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It starts with coffee at 9:55PM.
No, it starts with the son of Zeus gliding by on roller skates and in leg warmers.
No, it starts with hand holding in the dark.
No, shit, wait-
It starts with Eren being an asshole.
Eren’s standing at the front counter of a café. The place is empty, except for the cashier who’s smiling so brightly Eren almost believes he means it. His nametag says ‘Armin’ and his eyes say ‘please kill me’. He’s wearing a baseball cap and this ancient yellow apron. Maybe it hasn’t always been yellow. “So what I’m saying is, the coffee was cold.”
“You ordered it iced, sir.”
“You’re not listening here. I didn’t order this. Who the hell orders iced coffee anyway? What would the fucking point be? It’s like asking for hot ice cream.”
“Plenty of people enjoy coffee cold. Please, sir, my shift ends in five minutes so…”
Eren is trying his damndest not to get pissed off. He sets his hands down on the counter and wrinkles his nose, immediately regretting his life choices. It’s sticky with substances unknown to man. He has trouble removing his hands. He can hear his skin gradually peeling away from the surface. He peers down at his palms. “Dude.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Could you give me some of that hand sanitizer?”
The hand sanitizer that’s sitting on a counter just behind Armin, near coffee-stained white mugs and all of those pretty, pristine saucers stacked high. Armin glances over his shoulder to get a look at the half-empty bottle. Then he says. “If you promise to leave in the next five minutes.”
Eren grits his teeth, “I’m a customer. You can’t blackmail me.”
“I don’t think blackmail means what you think it means.”
“It means, give me the fucking hand sanitizer or I’ll tell your boss you iced my coffee even though I ordered it hot, you little shit.”
Armin’s smile droops, descends into a frown. He crosses his arms. And waits. Like he’s expecting something. He absolutely isn’t getting any kind of apology, so instead Eren hisses, “Fine, I’ll leave. Just give it to me.”
So Armin relents and grabs at the bottle. Presses down the dispenser and watches it spit a glob of translucent sanitizer into Eren’s defiled hands. “So does Mr. Iced-Coffee-Is-For-Heathens have a name?”
“Eren.” And as he glides his palms together, “Eren Jaeger.”
Eren’s in his car, roof down and late-night air nipping at his cheeks. He sips at his (iced) coffee and swipes through playlists. The screen of his phone is damp with a thin layer of dew. He’ll probably drive… Somewhere. He’s not particularly interested in going home. He’s parked in the lot in front of this decrepit coffee shop. All the lights are out, and there ‘Armin’ is, locking up for the night. He’s out of his uniform, and- in roller skates. God knows why. Denim shorts, a dark leather belt, this tucked in t-shirt that reads:
INSERT INSPIRATIONAL QUOTE
Armin abandons the storefront, briefly catching Eren’s eye as he glides by. Legend has it, Zeus had a throng of smoking hot daughters that inspire mortals to create. Maybe he had a son too. This male muse passing by on his skates. Armin leaves the sidewalk and pushes towards Eren’s car. Rolls up and reaches out to set his hands on the edge of the driver side door to stop himself. “I thought you could only drink it hot. You’re not going to die from this, right? I’d feel so awful.”
Smart ass.
Eren sips at his straw intensely, eyes narrowing sharply.
He releases it then, wets his caffeine drenched lips. Eren asks, “You’re heading home alone? It’s like ten o’clock, dude.” And Armin is so very, very small. Like those tiny pink dancers trapped in snowglobes. You twist the gear to the music box, and wham, you get Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. A bit of pressure to a joint or two and this guy would break. Eren pictures the sound dry spaghetti makes when it’s snapped in half.
“So?”
“So what if you get kidnapped by… Roller skating bandits? Bandits who kidnap roller skaters.”
Armin nods like that’s the most reasonable thing he’s ever heard, but his expression proves him to be, again, a smart ass. “What are you waiting around for? Can’t get your car started?”
Eren grits his teeth and slams his cup down in his cupholder. Turns the key in the ignition, and as if the universe thinks Eren Jaeger is some big fat joke (he isn’t), the engine sputters and nothing happens. Eren stares at the steering wheel. Fuck. It figures his sister's hand-me-down car would be a piece of shit. Eren turns the key again. This time the engine won’t even sputter.
“That’s unlucky. Maybe you should call a tow truck.” Armin says this without an ounce of venom. But somehow Eren knows he’s being made fun of. It’s something about this guy’s eyes. They just don’t match up with that pleasant, cotton candy smile. “Maybe you should eat a dick.” Eren sighs in response, slumping and returning to sipping at his iced coffee. Now, he does so dejectedly.
Armin pushes away from the scrapyard-destined-Beetle Eren is sitting in. The bright blue wheels on his roller skates turn as he drifts backwards. “If you’re so worried I’ll be kidnapped, and your car is such a piece of junk… Then walk with me.” And with that he turns around and glides away into the night.
Eren doesn’t particularly want to.
But he follows, because he hasn’t got fuck else to do.
Eren walks as he sips at his coffee, watching Armin roll ahead. A slender waist, hands held behind his back. Eren’s got his Bluetooth earbuds in. Life needs a soundtrack. The streetlamps are warm, buildings crowd around them, and the city is dead quiet. Which is… Deeply unusual, but not unwelcome. Sometimes Eren wishes that other people would just stop existing. He hates having to share the world with others. He shuts his eyes and walks, chilled mocha crashing like a wave at the back of his throat.
Peace.
Eren flinches as an earbud is dragged out of his left ear. He stops walking and Armin stills his skates. “What are you listening to?”
“Do you often touch other people’s shit without asking?”
“Not often, no. So.” And Armin pops the bud into his ear, quirking an eyebrow, “What are you listening to?”
Eren is sitting on the steps to this rundown cathedral (so much graffiti), hands shoved deeply into the front pouch of his hoodie. He’s only got half the sound of his playlist, and Armin’s quiet company. There’s the sound of crickets. Armin’s got on these fuzzy yellow leg warmers and Eren has to ask,
“So are you blind?”
Because he dresses like he is.
Armin stares up at the sky.
“You don’t have a lot of friends, do you Eren?”
Eren’s hands fidget in the pouch of his brown hoodie. He wants to tell him to fuck off. It’s his natural inclination. Instead he mutters, “Don’t tell me. You’re my manic pixie dream girl. Just, with a dick. You’re going to run around with me all night and show me what a horrible person I’ve been, and by the end of this, you’ll be my boyfriend and I’ll have learned a life lesson about being nice to strangers. Am I right?”
“I’m going to assume you really don’t have a lot of friends.”
And when Eren moves like he’s going to stand, Armin says, “That’s okay. It’s hard getting people to like you these days. It’s mask after mask after mask, and you’ll never meet anybody real, because nobody wants to be rejected. Nobody wants to hurt. A sad state of affairs, isn’t it?”
So Eren relaxes. He stares down at his beaten up converse shoes. “…I’m sorry about the coffee.”
“It’s fine. I spit in it. I just knew you were going to deserve it.”
Eren coughs and Armin laughs, setting his hands behind him and stretching out his legs. Smooth, pale. “Your face! I’m kidding. I’d never do something like that. That would be way too evil.” Armin settles down, smile slipping. There's a droop to his lips, and Eren is becoming familiar with it. “Do you have anywhere to be tonight, Eren?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
So Armin leans back and points a socked foot upwards, maybe at the sky or the tallest building in Mitras. Eren isn’t sure which. But the latter has a clock, and it’s too far to see. He shifts his wrist and the dark face of his smartwatch wakes up; it’s almost midnight. “So. Since you don’t know me and I don’t know you, let’s kill time together until we have some place to be.”
“You don’t take your safety seriously, do you? I could be a psychopath.”
“Scary.” Armin shuts his eyes and let’s his leg fall. His foot delicately settles upon the step. “That explains why you don’t like iced coffee.”
They’re at this abandoned basketball court and Eren is lying on a bench, head propped up by his hand, elbow piercing the wood. He watches Armin, who skates in circles. The earbud glows blue in the smaller man's left ear. “Are you a sadist, Eren?”
“No.”
So Armin says nothing else, contenting himself with skating. Eren shuts his eyes. Opens them, hooded now. “Are you a masochist?”
And Armin answers as he spins without pause or thought:
“Yes.”
Eren snorts. Lets the breeze caress his face and card through loose tendrils of his hair. The rest is tied back in a manageable bun. He hates his hair. Wants to chop it all off at the barbershop but never has the time or cash. “That explains why you decided to spend the night with some random asshole. I really could be a psychopath, Armin. You should be more careful.”
Armin stops spinning, forehead damp with sweat and cheeks flushed from overexertion. “No. I can tell the difference. It’s all in the eyes.” And Armin glides across the court. Stops himself just short of the bench, peering down at Eren who peers up at him. “And your eyes are lonely. They say: ‘I’m drowning'.”
Eren snaps his gaze elsewhere, off towards a public restroom. There’s a bum next to it sleeping on a cardboard bed, a large hound underneath his carelessly tossed out arm. The man snores. “You’re kind of creepy.”
“I wouldn’t say it if I thought I’d ever see you again. I’d try my best to be polite, and I’d pretend to be kind, and I’d ask you all about your life goals and if you’re enjoying the weather. But I won’t ever see you again so… It doesn’t really matter what I say to you, does it?” Armin shrugs.
And Eren feels like this is a one night stand. Except with hearts and music. Sometimes just having someone near is enough. Armin returns to the center of the court. Where men would ready up for a match, he spins, and streetlamps shine down. Energy efficient bulbs. White, distant light. The guy’s got his arms stretched out far and is staring up. Who knows at what. There’s so much light pollution there’s nothing to see. Maybe he’s admiring the rolling smog. What stars, what moon? Eren watches and calls (heckles) with a hand cupped around his mouth, “Strip!”
Armin laughs and shakes his head.
“I’m a virgin.”
Eren is walking on top of this stone wall, and Armin is below, gliding slow on his white skates. “Now that, I didn’t picture.” He hums, drawing his fingers along the evenly stacked and cemented stones. “You don’t seem like a virgin.”
“And what does a virgin seem like?” Eren sounds bitter. He scowls. It’s an ugly, snarled up expression. His mother always told him his face would get stuck like that. Maybe it has. Maybe that’s why he can’t get a date. Whatever. He shrugs. The backdrop is full of skyscrapers. Rows of lit windows despite the time of day. It’s well past midnight. There are pathetic, freshly planted saplings masquerading as trees. The next bad storm will rip them right from the ground. Eren aches for real trees. Real nature.
“I don’t know.” Armin’s brow knits as he rolls forward. He waves a hand around, “Virgin-y.”
“You should write books. Your mastery of the English language is just incredible.”
Armin is quiet. He says after a beat. “I’m sleeping with someone.”
“How long have you two been dating?”
“I said I was sleeping with him.” Armin tilts his head back, looking up at Eren as he walks slow. One foot in front of the other. Inching further and further towards the end of the wall. “Aren't you just adorable? Assuming something like that.” Armin smiles and it aggravates Eren, who can’t stand being mocked. “You’re not a nice person, Armin.”
Armin’s eyes flutter elsewhere. Eyelashes so fair they strike close to white.
“Maybe not.”
Eren walks until there’s no more wall for him to stride along. He jumps down into a patch of dead grass. It’s just them and the tether of the Bluetooth between them. Soundwaves are magic. “So why are you fucking him?”
“His dick’s massive and I like to choke on it. Do I need another reason?” Armin reaches for Eren’s hand. Grasps at it and raises it to his face, examining his palm. “Now I really can’t ever talk to you again. You’re probably thinking ‘this guy’s so fucking gross’.”
“I’m thinking ‘this guy talks too much’, actually.”
Armin runs a thumb along the calluses lining the top of Eren’s palm. “How big is yours?”
“My dick?”
“Yeah.”
Armin raises his eyes to meet his gaze. It’s a serious question, but casual too, and Eren doesn’t think he’s being hit on. Mainly because he doesn’t think asking somebody about the state of their genitals is how you get them into bed, but how the hell would he know? He supposes he can be a bit dense. “Six inches.” And Armin tuts in response to that, releasing his hand. He rolls ahead, calling over his shoulder, “Mine’s five. Looks like you win.”
“What’s my prize?”
“You get to say, ‘my penis is adequately sized.’”
Eren scowls. Sets his eyes on the smog above. Heaven is full of dead angels; the industrial revolution killed them all. “…My penis is adequately sized.”
Fast food in the town center. There are wrappers strewn all about. The Bluetooth glows, Eren and Armin sprawl in the grass, bellies full and hands behind their heads. There’s that building. Titan Tower. They’re closer now. The time in bolded red: 2:34AM. There’s a statue of King Fritz looming close. Water fountains, empty park benches, an oak tree near them and a hill beneath their backs. Eren’s lips are salty from the fries. He licks them clean.
“So what you’re saying is, you don’t think any of this exists?” Eren says that, and Armin makes a noise of thought. Legs crossed, head shifting to look at Eren to his left.
“Basically. Hear me out. The universe-“
“Anybody who starts a sentence with ‘the universe’ is either high or crazy.”
“I started with ‘basically’.” Armin points out, a brief grin coming and going. “I’m only saying sometimes I don’t feel like I’m really here. And maybe there is no ‘here’.”
Eren rolls onto his side to face Armin fully. Reaches out to draw his fingers hesitantly and tentatively along Armin’s (nonexistent) bicep. The skin is soft and has golden peach fuzz that tickles his fingertips. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch. Maybe Armin's cold. Eren's mouth is dry. He whispers, “But you feel that, right?” And Armin sighs, letting his eyelids droop shut. “It doesn’t matter if I feel it. I’m still not really here. I’m in this philosophy course-“
“That explains it.”
And Armin laughs, “What’s wrong with philosophy?”
“It’s bull shit sold to be higher thinking, when really it’s just people avoiding getting real jobs.”
“I could be your first.” Armin lifts his eyelids and Eren rolls onto his back, setting his eyes back on Titan Tower. Armin’s mind hops from thought to thought and he doesn’t bother waiting for natural lulls in the conversation to start a new topic. He just moves on and expects Eren to keep up.
“What makes you think I want to fuck you?”
“What makes you think you'd be the one on top?"
Eren's face is hot and he wants to kill himself; he hasn't blushed in years. Armin sits up. Pops a limp fry into his mouth and chews it like long dead Emperors must've chewed fresh grapes. This is grace, this is poise. Eren watches him. Cautious. Like Armin’s got hazard lights all over his body, rapidly flashing red. Eren says, “Let’s say it’s 8AM and I meet you on your college campus. Give me your best, Mr. Polite, Mr. Kind, Mr. How-do-you-like-the-weather impression.”
Armin raises an eyebrow at the challenge. Then, he pushes himself to stand. He takes a deep breath, and slips into this delicate smile. Peaches and cream. The kind of smile that force diabetics to run in the other direction. Armin leans down and holds out a hand, tripping over words. As sheepish as he is sweet. “H-Hey, you’re Eren right? I think you sit a row down from me in lecture hall. I’m A-Armin Arlert and it’s so nice to meet you!”
“It's obviously fake.”
Armin’s smile drops and his ocean eyes dim considerably,
“You wouldn't think that if we met on campus. People believe what they want to believe.”
Eren stands as Armin straightens out. The taller man tugs his hoodie over his head. Tosses it to Armin, who catches it with this baffled expression. Eren says, “I’m hot, you’re cold. Wear it.”
Eren’s carrying Armin’s skates under his arm, and the blonde is walking at his side, hands shoved in the front pouch. The hoodie’s too big on him, engulfs him completely. He looks like he isn’t wearing anything underneath, the hoodie so long it obscures his shorts. They’re Nowhere. Eren hasn’t wandered this deep into the city before. Nothing is open, not even clubs. No dive bars, no sports bars. It’s four in the morning. “So are we waiting for sunrise?” Eren asks, and Armin shrugs his shoulders. He puts the hood up.
Eren watches the smaller man in his peripheral. He says, rigid, stiff, and so very irritable, “I’m heading home.” Going home is the last thing he wants to do. It’s not that Armin’s company is the best he’s ever had, but he’s not keen on climbing into bed and waking up in an hour or two for work. “I can drop you off first, though.”
“It may be difficult for you to believe, but I’m not a woman, Eren.”
“Men can be walked home too.”
Armin laughs to himself, raising a hand to muffle the sound. And a moment later he says, “Ah I think I get it… The asshole thing, it’s your mask, isn’t it? A convincing one, but-”
“Fuck off.”
More laughter. Eren grinds his teeth, hunching his shoulders and walking faster than his companion. He only halts because his dangling hand is grabbed at. Armin catches up and they start moving again, walking in time together. Pace matched. Slow, unhurried. “You said you were too hot for your jacket.” Armin notes, intertwining their fingers. “But your hand’s freezing. Maybe chivalry isn’t dead after all.”
Eren says nothing.
Armin lives in a dormitory. His campus is bigger than big and it feels like they’ve been walking forever. Mitras University. Not bad, maybe one of the best schools around. Armin’s either smart or rich or both. Eren doesn’t ask because he doesn’t care to know. His phone is on 15% battery. Just enough to play a bit more music before they bid each other adieu. Armin’s socked feet drag along. He and Eren sport matching shadows beneath their eyes, courtesy of a sleepless night. They walk to the beat and the lamps lighting their way die one by one. The sky isn’t so dark anymore. Closer to navy. Life is breathing and creeping itself over the horizon. Streaks of pink.
What seemed like forever has been shaved down to five minutes.
There the dorm is.
Four minutes.
Three minutes.
Two minutes.
And now-
“Your taste in music isn’t bad.” Armin decides, stopping before the steps up to the red bricked building. This campus- in the light of day Eren can see how posh it is. Fancy, like the people around here waddle about with silver spoons shoved up their asses. There are old spires and snarling gargoyles crouching along the edges of the roof. Wide, shadowy windows. He wonders why Armin works at the coffee shop. He wonders but-
“Here.”
Eren blinks and sees Armin’s offering him his hoodie back. He nods and accepts it. Wraps it around his waist and knots it. And as he does, Armin leans up, propped on his toes. His lips graze Eren’s left cheek. He hums against the skin there, “I like this song.”
“Yeah. I like it too.”
And so they wait for the song to end. And when it does, Eren hands back Armin’s roller skates. Armin returns Eren’s earbud. They part and nothing else is said.
The heavy doors to Armin's dormitory shut Eren out.
The sun burns overhead.
Eren doesn’t go home immediately. He slides into a coffee shop on Main Street. Mitras is near the center of the city, surrounded by bookshops and cafes and wherever else snobs in rags hang out to talk about the patriarchy or the matriarchy or whatever else. Eren doesn’t keep up with politics. There’s a woman behind the counter. She’s weathered, back bulging and hunched permanently from a life of bad posture. He fishes out his wallet and asks with tired eyes and his Bluetooth blinking in his ear,
“Can I have an iced coffee?”