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Marco stared down at his plate, fixating on the lines he left with his fork and trying not to listen as Jean talked, supposedly to him, but Marco could see how after each pompous phrase his eyes would flick to Mikasa expectantly. There was a weight on his chest, pressing down and Marco couldn’t shake it off.
Jean stood, announcing his movements and before Marco could say anything, he was walking away to clear his tray. As much as he hated that he was doing it, Marco followed Jean with his eyes until he disappeared out the mess hall door.
“Isn’t it awful?”
Marco jumped, turning his head to the voice that had crept up on him. Armin was sitting on the bench next to him, poking at a seam on the sleeve of his tunic.
He wasn’t sure how long Armin had been there, sitting quietly, knowing all, but for all Marco knew it could have been the entire dinner. He kicked himself internally, but it didn’t do any good. He knew he would do the same thing at the next meal, the next training session, the next time he saw Jean- just look at him while everything else faded out.
“Love, I mean.” Armin cocked his head, trying to read Marco’s face. Marco was sure it wasn’t difficult. “Or maybe just this kind.”
“What are you talking about?” Marco turned to his friend trying to look confused, but Armin is too smart for that, would always be able to see through lies that obvious.
Armin lifted the corners of his mouth, but his eyes were heavy. He turned his head, staring forwards into nothing.
“It’s exhausting to say the least. You give so much and it doesn’t mean anything. But at least they’re your friend, right?”
He moved to stand, but Marco put a hand on Armin’s shoulder, weighing him down for a moment.
Marco breathed out roughly, not sure he was ready to verbalize everything that had been rattling around in his head for so long.
“The way he looks at her…. It just… She doesn’t even make eye contact with him, I don’t…”
Armin sat, picking at the bread on his plate.
“At least she’s tangible.’
Marco looked at him, eyebrows drawn together, about to open his mouth to ask when Armin sighed and rubbed at his eyes with his free hand.
“When the only thing that’s ever on that person’s mind, what motivates them and keeps them strong… When it’s just base emotion, just visceral anger, there isn’t any room for someone to hold a place there.”
Marco looked across the dining hall to the table where Eren was squabbling with Mikasa, gesturing sharply as his voice raised ever higher.
“You’d think we would learn, huh?” Marco asked quietly.
Armin smiled that same sad smile. “You’d think.”
He stood and this time Marco didn’t try to stop him. As Armin made his way back to the table, he turned his head for a moment before taking his seat next to Erin.
Marco watched him follow the words Mikasa and Eren were calmly exchanging, Eren still red-faced and cooling down from a fight that never happened.
Armin hung his head for a moment, and Marco felt the weight of his burden pressing against him because even though there are much more important things to worry about, this is what they are tangled up in and can’t imagine a way of getting out.
Eren said something to Armin, who lifted his head and gave him a smile. It was a real one, with lines crinkling the corners of his eyes and Marco wondered if he looked something like that when he smiled at Jean.
He cleared his tray and headed back to his bunk.
When he passed Armin on his way out, he tapped him on the shoulder and said “Good luck.”
As he left the light of the dining hall, he could hear Eren ask him what he meant by that. Marco couldn’t hear what Armin said.