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“Another ale, please.”
The pub was just starting to get loud at this time of night, but Jean could still hear Armin ordering at the bar from where he was sitting, hyper fixated on every little thing he did that night.
Mikasa and Eren had left a while ago, and while it was uncommon for Armin to stay out this long without them, tonight he had. Though it was hard not to, Jean tried not to make much out of that fact. But, as he sat here with his eyes trained on the man standing at the bar, he couldn’t help but wonder…
Had his hair always looked that blond in the candlelight? His skin so soft and luminescent when he wore his sleeves rolled to his elbows? Did he always have that swing in his step? The one that had Jean convinced that Armin had no idea just how absolutely magnetic he was and –
“Jean… Jean!”
“Hm?” Jean turned his head to look at Connie. He and Sasha were sitting there looking back at him, knowing smirks on their faces, the pair of them looking like mischievous children that just found out the dirtiest secret and could barely wait to spill it. “What?” Jean asked, narrowing his eyes and feeling his cheeks flush. He repeated himself when they just continued to look at him. “What?”
“Stop staring and just talk to him,” Connie said, rolling his eyes and taking another sip of his drink. “It’s getting old.”
“Really old,” Sasha quipped, mirroring Connie but averting her eyes when Jean shot her a scathing look.
“Shut up,” he muttered, lifting his own drink to his lips and taking a deep, long sip. His eyes and throat burned when he swallowed and he suppressed a cough, almost choking on his words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Nevertheless, he brought his eyes back to look at Armin while he stood at the bar, unrest growing in his gut when he saw that he was no longer alone.
What was it about Armin that attracted people like moths to a flame some nights?
It’s the damn blue shirt, isn’t it, Jean thought, eyes grazing down Armin’s form. His frame had gotten broader in the past six months, only just slightly, but enough for someone like Jean – someone who knew Armin’s body like the back of his hand – to notice.
Maybe it was the pants too, and the way he was leaning on the bar with his elbows, a natural arch in his back while he waited for his drink. Jean felt his face getting hot and he cleared his throat, bringing his attention to the Garrison officer that had started talking to Armin when Jean hadn’t been looking.
Armin turned his head to look at him, smiling at something he said and nodding along as he talked. Jean didn’t dare take his eyes off the scene, afraid of missing something that might spur him to intervene.
The man sidled up a little closer, leaning on his elbow and gesturing with his free hand as he spoke. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but Jean knew it was shameless flirting, and it made him squirm in his seat just at the idea of it. Who did this man think he was? It’s not like he was Armin’s type anyway – his body too thin, bad posture, and only just a handful of inches taller than Armin himself. Jean had him beat any day, the thought making him straighten out his shoulders just the slightest.
The barkeep pushed an ale across the counter towards Armin, and when reached for his pocket the officer held up his hand in protest, sliding over one of his own coins instead. Jean wished he had a better angle so that he could see whatever expression was on Armin’s face right now, curious as to how he took to such a blatant attempt at courting.
This is stupid, Jean told himself, looking back at Connie and Sasha for a moment, both wrapped up in their own conversation, and then back at Armin. He’s not with you, so why are you so damn concerned with who he talks to?
Jean shook his head, cursing himself for being so stupid and obsessive. Armin was just talking to this man, and regardless of how Jean felt he had every right to talk to whoever he pleased – it was childish to think otherwise.
Just when he was ready to move on and try and join in on his friends’ conversation beside him, the man shifted to put a hand on the small of Armin’s back, leaning in closer to whisper something in his ear.
That’s it.
Jean’s chair scraped crudely on the wooden planks that made up the floor. Behind him he could hear Connie snickering and saying something or other to Sasha about him being crazy.
He made his way over to the bar, pushing past a few lingering patrons and ignoring a few protests when he shoved too hard. He got himself just a few feet away from Armin and the officer, glancing over to see that Armin had caught sight of him. Jean didn’t miss the smallest smirk playing on his face while the man was still talking to him, clueless.
“One more, please,” Jean said to the barkeep who nodded in turn. He leaned back on his elbows, listening to the man yapping away to Armin, bragging and showboating in some hypermasculine hope of getting the blond into bed with him. Jean knew all the tricks in the book, and he’d be damned if he let this Garrison loser try them out on Armin, clearly way out of his league anyway.
He cleared his throat.
“So.” Jean’s voice was loud enough for the officer to hear and turn his attention away from Armin for a moment, just to see which arrogant bastard standing behind him was about to start talking. “What’s the Garrison been up to lately?” The man’s face was red with alcohol flush and he had dark brown hair the same color as his wiry beard. He must have been at least 30 – way too old to be flirting with Armin, just recently turned nineteen. At least Jean thought so.
“Huh?” he asked, obviously irritated with the interruption. Jean turned his head and cocked his chin at the crest of red roses emblazoned on his jacket.
“The Garrison. With the Walls fortified and secured by the Scouts and no immediate threat of titans, what have you all been doing besides getting piss drunk day in and clearly day out?”
The barkeep pushed the ale across the counter and Jean fished a coin out of his pocket, the man nodding when he took it and going back to serve other patrons. Jean brought his drink to his lips and let out a satisfied sigh after taking a long sip, shrugging his shoulders. “Just seems like a waste, is all. I’m sure you all feel pretty useless at times like this.”
Jean saw Armin trying to hide his smile from where he stood behind the officer, a silent chuckle making his shoulders shake. The reaction only encouraged him to keep going.
The man straightened up and looked at Jean, sensing by now that he was being messed with. “Excuse me?”
Jean stood to his full height, towering over him when he took a step closer and gave him a wry smile. “What? It’s not like I’m saying anything that no one else is thinking.”
“You listen here you smug ass.” He wheedled a finger into Jean’s chest. Jean only glanced down at it, unimpressed and far from threatened. “I oughta-”
“Alright. I think that’s enough.” Armin said from over the man’s shoulder, holding up his hands in a conciliatory manner and shooting Jean a look. Jean easily identified the feigned placation and tried to keep a dumb grin from spreading onto his face.
“You know this asshole?” The officer asked, incredulous as he looked over at Armin and jutted his thumb back at Jean.
Armin sighed, a hint of humor to his tone. “Unfortunately.”
“Well, I don’t expect some cocky Survey Corps shit to understand what it is we do in the Garrison.”
“You mean what you don’t do,” Jean countered.
“You got a death wish or something, asshole?”
Jean held up his hands defensively. “Not at all. Just making conversation”
“Hell if I let some brat like you talk to me like that, now come’ere.” He gripped the front of Jean’s shirt, jostling his drink a bit. A few other patrons had taken note of what looked like the beginning of a bar fight, heads turning in their direction. Before it could go any further, Armin stepped in once more.
He put a hand between them, laying it flat on Jean’s chest and pressing him back, knocking the other man away.
“I think my friend here just needs to get some air,” Armin said, a certain look on his face, one that Jean knew he recognized. He glanced over at the Garrison officer to see his annoyed expression when he saw Armin’s hand moved to the small of Jean’s back, a familiarity he probably understood he’d never measure up to, before he guided him away from the bar towards the door.
Jean couldn’t resist giving him a victorious smile and a wink before turning his head and letting Armin lead him out.
“You’re quite annoying, you know,” Armin sighed, looking at Jean from the side of his eye as they rounded the corner, heading away from the pub and all the noise on the main street. "Mouth too big for your own good."
“Yea, yea.” He rolled his eyes, slinging an arm over Armin’s shoulders while Armin still had a hand ghosting just above Jean’s backside. His stomach fluttered and his heart pounded at the simple touch, but he tried to play it cool. “Nothing I haven’t heard before.”
They were heading in the general direction of their base, but the cool nighttime breeze and dimly lit lamps lighting the cobbled street made them walk at a bit of a leisurely pace. Maybe it was the drink too that had them so relaxed in one another's presence, but Jean knew there was no way Armin was even that drunk. Neither was he, only just the slightest warmth in his gut.
The sound of all the hustle and bustle got quieter behind them, even more so when they turned down a side street that was much darker than the one they had been on.
It was sudden, but Armin stopped them in place, letting out a sigh and stepping a few paces over to press his back to the brick side wall of a building. Jean’s arm fell from his shoulders, so instead, he mirrored Armin’s stance and took a place beside him.
While the air was mostly pleasant, it had the early chill of autumn, and Jean found himself shutting his eyes for a minute and taking in all the senses. Distantly, he could still hear the echoes of the busier streets; people heading home after a long night of drinking. Beside him he could hear Armin breathing, soft and steady. Familiar and comforting.
Not a word was exchanged between them for a couple minutes, but Jean couldn’t help but open his eyes and glance down, trying to catch some idea of whether or not there was a right move to make, a right thing to say. He saw that Armin was shivering a bit, just barely, but enough for Jean to notice.
“You’re cold,” he pointed out, pushing himself off the wall and starting to take off his jacket.
“Jean…” Armin started to protest, but Jean urged him off the wall so that he could drape his jacket over him.
“Here,” he muttered, patting Armin’s shoulders and letting his hands slide down his arms, meeting Armin’s own hands. He started to let go after a lingering moment, but Armin held onto them both. When Jean started to rub them, warming his frigid fingers in his palms, Armin looked a little surprised by the boldness of the gesture, even though he was the one who had held on tighter.
“Your hands are cold,” Jean said, stating it like it was a valid reason for what he was doing. He took a moment to look at Armin, eyes tracking down from his face to his neck, seeing that his top two buttons were undone, exposing a bit of his collarbone.
Before he had time to say anything else, Armin tugged him closer, pulling him so that they stood toe to toe. Jean tried to fight off the smirk that threatened to come onto his face, but he was sure Armin had seen it, offering him an equally challenging look.
Jean let go of one of his hands, keeping one held in his, lingering at his fingertips and lacing them together. He planted the other to the wall, right next to Armin’s head. The proximity had him wondering when the last time was that they were this close, barely any space between their faces, but Jean didn’t dwell on the thought longer than a second.
Armin’s eyelashes fluttered, lids sitting low on his eyes, deep with that same flash Jean had seen in them earlier.
If there were any semblance of a moment building between them, just as he was sure there was – lips moving closer, breaths mingling even more – Jean couldn’t stop the way his loud mouth decided to interrupt it. By now, he should have been used to how he always got in the way of himself.
“Did he proposition you?”
Armin rested his free hand on Jean’s chest, peering at him up through his dark lashes. It was clear who he was talking about.
“Mm, maybe,” he said, casual about it in a way that made Jean want to sneer. “And if he did?”
He scoffed, knitting his brows together in annoyance. “Disgusting, that’s what.”
“You know we’re not together anymore, right, Jean?”
“Tch, as if that matters. That bastard was twice your age,” he exaggerated.
“Well, I don’t think you’re allowed to get jealous if we’re not together.” Armin’s hand slid down and twisted in the fabric at the hem of Jean’s shirt. Their faces were so close now that their noses were practically knocking together. “Doesn’t seem very fair.”
Jean swallowed, his heart rate thumping and his blood running hot. “Yea,” he muttered, eyes darting back and forth to take in whatever it was lurking behind Armin’s. “And remind me why we’re not together again?”
“Jean…” he breathed, pulling tighter at Jean’s shirt. Both their breaths smelled of booze, cheap ale from the pub.
“Ah, right,” Jean whispered, letting go of his fingers so that he could rest them on Armin’s narrow waist, cupping him there and feeling him shiver. “Something about being better off as friends and not mixing business with pleasure.”
The look Armin gave him was flat out irritated, bored almost.
“What?” Jean raised his brows in defense. “Your words, not mine.”
“You and I both know it was mutual.”
“As mutual as whatever it is we’re doing right now?” He tugged Armin closer, rubbed their noses together and eliciting a soft sigh. He could feel Armin’s warm breath on his lips and it took all he had in him not to move in just an inch and kiss him. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was they were doing right now – chests pressed together, Armin’s knee between his thighs, back against the wall – but he didn’t want to stop. “Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, barely audible, swallowing back the urge.
“We should head back to base,” Armin murmured, hand sliding against the skin of Jean’s abdomen, his shirt rucked up just enough for a slice of his flesh to be visible. “It’s almost past curfew.”
Jean bit his lip as his eyes practically rolled back into his head at the contact. He hadn’t been touched like this since they split, not interested in the attention of anyone else who had previously propositioned him in the same way the Garrison officer had Armin. Letting go had never been that easy for Jean, and Armin was his biggest proof of that.
He dropped his hand from the wall so that his fingers could grip Armin’s hips on both sides, pulling him so that their pelvises were aligned.
“Yea?” He swallowed, throat feeling incredibly dry. “And what do you want to do when we get back?”
Armin bumped their noses together. “Go to bed,” his lips just barely brushed Jean’s, “in my room.” He pressed the faintest of a kiss to his lips, if one could even call it that with how featherlight it was. “Alone.”
Jean managed a choked laugh, light from his throat. “You’re such a tease, Arlert.”
He huffed out his own breathy laugh. “Am I?”
“Yea.” He tried not to sound as desperate as he felt, tugging him a little closer and suppressing the groan bubbling in his chest. “You are.”
“I’ve got a name, you know. It’s not just Arlert.”
Jean brushed a piece of hair from Armin’s cheek, tucking it behind his ear. Armin shut his eyes, shivering again, but this time not from the cold. Of course Jean knew he had a name. He was just scared of what saying it out loud, this close to his face, might make him feel.
There was a pause, just hot breath mingling with hot breath, heavy pants of anticipation of what might come next, and fingers aching to touch but hesitating in case the other might make the next move first. Jean shut his eyes, listening as close as he could, just for the off chance he could hear Armin’s heartbeat; a pulse thrumming under pale skin, an indication that he was here, that he was alive.
Then, Armin’s lips were on his own, soft and firm as Jean had remembered, and he didn’t waste a moment to kiss him back with unbridled haste.
Armin leaned into him, his chest pressed just below Jean’s and arms wrapped around his neck. He hadn’t needed to hear the heartbeat before, because now he could feel it beating fast and sure against him, and Jean was shaking. Still, he’d be damned if he wasted this opportunity to kiss the man he had missed so much.
Every time he imagined a moment like this he always pictured there being an awkwardness to their first kiss in over six months. But this, the tenderness, the heat. This, he hadn’t expected. He never thought they would fall right back into their rhythm, so in sync with each other that it was like they had never spent a day away apart.
It was like they had picked up right where they left off.
After a while Jean pulled back, desperate for some sort of verbal confirmation that this meant exactly what he naïvely hoped it did.
“Armin…” he whispered, voice getting in the way of himself once more. He moved a hand up to glide through Armin’s blond tresses, the man before him shutting his eyes and relishing in the easy touch. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments when he opened them back up, and Jean knew he understood what was had been behind Armin’s gaze all night before he could even speak. “I-”
“I think I’m really drunk,” Armin interrupted, breaking the eye contact between them to rest his forehead on Jean's chest. Jean felt his heart drop, a lump rising in his throat.
He sighed, shutting his eyes again and putting a hand on Armin’s back. He knew he hadn’t had more than a couple ales and, being a shifter, his alcohol tolerance was pretty high. Much higher than Jean’s own at the very least, and he felt completely sober.
“Me too,” he lied, feeling Armin’s weight get heavier against him. He swallowed down whatever it was he would rather keep unsaid for now, not wanting to overcomplicate things. “C’mon. Let’s head back. You okay to walk?”
“Think so,” he muttered when Jean stepped back and slung an arm around his waist to keep him steady, even if it wasn’t necessary. He just didn’t want to let go yet.
They stepped back onto the main street, back under the lights, closer to all the noise.
“Can’t hold your liquor well, huh, Arlert?”
“Better than you.”
Jean snorted. “You wish.” He let himself melt a bit when he felt Armin’s head on his shoulder.
He held Armin against him as they stumbled down the cobblestone streets back towards base. The disappointment in his gut was fleeting, as he would take a moment like this, arms linked, warm bodies pressed together, over nothing at all in an instant. Jean knew, without a doubt, as long as Armin was in his life, he could never be unhappy.
The rest of the walk back went quickly, even at the leisurely pace they took it.
They were quiet when they got back into the building, making their way down the dark halls towards the sleeping quarters. Armin’s bunk was at the far side of the corridor, and Jean walked him down there without question, no ill intention in mind, just not ready to say goodnight yet.
“This is me,” he declared tiredly when they got to his door, as if Jean didn’t already know. He let his grip on his waist loosen, reluctant and slow in the way he pulled his arm back.
Armin turned to him, a small smile on his face as he craned his neck up to meet Jean’s gaze. For a moment Jean thought he would melt right there, entranced by the bright blue that was visible even in the dark.
The hand that came to rest on his cheek was gentle, and the look on Armin’s face sobered and nostalgic. Jean wanted to kiss him again, so so badly, but he restrained himself, taking in the moment for the brief time he was able to, just for what it was.
“Goodnight, Jean.” His voice was as soft as his fingers were when they slid down to his jaw, scratching affectionately at his light beard. “Thank you for walking me home.”
Jean could see him hesitate for just a moment before he pulled away, giving one last smile before turning to go into his room. The doorknob locked in place, a definitive click that made Jean’s heart sink.
He was frozen in place, stuck there with the subconscious hope that the door would open again, that Armin would pull him inside and hold him tight, whisper for him to never leave. Jean was always a man to live in hope.
“Goodnight, Armin,” he whispered to himself, allowing the name out of his mouth for the first time that night, savoring how it tasted on his tongue. It took all his willpower to turn on his heel, head back down the hall towards his room, but the warmth he still felt carried him through it.
It had been a good night, and Jean decided, with a smile, that tomorrow he’d make a point of remembering to get his jacket back.