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It had been a mild, sunny day when they had departed for Marley.
The plans, as they were, were to feel things out. Cross the sea to the mainland, explore a bit. The Azumabitos were to host them and the Scouts would be given time to analyze the new terrain and get a sense of how exactly it would be best to proceed. They would also be disguised as they went about, hopefully to ward off any suspicion regarding their belonging.
Armin, for his part, had been particularly enthusiastic about the mission, the few days near the sea being merely a bonus to the exploration of the new world that was sure to come upon their arrival. He had been a mix of emotions prior to the onset of their expedition: nerves, anticipation and pure, childlike curiosity combining into an emotion Jean might describe as “excitement,” though Armin would never call it such, lest it give others the impression that his own dreams of adventure were clouding his judgment. Nevertheless, there was not a single Scout more excited than Armin on the day they’d officially boarded the ship, and to say that his attitude was infectious would be a grave understatement.
It was to be a two day trip, nice and easy; the island was not too far off from Marley’s coast. They had all taken to the vast deck upon boarding, sparsely arranged against the railing, eager to see, smell, feel the mist of the sea when they were out further from the port, well among the waves. Armin had found his place near the very front of the ship, the first among them all to soak it all in as they sailed effortlessly through the salty breeze, his hair whipping every which way. He held a smile easily as they journeyed along, far more freely than he had the day they had seen the sea the first time, and the mere sight of Armin in this state was enough to warm Jean to his core.
There was a gentle sense of contentment about Armin like this, as if only for a moment, he was allowing himself to enjoy something in its entirety, and he fully deserved it, especially considering everything he had been through as of late. Jean took care to give him his space, especially when he was like this, taking to instead resting against his own respective section of the railing just a few feet away and enjoying the views on his own. Though, it would be a lie to say Armin did not pull his gaze more than the waves, the crisp white of his shirt making him look striking before the endless span of blue.
Armin was the last one into the dining hall of the ship when dinner was eventually served. It had been something filling, nicer than they were used to by far: generous portions of meat, potatoes, wine. It struck Jean that Armin was quiet throughout the meal, somber, as if his mind was elsewhere, despite his enthusiasm just mere hours before. He didn’t seem sad, per se, for he tended to be a bit quieter nowadays, though he scarcely shared words with anyone more than Mikasa for the entirety of the meal. It was hard not to watch him, not to obsess over the smallest changes in his expressions or the slightest hints to what might be on his mind, though it was hardest of all not to get caught staring.
After some time, when the excitement of dinner time had died down and one by one, their friends had started to turn in for the evening, Jean had watched Armin excuse himself as well, his expression careful and his farewells practiced as he parted from the few tipsy stragglers left behind in the dining room who also had yet to leave for their beds, Jean among them. In all their merry feasting, night had fallen, and the dull threat of sleep tugged at them all — bellies full and eyes heavy. Even so, Jean watched on as Armin slipped through the archway of the dining hall, turning toward the door to the deck rather than the hallway toward the cabins where everyone else had headed for the evening. His move appeared not to have attracted the attention of Sasha and Connie, who remained, though Jean was hardly fooled, regardless of the warm fuzziness clinging to his thoughts from the wine.
It made him smile — knowing Armin couldn’t hide from him. Though, maybe his alcohol was beginning to inspire his wishful thinking.
After a few moments, downing the last of the red from his glass, Jean moved to follow. He bid goodnight to Connie and Sasha, who did absolutely nothing to make his departure easy and instead took to dangling themselves all over him as he attempted to stand from his chair. They were far more intoxicated now than Jean had let himself become, and a small part of him was inclined to stay back to put them to bed. He laughed at their behavior, half amused and half annoyed, as he batted them off and wriggled himself from their tugging, his limbs feeling loose and warm.
“If the two of you don’t get to your beds soon, you’ll end up passing out in here,” Jean urged, pressing loosely at his shirt and slacks where Connie and Sasha’s hands had been.
“Jean,” Connie whined, long and drawn out, tossing his head over the back of the dining chair where he sat, lolling it to the side in Jean’s direction. “One more glass! Don’t be boring like the rest of them.”
Giggles bubbled from Sasha’s lips, her grin full and her cheeks flushed, as if Connie was the funniest man who ever lived. Jean rolled his eyes at the two of them, clearly too far gone to be reasoned with.
“I’ll have to pass. You two can feel free, though.”
“Connie,” Sasha started, hiccupping before she could continue. “More for you and me.”
They arose in a fit of giggles as Jean turned his back on them, smiling.
He would stay, really, or usher them to bed, had it been a different night. There was a sense of urgency driving him now, though, like he didn’t know how to do anything in this moment besides chase after Armin. It could be confidence, maybe, if he thought hard enough about it.
Maybe it was the wine.
Following the path that Armin had presumably traveled himself, down the hallways near the dining room and through a large metal door, Jean made his way to the deck. He was greeted with exactly the sight he assumed he would be: Armin already settled back into his spot against the railing, the light of the moon the only thing left to illuminate him against the deep, dark expanse of the sea.
“Room for one more?”
It was unmistakable the way Armin had been startled by his words. Even from behind, Jean was able to see the way he had jolted, slight as it was, and he bit back the amusement that came with the realization that Armin had been lost in thought enough already to have not heard Jean open or close the door to get onto the deck in the first place. But Armin turned around to greet him anyways, a sheepish smile playing at his lips, the wind still blowing at his hair as wildly as it had been all day. Jean wanted to reach out and stroke it — feel it between his fingertips and work his hands through the small knots he was sure had worked themselves together from the hours of unrelenting sea breeze.
The liquor in his system encouraged him; maybe he could. Maybe he should. He could reach out, tuck some of the golden hair behind Armin’s ear. He would love to feel it, feel Armin. He loved taking every chance he could to do just that: subtle touches and excuses for contact, though typically not so bold. Maybe he’d brush a hand across Armin’s cheek along the way — graze his knuckles across the high of Armin’s reddened, weatherbeaten cheekbones. Maybe the look in his eyes would be all the courage Jean needed to say everything he’d always wanted to say.
Instead, he settled on stuffing his nervous hands into the pockets of his slacks, clenching them into fists the moment they were out of sight. They were safest there, for both of their sakes. Maybe another time.
Finally, Jean smiled back at Armin.
“I suppose,” the blond man started, drawing out the second syllable of the word as the sheepishness dissolved from his face, “some company would be nice. I’ve been sort of lost in my thoughts today.” His smile was amicable, now. Sincere. An invitation.
Jean hummed in response, stepping forward to join Armin at his side. He leaned forward, tentatively releasing his arms from the fists held in his pockets in favor of crossing them and resting them against the railing, just as Armin had done before Jean’s arrival. Armin mirrored him, close enough for their arms — hands — to brush against one another.
Jean gulped, his mouth going dry. The proximity felt dangerous somehow. Like the warmth of their casual contact would scorch through the fabric of their clothes and catch their skin on fire. But there Jean stayed, rigid and unmoving, staring out into the dark pit of the night time sea. There was truly something thrilling about wanting and even needing to be set ablaze, something enticing and adventurous about the risk of being turned to ash forever.
But it was Armin. And if there was one thing Jean had learned throughout their years together, it was that there were few he trusted more in the entire world than Armin. All consuming as it was to feel this way. Jean could laugh, despite himself. If only Armin knew.
What had gotten into him tonight?
“So,” Jean started, feeling suddenly bold. “What’s been on your mind?”
Armin sighed. He leaned forward, resting his head atop his crossed arms.
“I don’t think it will be what we expect,” a beat. “Marley. The other side.”
Jean frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not going to be what I always hoped it would be when I was growing up. With the hills of sand, the lands made of ice. All of that. It’s just going to be more fighting. Just like here.” Armin scoffed, a bit bitter despite himself, before turning his head where it rested on top of his arms to face Jean. “I think that everyone is hoping that there will still be something amazing to find — something new and exciting to see. I know I still hope for that. And I’m sure there will be interesting things, new things. But it’s also going to be just another place where we have to hide and fight and run. I always imagined that when I got to see beyond the walls that we might be beyond all the nonsense.” He shook his head. “It’s silly, I know. I just can’t help but feel disappointed.”
Jean frowned. “It’s not silly. I don’t think so, at least.”
Armin smiled wryly, turning his head back to the sea.
“Well, thank you, Jean. I appreciate that.”
Shit. Think, Jean. Think.
“I only mean that you shouldn’t feel silly for being disappointed,” Jean managed quickly. “The whole thing isn’t perfect, you’re right. We’ll explore for a while, feel it out, and then we’ll worry about whether or not we have to fight. But that doesn’t mean that you won’t still see all those things someday. It just means that the road to seeing them might be different than you imagined when you were younger. That’s okay.”
“Right. When the rest of the world stops hating us, I’ll go sightseeing.”
The response stung a little, admittedly. Jean really was trying his best. Armin had to have some hope left in him, didn’t he? Or had he given it all up in Shiganshina?
That’s fine. Jean could manage enough for the both of them.
“You sure will,” he promised, determined now. “I’ll take you.” Armin raised an eyebrow, turning his head to Jean once more.
“You will?”
“Why not? Sure. I could stand to be a little more worldly myself. No use being cooped up in one place forever, especially if I can make it through all of this in one piece.”
Armin huffed, shaking his head.
“I suppose I’ll have to stick pretty close by your side if I wanna keep my head, though,” Jean continued, encouraged by Armin’s amusement, “since you have such a great history of saving my ass.”
He laughed fully, then, and Jean laughed with him.
Armin was more familiar to him this way. The hopeful, adventurous, bright eyed boy that he’d once known. The boy who, for years, had shared his visions of the outside world with them all. The boy who had told them about the sea, who had told them about the countless things awaiting them in the world beyond.
But Armin was no longer a boy. It was a man who stood beside Jean now, a man who had apparently been struggling with letting that young boy go, clinging to those youthful dreams with everything he could manage, despite it all. Jean understood. He felt the same about himself. They all did.
It was remarkable, really, given everything that Armin had been through, all that he’d seen, all that he was bound to see, that he would be able to hold onto some semblance of wonder and hope for this long. Dulled as it was, there were brief moments where you could catch glimpses of it in his fair, soft features if only you looked close enough. In the sly tip of his smile, in the squint of his eyes when he laughed, in the brightness of his eyes. It had been so plain just earlier today, a brief moment of reprieve amidst all of Armin’s usual worries.
Jean liked to believe he was one of those more inclined to know where to look for this in Armin. Jean had spent his fair share of time watching him, after all.
It was here now, too, with Jean’s promise. The spot where their hands brushed against one another was beginning to burn terribly between them, and Armin’s lingering grin was far too enticing, far too like before, when they were younger and dumber and so much less afraid.
Jean wondered, dangerously, if he just leaned in — set that fear aside just to feel Armin’s lips against his own this once — if he’d be able to hold onto this very version of Armin, like this, forever. The one caught between boyhood and manhood, hope and hopelessness, friend and beloved. If only the thrill of the moment would memorialize them both like this, ground them in one another only to let the world move on without them, leaving behind in their own little world the version of Armin, smiling freely and easily, and the version of Jean who loved him as deeply and vastly as the sky and the sea. Maybe they could reignite the hope for good.
Jean reached into his pocket, breaking their contact in search of the small carton of cigarettes and the box of matches he knew were there. Something to occupy his mouth and hands both, now, lest he make a fool of himself.
Jean struck the match simply, tossing it over the railing when he was through with it. His first drag was shaky, but much appreciated, setting the bite of his nerves back just enough for him to bring himself back to reality for a moment. It’s not like he wasn’t used to these thoughts about Armin, as they were not infrequent, but that the drinks from dinnertime were starting to make him a bit more delusional than was fair to himself or to Armin. The fantasies were one thing, but acting on them was another.
He observed his exhale, the gray puffs lingering a bit longer in the sky now that they’d run into smoother, stiller waters. The breeze was still present, but more even. Armin followed the smoke with his eyes, finally lifting his head from his arms.
“Have you ever looked for shapes in the night sky?”
A furrow settled into Jean’s brow as he inhaled around the cigarette once again.
“Shapes?”
“Yes, shapes. Have you ever laid back and looked for shapes in the clouds before?”
Jean nodded, exhaling.
“It’s the same as that.”
“What? No way. This is much harder. There are no shapes, just a bunch of dots.”
Armin smiled. “It does take a little more imagination, yes, but it’s about connecting the dots. Imagine they’re colored in, full, like the clouds are.”
Jean squinted, surveying the vast expanse of sparkles scattered across the night sky. He wanted to give it his best effort, but he found himself lost, overwhelmed by their multitudes. There were thousands of them. How could Armin possibly see anything in them? How could he make sense of it all?
“There,” Armin pointed. “That bunch kind of looks like a man. Maybe he’s holding something. Like a sword, or a bow.”
Jean shook his head, squinting even more, as if it would do anything to improve his perception. “What? Where?”
“There,” Armin insisted, standing taller and leaning across Jean just slightly to point at the picture he was apparently seeing. The warmth inside Jean blossomed even more with the new contact as he tried to keep himself steady, taking another drag and tapping away at the ash that formed at the end. Armin pointed and traced vaguely in the air, detailing the way he connected the shimmering points. Jean tried his best to follow. “There’s his body. There’s what I think could be a weapon, maybe.”
“Huh,” Jean mused. He could sort of see it, if he looked hard enough. Maybe.
“And there,” Armin continued, this time snagging the cigarette from Jean’s hands and taking it into his own mouth. He took a step behind Jean, reaching around him to grab at both of his hands. “Point your fingers.”
Jean obliged thoughtlessly, feeling like the air had been punched out of his lungs.
Armin used his grasp on Jean’s now pointed fingers to connect a new series of the glimmering dots, peeking out from behind Jean’s body and over his shoulder, just barely, so that he could see where he was directing Jean’s hands. He must’ve been on his tiptoes to achieve it.
“That one kind of looks like a spoon. Or a ladle. Something like that.”
He moved each of Jean’s hands, focusing each on one point at a time moving towards each other before they met in the middle, finishing the bigger picture. “Do you see it?”
“Yes,” Jean said, trying not to sound too flustered. And it was true, he could see it. Clear as day before him: something like a scoop or a spoon, just as Armin had said.
Armin moved from behind him, the cigarette still hanging loosely in his smile. He looked rather proud of himself, finally having Jean see what he saw. He settled against the railing once more, closer to Jean now than he had stood before, and his fingers found the cigarette, slipping it between them delicately. Finally, Armin took a drag of his own, exhaling playfully toward his little pictures in the sky.
Jean watched Armin’s lips, curled shamelessly around the same place his own had once been, and felt himself flush at the sentiment, quickly scrambling to avert his gaze to hide the warmth he was sure would be apparent in his face. Armin didn’t seem to notice.
“I’ve noticed sometimes you can see the same shapes each night if you really look. There are some I haven’t been able to make sense of or keep track of yet, though. As if some shapes aren’t completely right with the way I’m imagining them, or maybe they’ve gone away because of the part of the sky that I’m looking at. But some of them are there a lot. Like the spoon. I can almost always see it.”
Jean couldn’t help but to chance another look over at Armin as he went on. He was endlessly fascinating, after all. Looking at him like this — still himself enough despite everything to teach Jean how to dream along with him — Jean had no choice but to love him. Had no choice but to stare on as Armin enthused about the sky, the sea, the world beyond, all as the vast expanse of scattered night sky illuminated the sliver of wonder left in his eyes. Jean’s heart squeezed with the weight of it, the precious moment fleeting even as it still unfolded.
Armin giggled, nudging Jean.
“Sorry,” he smiled, sheepish once again. “Didn’t mean to bore you. I know it’s a lot.” He inhaled once more, releasing before finally offering the cigarette back to Jean with a chuckle. “And sorry for trying to steal your cigarette. I owe you one.”
Jean accepted it, returning it to his lips for one more long, generous inhale before handing it back to Armin. He hoped to himself that the flush of his cheeks could be mistaken for the warmth of the wine.
“Don’t worry about it. You can finish it.”
Armin grinned, pleased with this, before returning it to his lips, smoking absently for a few more moments in their comfortable silence before flicking the butt over the railing and into the waves below.
“You’re usually not much of a smoker,” Armin started, playfully nudging Jean’s shoulder with his own. “What changed?”
Jean shrugged. “It’s a social thing, I guess. Especially after the wine. What about you?”
Armin raised his eyebrows in question before Jean continued, elaborating. “You’re not usually a big smoker yourself. Maybe I’m a bad influence. Peer pressure finally getting to you?”
“Maybe so,” Armin replied. The air of playfulness about him faltered for a moment, laced with something hesitant. “Good for the stress.”
“Stress about Marley,” Jean suggested, firm. The magic of the moment had fully gone, now, struck down by cold reality.
There were times lately, many times, in fact, where being around Armin had a way of making Jean feel like they were the only two people alive at all. Like they were all that mattered, even as two friends spending time in one another’s presence, chatting casually away about anything and everything, or nothing at all. This was another one of those moments, or had been, rather, where Jean was becoming dangerously comfortable in that fantasy.
It was always just so easy with Armin. Easy to imagine a world, a life outside of the walls. Removed from all the conflict, far away from Marleyans and Eldians and titans and everything that came with it all. The hope and passion in Armin’s eyes had always inspired Jean, made him hope for something more, made him want to be better. It had that effect on all of them, like they were moths drawn to the flame of Armin’s optimism. And it was during moments like these now, where the very light in Armin’s eyes that drew Jean to him began to flicker, threatening to fade away, that made Jean all the more desperate to hold onto it. To hold onto Armin — hold him together when he threatened to shatter. There were moments like this often lately, where Armin would falter. Jean was beginning to fear he was too late to do anything about it.
Armin must have felt the shift too, his face turning serious, his expression one of exhaustion.
“Yes. Marley, everyone, everything. It never ends.”
Jean swallowed thickly, staying silent. He nodded, hoping Armin would continue.
“My biggest fear, I think, is that they’ll be just like us,” he said, playing with his fingers and looking down at them with disinterest as he spoke. Jean felt bold once more as he eyed Armin’s fidgeting.
“I don’t think it’d be so bad if everyone in the world was like you.”
Armin turned to him. His eyes were sad, pleading, the tears welling up in them shining under the moon.
“But I’m scared of what that means for our mission,” he went on, clenching his jaw as if to compose himself enough to finish his thought — will the tears away. “How is it going to feel, getting to see all these new people and the way that they live, knowing that eventually some of those people dying is inevitable? They won’t be these big, bad, scary monsters. They’ll just be people. People with different ideas, different experiences. Just like us.”
Jean sat with this for a moment, ruminating a bit, his stomach beginning to churn with the ideas of what heinous acts may be asked of Armin — his Armin — when they made it across the sea. Suddenly, he realized why Armin’s enthusiasm about their voyage had so quickly began to decay as he had been given a chance to think more practically about it. He’d been made into a monster, and he’d be expected to act the part in due time if no peaceful solution could be reached. The success of their negotiations, of Armin’s ideas of peace, would greatly affect to what degree Armin would be forced to use the weapon bestowed upon him. Jean gulped, careful with his next words, eager to steady himself so that he may hopefully steady Armin just the same.
“If we get lucky, and the people we meet there are anything like you at all,” he took his turn to nudge Armin with his shoulder now, desperate to lighten the mood, offer some reassurance, offer anything worthwhile at all, “they’ll be smart. Maybe we can figure something else out — avoid all of that as much as we can. The fighting. The death. Then, afterwards, I’ll take you to see all the sand and ice and sea you want.” It was matter of fact, solid. A real promise, like before. And Jean meant it with all of his heart.
“Jean,” Armin started, moved. He turned his body now, ever so slightly, so that his upper half was now facing Jean a little bit more, the same tears still threatening to fall from his eyes. “You’re a good person. You deserve to make it out of this.”
Concerned, Jean mirrored his adjustment, opening up his own stance to face Armin more as well. “And you aren’t?”
“I’m not sure,” he blinked, the weight of his tears finally betraying him. “I don’t think so.”
The words were like daggers to Jean, slicing him up in every which way, plunging deep and unforgiving into his chest. Jean longed to hold him, comfort him, insist to him that not only was he a good person, but that he was in fact the best person there was, the best of all of them. The best person Jean knew, the best he would probably ever know. He was smart. He was passionate. He was kind. He was beautiful. And above all, he was still so undeniably human, titan or otherwise. It was plain to see. Jean wanted to steal him away right then and there, jump from the ship with Armin in tow and swim away with him, start their lives anew elsewhere when they reached shore. They could pretend none of this ever happened. He could take Armin to see all the things he always longed to see; things could be different, then, he knows it. Maybe if he could do that, there wouldn’t be a need to hold onto Armin so tightly, wouldn't be a need to hold all of his pieces together during the years he has left.
And maybe, for Jean, the proximity and the adventure would be enough. Maybe he wouldn’t spend every waking moment wishing he could seize Armin where he stood only to kiss him senseless, make him forget about all the horrible things in the world Armin once thought to be filled entirely to the brim with wonder, goodness and light. Maybe the shared experience would be enough to make Jean quit all his longing for good, if he and Armin were all one another knew of the lives they left behind. Jean could be content with that, maybe.
Despite his better judgment, he couldn’t help himself from reaching forward, caressing Armin’s cheeks with his hands to tenderly wipe the fresh tears that finally fell, and he hoped that conveyed relatively the same set of ideas. Jean’s heart squeezed at the sight, seeing the shimmering light of the evening in Armin’s eyes, now. He tried his best to read them, just as Armin had read the sky.
“Armin, that’s not true.”
If only there was a way to properly reassure Armin without giving himself away completely.
“How can you ever know that for sure? I feel like all this time, I’ve known nothing at all. And now, even with everything I know, I still feel like I know nothing.”
Armin was getting worked up now, the palpable sadness working between them like the tide — pushing, pulling Jean along. Jean held his face through it, trying to be sturdy, grounding, dismissing the tears one by one as they came and shaking his head at Armin’s words.
“I only know one thing,” Armin continued, “and it’s that Erwin should have been chosen. Especially for this.”
“Armin—”
“It’s true,” he insisted, raising his hands to Jean’s wrists and shrugging Jean’s arms off from where they had caressed his cheeks. “You don’t have to pretend for my sake, Jean. It’s okay.”
“Armin, look, that’s not—” Jean exhaled, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and shaking his head in exasperation. He brought his hand up to rake a hand through his hair, a nervous habit, trying to find the right words. “Why are you so sure you know what I think? Like you said, there’s lots you don’t know. ‘How can you know that for sure,’ right?”
Armin’s face hardened in his frustration. “Then what do you feel? Tell me,” he demanded. “Since I seem to have no idea.”
I love you. You’re the best person I’ve ever met. You make me want to be a better person. You’re stronger than I will ever be. I admire you. I respect you. You’re beautiful. I would choose you over Erwin every day. I would choose you over everyone else alive for a thousand lifetimes, every time. You’re everything to me.
Jean wanted to scream. He clenched his fists, his ears ringing, his face hot. Everything was too much all of a sudden, everywhere. The wind in his hair, the way his shirt was clinging to his skin, the heat of Armin’s expectant gaze on him, the feeling in his stomach, like there were a million knots all fraying, pulled far too taught.
He surged forward, bringing his hands to Armin’s cheeks once more, and he kissed him.
He kissed him hard, firm, long. Kissed him for everything he didn’t say and everything he had ever thought, lips desperate as his fingers trembled against Armin’s skin, wet with tears. It felt as much like a win as it felt like a mistake.
Soon, there was a hand against his chest, urging him away. Of course. He obeyed easily, immediately backing up to scan Armin’s face for some kind of reaction, some sort of clue about the rejection. He was hurt, sure, but more concerned than anything.
Armin’s hand remained on his chest, and Jean could only hope that he couldn’t feel the wild hammering of his heart. It had been stupid to come out here at all. He’d misread. Fucked it all up royally, as he does. Maybe Jean would just have to run away by himself.
“Jean,” Armin exhaled, shaky. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry.” Jean brought his hands back from Armin’s cheeks, returning them to his pockets where they had once been, clenched in fists again. He should’ve kept them here from the beginning. “I’m so sorry, Armin. Neither do I.”
They were silent for a long while. Jean wanted to run and hide. He could leave now, if he wanted. He could run to his bedroom and try his hardest to never think about this again, and he could hope Armin would be decent enough to try to forget about it as well. The silence could swallow them both if it tried, and the moment felt like an eternity, Armin’s sad, confused eyes on him feeling like they would burn a hole through him in time. He tried to focus his attention on anything other than Armin’s hand on his chest between them — the clouds, the sound of the waves moving against the ship, the shapes in the sky — but the hand remained, and Jean’s heartbeat kept tempo.
Armin spoke suddenly. “We.. can’t.”
Confused, Jean came back to reality. He had been bracing so hard for a very straightforward rejection that he had not considered anything else. What else could there even be?
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll hurt you. I don’t want to.”
“So,” Jean cleared his throat, hopeful, “you’ve thought about it?”
“About what? You? Us?”
The taller man nodded.
Armin sighed, tired. “More than you know. But we can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” Armin gave him a look, a heavy one, as if Jean should know what he meant.
“Because what?” Jean shook his head. He was getting worked up now too, his hands beginning to tremble, the heat of the moment beginning to boil over. He was quickly losing control of his composure, of his ability to keep it all wrapped up inside, neat. Clean. Safe. “I love you.”
Well. He could kick himself.
“I—” Armin started, his response getting caught in his throat. He steadied himself with a deep breath, shaking his head. His voice was low. “I’m going to die, Jean.”
Jean clenched his fists harder in his pockets.
“So, what? Me too.”
Armin gave him that look again. “You know perfectly well what I mean, Jean.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. So you’re just sitting around waiting to die?”
“Jean.”
“What’s the point of living at all if you aren’t going to make it worth it? Isn’t that the point in all of our lives? To make something worthwhile? To find something to live for?”
Tears welled in Jean’s eyes. Armin’s hand finally left his chest, coaxing Jean’s hands from his pockets and into his own instead. Armin grabbed at them, squeezing them and shaking his head, pleading. It seemed to do little to calm the taller man.
“Jean.”
“What? You still have so much time. We have time.”
Armin stared at him silently, something in his expression that for once, Jean could not read.
“If,” Jean paused, voice shaking before his ragged inhale, “if you’re going to die soon anyways, why would you want to die with regrets?”
He sniffled, stealing back his hands to rub at his eyes with the heels of his palms, desperate to rid himself of the evidence of his out of control emotions. Thinking of Armin’s time limit always made him feel sick. He tried his best not to.
“What I would regret the most is if I knew I was hurting you by leaving you behind. I don’t want to do the selfish thing.”
Jean scoffed. Ridiculous. As clueless as Armin claimed he felt, he always had a way of making everyone believe he knew more than them about anything and everything, including themselves. It often made Jean feel small, stupid. Like he was unable to offer any input when it came to his own feelings and agency, since Armin already seemed to have made up his mind about it for the both of them.
“Who cares? Be selfish. Hurt me all you want. I can take it. I’m taking it now,” Jean offered. “Please.”
“Jean,” Armin repeated again, as if it would do anything to change how Jean felt.
Jean rolled his eyes, getting frustrated now. “It’s not like you joined the Scouts because you had some grand opposition to taking risks. You didn’t pull a trigger for me once because you like to play it safe.”
Armin frowned, squeezing Jean’s hands once more.
“That isn’t fair. I did that because I care about you.”
“Then let me care about you back,” Jean pleaded. “If not for yourself, then for me. I’m not scared of you.”
Something profoundly and unmistakably sad took hold of Armin’s expression then, concern dissipating to make way for pure, unfiltered anguish. His grip on Jean’s hands loosened. He’d been struck by this; there was no denying.
“What?”
Jean sighed, losing some of his heat as Armin shrunk before him.
“You’re still you, Armin.”
Armin stared up at Jean, silent and pondering. Jean could almost see the sentiment working itself patiently into Armin’s brain as the tension between them began to settle.
“Live now, while you can,” Jean resumed, for good measure. “You won’t get another chance.”
A long beat of silence passed between them before Armin finally spoke.
“Kiss me again,” he commanded.
Jean jolted, perplexed by the sudden shift. He furrowed his brows.
“What?”
“You’re right,” Armin said, reaching for Jean’s face now. He urged Jean closer, one hand settling against his jaw while the other inched further back, finding itself in the hair by Jean’s nape. “Kiss me. Let me be selfish. Let me try again.”
And Jean had no reason to deny him.
They collided gracefully, but with urgency, lips moving in tandem. Jean’s hands scrambled to find the curve of Armin’s waist, settling there on either side as Armin’s fingers tightened in his hair. He tasted like the smoke they’d shared, a splash of wine from dinner, salt.
It felt good, too good, to be wrapped up in Armin this way. To finally be stealing Armin away from everything horrible the world had to give, to finally offer him some solace in all of it. It’s more than he could’ve ever asked for. To taste him, feel him, hold him.
Armin was everything to him. Undoubtedly.
And as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Armin parted from him with wide eyes and reddened, glistening lips. Just looking at them had Jean longing to kiss him again. “Was that okay?” he asked.
Armin’s lips parted as if to answer, only to find Jean’s again, softer this time. Gentler.
As if they had all the time in the world.