feeling to see them out there dotted on the ocean. Armin watched them as he sipped his tea, fond memories returning. His voyage on the Sina felt like it had taken place a lifetime ago, but each and every detail stayed tucked away in Armin’s mind. His hands were soft again, more used to holding a pen than they were a rope, but he remembered their strength.

In the distance, the traders and merchants were busy at the port. Spring was turning into summer; change was in the air, and Armin could feel it as he watched the organised chaos out on the docks. From where he was, amongst the blooming flowers, he felt the urge to go and be a part of it, to see the faces of those who came to and fro and immerse himself in a daydream. Taking his empty teacup back inside, Armin got himself ready for the day, then headed out down the hill and towards the sea. 

When his mind was not occupied by work or reading, Armin’s thoughts drifted back to the Sina, back to Jean. Late at night, he lay awake, wondering if they had fair weather, or had experienced any storm like the typhoon that almost ripped the poor ship apart. He wondered what new tales Onyankopon had to tell, how Marlowe’s wife and son were doing, and how all the others were too, Bertholdt, Reiner, Historia, Ymir…

And of course, Jean. It pained Armin to think about him, bittersweet in a way that was too much sometimes. He missed him. Phrasing it like that didn’t feel like enough - it hurt as if it were a real wound, aching in his chest every time he thought of him. It had gotten easier over the years, of course - while he was travelling his nights were long and restless as he worried over his choice, wondering if he had made the wrong decision, wishing he were there aboard the ship with Jean, sleeping in shifts and kissing when they had the time. He yearned to see all that Jean had sketched in their years apart. When storms raged outside, Armin lay shivering, thinking of him, but he never questioned that Jean was alive, for he took what he said in their final moments together to heart. If plagued by that fear Armin knew he would not have the strength to work or even live at all. No, Jean was out there, and Armin could only hope that he was thriving. 

As Armin walked down the hill towards the port, watching the ships grow closer, he saw a familiar figure walking towards him - she waved and hurried over, hitching up her long skirt so she didn’t trip on it. 

“Hello, Pieck,” he smiled.

Of all his colleagues, Pieck Finger was a woman he was quite fond of. She was shrewd and attentive, quick-witted with an eye for detail. Like him, she had travelled halfway across the globe to be here and work in cartography, though she had done so on a passenger ship from Greece. He enjoyed her company - they worked well together. 

“Good morning,” she replied. “Are you well?” 

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m just going to sit by the sea and write,” Armin said, gesturing with his journal. She looked at it as if curious to know what was written inside, but was too polite to ask.  

“I just came from the docks. The sailors are being as rowdy as ever, stopping everyone they pass by. I managed to sneak off…”

“Did new ships come in?” 

“Just the one.”

“Why were they stopping people?”

“I’m not sure, but it seemed like they were looking for someone. I think the ship was called-”

“The Sina?” Armin asked hopefully, desperately wishing for the improbable. 

“No, not that,” Pieck said. “Why?”

“Oh… I’d just be happy to see the boat that took me here again..” Suddenly, Armin was much less excited. “Well, thank you, Pieck.”

“Welcome. They’re waiting by the docks, a whole group of them. I would have told them to go on their way, but who would listen to me? Either way, I’d avoid the whole area if I were you,” Pieck sighed, exasperated. Armin wanted to ask her more, but it seemed like she had places to be. “I’m carrying on up; I’ll see you at work.”

“See you there,” Armin replied, and watched her go before carrying on down the path, now at a much quicker pace. Although he had hoped to see the Sina once again, Armin was used to being let down. Many times before he thought he had seen her familiar masts and been mistaken. No, it was probably nothing more than a case of rowdy sailors on the shore, causing trouble… but, he thought, as he walked closer to the sea, was it bad to indulge in a little daydream? He could let his imagination run wild until he got there - Armin was curious to know what a group of sailors wanted so badly as to stop every person in town for, even if they were being quite impolite.

Lost in thought, Armin continued through the busy streets, passing the market stalls selling produce from nearby farms and trinkets for the sailors who came to stop a while before they set sail again. In his home, he had items just like it purchased four years ago when he had first stepped ashore, items he had kept throughout his travels simply because he was fond of the memories they gave him. They were tucked alongside his old journals and Jean’s art, all the things that reminded him of that time. Running his hand through his short hair, still missed the length it was back then, even though he was used to it now. He daydreamed about the open ocean and seabirds, of sitting up in the crow’s nest, seeing water stretching out forever in every direction… Armin missed it all so much. 

When he got to the docks, he couldn’t make out the group that Pieck had been talking about. There were people everywhere now, taking cargo to and fro, haggling and bartering. It reminded him, as it always did, of that day on the other side of the world, when he stood on the port with a destination in mind, equal parts determined and terrified, carrying nothing but his suitcase and ambition. Now, he stood at that very destination… but would give anything to go back just once and relive his journey all over again. 

A voice louder than all the others called out in English, clear as day. 

“Captain, is this him?!” 

Armin span around when he felt a hand on his shoulder, finding himself face to face with a man he’d never been before. He was taller than Armin, with a grin on his face and closely-shaved hair. 

“I’m sorry, who are-”

“Come with me,” the man said, taking him by the arm - Armin was alarmed, but there was something about him he intrinsically trusted, and then -

He was face to face with a man he had not seen in four years. 

Jean looked different, but it was still him. His hair was even longer, now, tied back much like Armin’s used to be, and he wore a captain’s uniform that fit him well, pristine. He wore it proudly, standing up straight. Armin stared as if he were a ghost, or some figment of his imagination that was so desperate for Jean as to make up this vision of him right there on the docks where they had parted ways. He could not say a word. 

“My god,” Jean breathed. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair - it was an action so familiar to Armin that the small part of him holding doubt was instantly gone. “What are you still doing here?” 

“Is that - is that what you really have to say to me?” Armin laughed from sheer disbelief, already crying, not even trying to hold it back. He flung his arms around him, hugging him tightly, breathing in the scent he had tried so hard to remember. “Jean-”

“Excuse me,” Jean said, pulling back, holding Armin’s face in his hands. They stared at each other for a moment, lost to the whole world. “That’s Captain Jean to you.” 

“Introduce yourself to me fully,” Armin breathed, unable to keep from smiling as he wiped his tears, heart racing. He clutched his journal so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 

Jean stuck out his hand, still beaming. Armin shook it. He was laughing too. Behind them, the morning sun cast its light on the ocean, making the water shine. 

“Jean Kirstein,” he introduced, “Captain of the Albatross.”